_The Story of a Vagabond of Space Who
Found Himself in the Far Galaxies._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Comet January 41.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Michel Drawers crumpled the enormous star-map in his big hairy arms and
let it drop from listless fingers. It floated slowly to the ground,
scarcely claimed by the infinitesimal gravity of the tiny sky-rock.
Hopelessly he gazed aloft, searching, with an air of finality the
immense sweep of the cosmos for some familiar sign--a well known
constellation, perhaps, that might be utilized as a sign post of space.
Unrewarded, he eased himself off a hard, metallic projection he
had been seated upon and turned back toward his petite little
star-ship--appropriately and affectionately known as "Star-Struck."
He had to face cold, inevitable reality. He was lost--lost amid the
stark immensity of unfamiliar worlds. Ahead of him lay a long and
hopeless search. He must sweep across the void from zone to zone.
Exploring the most colossal work of all nature for some clue that might
solve this puzzle and show him the way back--the way back home.
And he smirked as he thought of applying the term "home" to Tellus.
A home was something only successful people could boast of in this
day and age. Misfit youth could not expect such comfort. Himself, and
thousands like him, unable to fit into the scheme of civilization
currently preponderant upon Earth must take the only course open to
them. Must be vanguards of a new frontier--the greatest frontier.
Sick with nostalgia and ineffable longing, they must brave the dangers,
the rigors of outer space--blast trillions of miles past the solar
system on a metal steed that laughed at the limited speeds of light.
That roared and romped past universe after island universe. And always
the delicate Roxitometer clicked along--searching with tireless,
machine-like efficiency for traces of Roxite on the many worlds passed.
Roxite? That was the fuel that made these star-ships possible. The
substance whose elemental atoms could be split with tremendous fury to
release an inconceivable flood of power--controlled power--controlled
by the comparatively tiny Roxite engines which curbed these terrible
energies and directed them into the proper channels of usefulness.
Centuries ago men had searched for gold. Now gold was merely another
metal. Today, men searched for Roxite--a few ounces of which commanded
fabulous prices from the great interplanetary corporations on Earth.
And as gold had eluded the best efforts of most men in past years, so
Roxite eluded all but the luckiest prospectors today. There was plenty
of Roxite in the universe. But most of it was buried deep within the
cores of tremendous suns. Suns that had a surface temperature that
made the hottest things on Earth seem like a bitter arctic blast by
comparison.
The thing that counted on Earth these days was brains. Everyone had
ample opportunity to develop what brain power they had. The finest
schools and universities boasting the most advanced and elaborately
presented programs of education ever known were free to the multitudes.
But of what value was an ultra fine education when everyone else had
one, too? It still settled back to basic ingenuity and natural inborn
intelligence when it came to the man who got ahead and the man who
stayed behind.
Five hundred years ago, possessing his present knowledge he might have
been one of the world's greatest men. Today he was just one of millions
of others, all of whom could do the same things he could--and some of
them could do better.
What an incomparable paradox he presented. Physically he was more than
a match for ninety-nine per cent of all Earth men. His great height
and weight, his brutal strength--those thick hairy arms of his could
crush the average man in a few minutes. Gigantic muscles didn't count
any more. Of what use sixteen inch biceps when the frailest child could
operate the buttons necessary to perform most of the menial duties of
life?
Men like him were pushed by invisible, relentless pressures into the
only thing open for them. To operate one of these tiny star-ships and
comb the universe for more Roxite--to keep the interplanetary liners
blasting.
Roxite. He had found some. Enough to keep his ship operating as it
plunged past millions of starry universes. But not enough to bring back
to Earth and collect any sizeable sum.
But he couldn't stand this life any longer. The inexpressible
loneliness of space. Inconceivable light years from the world that bore
him. Six years alone in such vastness was too much for any man.
Six years of heartrending disappointments as he searched tirelessly for
the precious Roxite--and found only a little.
But this was the end. He was going to make a last desperate attempt to
find his way back. Back to a cold, hostile, unfriendly civilization
that might, out of charity, provide some lowly position for him--let
him work enough to stay alive.
Still, that was better than this. At least he could look up into the
blue ceiling of the sky. Tread over green carpeted fields. Eat real,
substantial, solid food and see other people.
Yes, of a poor choice that alternative was the best.
But here he was bitter again. Deluging himself with waves of self-pity.
The fault was not entirely with Earth and the way of life on Earth. He
was equally to blame. He was a throw-back. A throw-back to the days
when men pushed back new frontiers, blazed new trails for civilization
to follow. When brawn had been the equal, if not the superior of
brains. But this was a new world. It was built for the many, not
the few. Simply because there was a few thousand of misfits among a
population of millions was no creditable reason for revamping an entire
way of life to the satisfaction of a minor group of disgruntled men.
No, progress was relentless, inevitable. The old must bow before the
new, and the world must fight on toward its distant dream of tomorrow.
Funny how a man could become so completely lost. But he had plenty of
time to look for the right avenue back to his world. Plenty of time,
patience, fuel and food. And he would find it--though it take him the
rest of his life.
So Michel Drawers roared away from a tiny, lonely little rock in
a strange distant universe, and, with his seemingly inexhaustible
patience explored the sky ways for the section of the milky way in
which his solar system might be located.
And as the months passed his homesickness grew and grew and reached
unbearable proportions. A subconscious chant repeated itself and
reiterated in pounding rhythms within his brain. He must find a way
back, a way back, a way back, a way back, a way back. God! he couldn't
stand this any longer. Where was the way back? Merciful heavens, how
much more of this torture could he endure without going mad? And the
distant pin-points of light mocked him with cold ferocity. Gloated with
aloof disdain. Laughed at his fruitless efforts to escape their mighty
trap.
But the soul of the frontiersman, the conqueror, burnt on. Michel
Drawers did not go mad. He simply went on and on and on. Searching,
seeking the way back.
Then, when it seemed that interminable eons had fled past he was
awakened from a sleeping period by the piercing, raucous scream of
the Roxitometer, pleading to him to arise and investigate its latest
discoveries before they flashed past and it was too late.
In a mad lunge he pulled the space bar all the way back. The forward
tubes blasted violently--the ship drew to a theoretical stop. Poised
motionless amidst the splendor of a trillion stars.
Working frantically Michel Drawers made the proper connections. He
might find a valuable deposit of Roxite yet. Perhaps there would be
something to take back to Earth after all. Perhaps all was not yet
hopeless. He might still be rich when he got back--if he got back.
The powerful little rockets streamed blazing glory again and the little
silvery projectile was drawn by the magic of the Roxitometer, down the
path of Roxite radiations to some still unknown world from where it
emanated.
And gradually Drawers began to realize that they were heading for a
beautiful little globe more than sixty million miles from a medium
sized sun. And he prepared to enter the atmosphere of this world--and
let the powers of the Roxitometer lead him to the location of the
Roxite deposit. He muttered a silent prayer that it might not be
located too deeply in the bowels of the planet.
Now he was holding tight as the "Star-Struck" streamed through the
atmosphere of the planet. The landscape began to lay itself out before
him. He could make out soft blue forests of alien vegetation--golden
streams of unknown liquids. At two thousand feet he halted the ship's
descent. Momentarily he allowed it to float above the terrain of this
strange world. Drinking in its wonders with curious eyes.
He had been drawn to many worlds before by the insistent clangings of
the Roxitometer--but never had he witnessed a world of such unutterable
beauty and color. Barely a discordant note in the entire scheme of
things. Even the winds blew softly, gently, against the hull of his
ship. Prompted by an unfathomable urge he tested the atmosphere
of the planet. Oxygen and Nitrogen proved present in appreciable
quantities--but there was also another--and unknown gas of undetermined
qualities.
He wondered if it were breathable. It had been so long, so very long
since he had known anything other than the metallic smell of synthetic
air. With gladness he would trade half of his possessions for a few
great lungfulls of pure, fresh, untainted air.
Then it was that Michel Drawers performed a suicidical act. He opened
the inner and outer locks of his ship simultaneously and allowed the
atmosphere of this unfamiliar world to pour in and mingle with that
of the ship. He breathed in deeply, heavily. Lungful after lungful.
Nothing happened. The new air had a certain, pleasant perfumed
quality--perhaps a characteristic of the new gas. If it were fatally
poisonous, at least it was not immediately so.
Forgotten were thoughts of Roxite and riches. Forgotten was his
heartbreaking longing for Earth. Only one instinct possessed him. A
desire to set foot upon real soil again. To tread agilely forward--to
breath in natural air--to view natural, though alien sights. To see
streams of liquids bubble past.
He settled the "Star-Struck" with unprecedented clumsiness down
upon the surface of the world--saved from a bad shock by the light
gravitational pull of the planet.
Then, with the demeanor of a school-boy released for summer vacation,
his huge frame trod lightly from the ship, and he ambled grotesquely
amidst an almost fragile world.
With ecstatic delight he plucked brilliant, sweet smelling blossoms;
plunged his face recklessly into the golden liquid that tumbled in
miniature falls down a short sloping hill; marveled at the coolness,
the exhilaration of it--and in the midst of this madness the idea
struck him that this gleaming liquid was the aqua pura of this world.
It took the place of water, in fact it seemed to have every attribute
of water except for its golden color, and the few drops that had
trickled between his lips left a pure, clean, sweet taste that could be
described only by comparing it to the palate of a man, three days on
the desert without a drink, suddenly being presented with a tall, cool
glass of water.
It was becoming more and more noticeable that the color motive of this
world was not so much green as it was golden.
And he wandered on. Far, far from the ship he strayed. As if possessed
by a strange, uncontrollable mania he laughed and cried by turns.
Sometimes he ran, sometimes he walked. Often he leaped incredible
distances into the air--floating softly down--his two hundred and
fifteen pound bulk landing with only the slightest jar.
And as suddenly as this crazy thing had come upon him it passed. He
stood stock sober; the awful realization of the inconceivable risks he
had run swelling his brain like a painful hangover.
That he was alive and apparently in good health was a miracle. The
worlds where a native of Earth might cavort with reckless abandon and
utter disregard for existing conditions were few and far between.
Swift doom often descended upon those who made light of other worldly
conditions.
Now he saw in every brilliant blossom a lurking death of hideous
proportions. He examined their expansive golden-yellow blossoms with
critical care. Many of the plants were predominantly blue. Blue and
gold. Here flowers with tall, slender, graceful stalks moved gracefully
to and fro in the soft breeze. There, gigantic blue plants towered far
above his head, with stalks the thickness of trunks and blossoms the
circumference of a water-wheel but, throughout, the idea of fragility
persisted. And with it a gnawing doubt as to their innocent nature.
It seemed more and more that the strange gas that permeated the air
had its source here in those blossoms which grew in such abundance,
with groves the thickness of forests, and a multiplicity that replaced
trees, on this world at least.
He stumbled on, his hand wiping again and again at his face as if to
scrape away a golden liquid which was no longer there.
He even breathed with fearful deliberateness--wracking his brain for
all he knew and had heard of the effects and varieties of fatal gases.
But the luck of the gods was with him. No untoward symptoms appeared
and as he made his way back to the ship his fears began to dissipate
one by one and a new sense of reasonableness replace them.
Into the clearing he trod--and then recoiled with amazement. Before him
stood a human figure! A small man, perfectly, beautifully proportioned,
radiating a golden aureole and crowned by curly, yellow locks of hair.
He seemed fragile, incredibly delicate, yet he bore himself with
buoyant ease, a result of the lighter gravitational pull of the planet,
and in his eyes sparkled whirling motes of color that lent to him an
air of unimpeachable intelligence.
Michel Drawers advanced slowly toward the man. His towering bulk
looming massively with strikingly primitive and brutal aspect in
comparison to the statuesque lines and angelic beauty of this native
son.
"Who? Who are you?" Michel Drawers questioned, his loud, rough voice
almost artificial in an obvious attempt at impossible gentleness.
The aura of golden light seemed to thicken about the form of the little
man.
Softly, Drawers thought he heard:
"I, strange one, am Persum, dweller in the city of Saeve. In all my
years I have never known a man like you. From whence do you come?"
Drawers was rigid, surprise-struck. He had heard or thought he heard
words as clear, as plain as words could be--_yet he had seen no lips
move_, knew that no sound, other than his own voice had pierced the air.
"Telepathy," he uttered in awe. "Mental telepathy."
"Telepathy? Telepathy?" an unspoken voice returned. "We have no such
word in our language. What is its meaning?"
"To communicate without sound--by thought."
A look of comprehension dawned upon the golden man's features.
"Ah, yes. Here, in my city, all men speak by thought--that is the
purpose of this radiance which surrounds me--to help pick up and to
transmit thoughts. Apparently your race is not so gifted. I wondered
why you writhed your lips peculiarly when you questioned me! Your brain
must be a very powerful one indeed to transmit thoughts without any
natural aid."
Drawers laughed inwardly at the unexpected compliment. Men had often
told him that he possessed a marvelous physique, but no one had ever
attempted to hint that his brain was other than passably mediocre,
even poor. And here, the most intelligent little man he had ever
met--not over five feet tall--a man with the power to transmit thoughts
telepathically--an achievement that practically no earthman could
boast, had told him that he was unusually gifted in a mental sort of a
way. It was funny, ironic.
Suddenly Drawers became almost timid in the presence of this superb
little creature. There was almost a god-like quality about him. An
innate goodness, kindness, that could be taken for granted.
"Would you care to partake of our hospitality?" came an inviting
thought.
The invitation brought a gasp of amazement to Michel Drawers' lips, and
also a trace of suspicion.
This little man before him, who, common sense said must be feeling
uneasy, to put it mildly, in the presence of a stranger of hitherto
unknown size and undetermined strength--someone who was as different in
make-up and physique from his as night is from day--still had been able
to suppress his fears sufficiently to extend a cordial invitation.
"Oh--I can stay on the ship," Drawers replied, his mind sparring for
additional time to clear its confusion.
"My people would be very interested in meeting you," the golden man
replied.
Still, Drawers hung back with obvious reluctance. This man was small,
but it wasn't size that counted, as experience had taught him--it was
brains--and this alien had those in super abundance. How was he to
know the creature's motives? Perhaps they might overcome him with some
strange ray, and use him for some diabolical experiment.
Even as the thoughts surged through his mind, a trace of a smile seemed
to flicker across the golden man's features.
As if he had read his thoughts the golden man challenged.
"Certainly you are not afraid to accompany me? I should be the one to
fear, not you. One of those great arms that hang at your side could
overpower me in an instant. You have nothing to fear."
Mental argument was an achievement Michel Drawers had never been
particularly adept in. He found his fears being chided, and his own
subconscious mind seemed to tell him there was no danger, still--
Michel stepped slowly forward to accompany the golden man, his hands
tapping his hips for the butts of his low-voltage guns and finding only
the empty holsters. _He had left them in the ship!_
Without further thought the golden man turned and strode gracefully
from the clearing. Michel Drawers lumbered self-consciously along
behind, tripping occasionally over vine-like foliage--and with the
light of curiosity growing ever brighter within him.
Through thick growths of blue plants they trailed. Across chuckling
stream's of bubbling, brilliant liquids; through fields thick with
yellow blossoms, and overhead a golden sun hung resplendent in the sky
as if to match the make-up of the planet.
Drawers' attention was suddenly distracted by one of the most unusual
plants he had yet seen. This one was golden as were the others but had
long, regular veins of blue running like a well formed design up the
outside of the blossom. Instinctively he sniffed at it. As he did so he
felt his new found companion plucking at his sleeve. He paid no notice,
preferring to again smell the beautiful blossom. The fragrance affected
him like a heady, aromatic perfume. Entirely different from any scent
he had ever known before.
Persum finally distracted his attention by mental urging.
"Come away, that plant is deadly. I cannot understand why you have not
been already overcome."
Drawers turned back to Persum in curiosity. "This plant deadly? Why it
has a delightful fragrance. The most pleasing I've ever smelled."
It was obvious that Persum was disconcerted.
"I do not understand it. A small whiff of the odor exuded by that plant
is enough to render any of my race unconscious. A few minutes under its
influence often brings death. You are the first man I have ever known
who has been able to inhale its gases without succumbing. This is most
curious. I must inform others of my race."
They walked on, Persum shaking his head in bewilderment.
Drawers began to realize that this plant, although affecting him only
to the extent that a pleasant perfume affects an individual, could be
deadly to the golden people. From Persum's description of its effects
it acted almost like an anesthetic--a few breaths induced temporary
unconsciousness, but if released to its influence for more then a few
minutes it resulted in death.
Abruptly a lovely city of golden towers and soaring minarets
appeared resplendently before them--a city of incarnate beauty and
craftsmanship--a city that might have been designed by a master
draftsman--with an eye to blending harmoniously to the surrounding
color scheme.
Drawers stopped for a moment to take in the wonder of it.
"You like it?" Persum queried.
"It's great!" Drawers rumbled enthusiastically.
"We take delight in the development of our cities," Persum continued.
"There are seven cities, all constructed along the lines of this one.
These seven cities contain the total populations of our people; about
one hundred thousand people to a city. They are built with great care.
The smaller buildings form the general limits of the city, and then
we construct the buildings taller toward the center of the city. They
are all unlike in structure for we try to give each and every one
a distinct artistic touch. We do not believe in building row after
monotonous row of dwellings that are of value for efficiency alone.
The human pride and joy in beauty amply compensates us for any loss in
efficiency."
Drawers did not reply. He was gazing in astonishment at the long curved
walks that stretched between the taller buildings. Some of them must
have been two hundred feet from the ground, with no noticeable railing
for safety, and they were hardly more than three feet in width. Dozens
of the golden people at this very moment could be seen moving leisurely
across these shaky bridges, seeming to take no notice of the great
chasm that yawned beneath. Even as Drawers watched, one of the golden
people lost his balance, weaved erratically about for a moment, then
started to fall.
Drawers closed his eyes to shut out the horror of the scene. Then he
slowly opened them and gaped with astonishment to see a little golden
man floating casually down to the ground, and alighting with scarcely a
jar. Then he understood! The gravitational pull of this world was not
very exacting. Few falls could be fatal here. The golden people had
little to fear on that score.
Then a gigantic wall of auspicious strength and thickness bordering the
city caught Drawers' eye. It seemed to inject a discordant note.
Questioningly Drawers turned to the golden man and asked. "What is the
reason for that enormous wall?"
A sad, haunted look entered the expressive eyes of the little man. For
a moment he did not answer, then replied.
"Perhaps, in your land you have no Griffs."
"Griffs? What are Griffs?"
As they walked the little man explained.
"Long ago, there were no violent forms of life on this planet. There
were no cities with thick walls about them, and the people of our
race lived luxuriously, cradled in the gentle arms of nature. Our
home was wherever we happened to be at the time. Art and knowledge
flourished and our people were content. Then, one day, an earthquake
of violent proportions rocked the land. Great rifts were torn in the
ground. And from subterranean caverns, of which we had no knowledge,
emerged terrible monsters who lived on flesh and preyed upon my people
unceasingly.
"We have never had strife of any kind on this world. Weapons have
always been unknown. There was no way we knew to fight back. In
desperation we built great walls around the cities to keep these great
monsters away. Only when the sun is at its height do we dare emerge and
gather food or wander through the forests we love so much. Sun hurts
the Griffs' eyes and they prefer to do their hunting at night or on
cloudy days.
"Gradually the Griffs have been dying out for lack of food. They are
carnivorous and have systematically eliminated most of the lower animal
life from our world. My race, except for occasional mishaps have been
virtually beyond their reach. There are only a few of them left now,
but they prowl perpetually about the walls of the city searching for an
opportunity to enter and wreak havoc, or to catch some one of my race
as they pass a particularly gloomy spot in the forest."
Michel Drawers thought over what the little man had said. He thought
too of the sub-atomic blast used for blasting aside obstacles in
search of Roxite. It would not be the first time it had been used as a
weapon--a most terrible weapon of destruction.
However, for the moment he deemed it best not to mention this to
Persum, as the little man so quaintly named himself. Perhaps these
Griffs were not so easily destroyed. And then again to destroy them
might be a fatal error. He remembered how in ages past men had wantonly
destroyed the once-numerous mountain lions in reckless numbers, and
then had the wild deer, which had been the mountain lion's natural
prey, multiply so that they left no grass for the cattle who should
have benefited through the death of the mountain lions.
Then, too there was the problem of Australia, where an apparently
innocuous rodent, the rabbit, had multiplied into a national menace,
once there was no natural enemy to check them. He must learn more.
They stopped before a great golden gate. Persum lifted a small reed
to his lips and blew. From it there issued a long, sweet, piercing
whistle. Slowly the gates rolled smoothly open, fitting right into the
thick walls beside them.
Without hesitation Persum walked through the opening. Michel Drawers
held back for a moment, blinded by a chance ray of sun-light that
bounced off the gleaming sides of one of the buildings.
Then, he too entered, and the gates, as if by their own volition,
closed behind him.
He was in another world now. Gone was all harshness and crudity.
Here there was only beauty and color and gold. Buildings in peerless
symmetry dug their way through the low hanging clouds to unknown
heights. Spell-binding displays of coruscating lights played in rhythms
through curious designs of crystals. Later Drawers learned that this
corresponded to music--by sight instead of ear.
Self-consciously he ambled along the spotless streets behind
Persum--streets which seemed to be paved with pure gold. He tried not
to notice the open stares given him by the city's inhabitants. He
realized that they did not mean to be impolite. It was simply that a
man of his bulk was unique in this civilization.
More and more as they proceeded he began to take cognizance of the
complete absence of transportation of any sort. Everyone here walked.
Of course, the slighter gravitational pull made walking considerably
less strenuous, but still, that didn't account for the various groups
of golden men he had passed, laboriously pulling great blocks of stone
by man-power alone--when a small wheeled vehicle, or even one beast of
burden would have lightened the load immeasurably.
He stopped in utter perplexity though, when he saw a group of golden
men attempting to lift an enormous stone block into place by the sheer
strength of their bodies. They seemed totally ignorant of the enormous
saving in strength and labor that might have been enacted by the
building of a simple pulley arrangement.
It was becoming increasingly evident that this race's knowledge of even
the most fundamental laws of mechanics was practically nil.
But as if in compensation, he noted too, that these people seemed to
get along with each other without the slightest friction. Nothing
seemed sufficient to arouse anger. He wondered if they were incapable
of the emotion.
The people moved about the streets tending entirely to their own
business. There were no doors to any of the dwellings--simply arched
openings. Numerous valuable objects such as painstakingly carved
chairs, and richly sculptured busts, were present in front of many of
the homes. Yet they remained untouched.
Nowhere, so far, had he seen even one person who might have passed as
a peace officer. The golden people seemed to need no enforcement to
maintain the effective carrying out of whatever laws they were governed
by. Each and every one of them seemed to take it for granted that
he must do what was required as a duty to himself as well as to the
community and that's all there was to it.
Persum had stopped in front of a grand edifice of such beauty and
brilliance that it faded into insignificance the surrounding buildings,
fine as they were.
He followed Persum into the building. Through upward sloping halls that
wound around and around up into the vitals of the building and served
in lieu of stairways, and into a glistening hall of gold and crystal.
The hall was partially filled with others of the golden people.
Drawers watched in bewilderment as Persum approached the group of
little people--apparently officials of the city--and without opening
his lips informed them of all that had transpired.
And now others of Persum's strange race came forward to greet him.
Drawers marveled at the perfection of these golden people. At the
unsurpassed, delicate beauty and construction of their forms; the
charm and adorableness of their women. Here indeed was a tiny race of
perfection, soul-satisfying to the extreme.
One of the welcoming party bowed low before him.
"We are pleased to have this opportunity to show you our hospitality,"
the man said. "My name is Garanjor, humble Raciv of my people."
Drawers gulped impulsively. The highest official of the land was
out to greet him. Him, a nobody from Earth who had landed here by
accident, in search of Roxite. Perhaps this was some form of a joke? He
scrutinized the faces about him. All were serious to the extreme. An
air of serenity seemed to pervade. Drawers drew from his brain all he
remembered of the proper etiquette for such occasions. Six years in a
space-ship--it was easy to forget.
"I am honored," was all he could think of.
Nervously he juggled a small meter, for the determining of the purity
of Roxite, in his hands.
One of the golden people took note of the instrument, and turned to
the others with an unmistakable air of excitement. In an instant the
entire assembly was crowded about him examining the meter with feverish
interest.