Earth owed the Wronged Ones a world, and
Gene Drummond alone could repay that debt.
Only he knew that payment would save two
races from extinction--and he was a helpless
prisoner of the ones he wanted to aid.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1945.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Gene Drummond felt a tingle of anticipation course through his being
as he stepped through the open airlock of his small scout ship and
for the first time in more than a year felt the soft soil of Mother
Earth under his booted feet. He stood for a moment, hungrily drinking
in the noise and clamor of New York Spaceport. Around and about him
the shouts and curses of bustling, grease-soaked mechanics and husky
stevedores acted as a balm to his taut nerves. To return to this, after
fourteen grueling months of biological research on Venus, was little
short of heaven itself. The fact that he had been forced, because of
the fatally-poisoned atmosphere of the young world, to conduct his
investigation in brief sallies from the stuffy confines of his ship
served only to heighten this ecstatic conception of his return. The
profoundness of the moment passing, he breathed deeply of the warm,
sweet air and turned to face the fat little mechanic hurrying across
the field.
Puffing noisily for breath, the man skidded to a halt and bent a toothy
grin upon the wiry biologist-explorer. "Bin gone a spell, ain'tcha, Mr.
Drummond?" the fellow wheezed good-naturedly. "Have a nice trip?"
Gene winced at the mechanic's naïvete, then smiled in spite of himself.
"You might call it that," he said thoughtfully. "But _I_ wouldn't!
Venus isn't exactly paradise, Fatboy; take it from me, I know. All the
moons of Saturn couldn't persuade me to go through another year of
privation on that forsaken hunk of cosmic dust. It's a beautiful world,
yes, but one whiff of its poison air and you pretty damn quick lose
interest in landscapes and natural wonders."
"Just the same, I sure wouldn't miss a chance to take it in," Fatboy
opined dreamily. "'Tain't every guy that gets to plant his feet on a
restricted planet. You're pretty dang lucky, if you ask me."
Gene shrugged wearily. "Maybe so. Every man is entitled to his own
opinion, they tell me. Personally, I'll stick by the motto, 'See Terra
Firma first.'"
Gene's tall form suddenly went slack and his eyelids drooped heavily.
"Look, Fatboy, I'm practically asleep on my feet. My next stop is home,
where I won't lose any time in renewing an acquaintance with a real
bed. Take care of the buggy, will you? Give it a complete overhauling
and when you're done with that, put her in storage and forget about
her. Yours truly is taking a long vacation from strange worlds and
stuffy rocket cabins."
Fatboy nodded absently and turned to enter the ship. Snapping his
fingers, as if suddenly remembering something, he wheeled about and
called after Gene, who was striding off across the field: "Hey, Mr.
Drummond! Wait up a minute and lemme tell you what's happened here
while you was gone. It'll make your hair stand straight up and do a
jig!"
"Sorry, Fatboy," Gene shouted back. "I'll shoot the bull with you some
other time. Right now I have important business with the Sandman!"
The tired explorer hurried off before Fatboy could collar him and
regale him with the latest thriller of the multitude of endless,
blood-curdling yarns that constantly made the rounds of a spaceport. He
needed sleep, and that was what he meant to get.
Pausing briefly at a mail-tube, he sent the thick envelope containing a
complete report of his findings on Venus speeding on its way to Science
Center, whereat the document would be given a thorough and analytical
reading by the greatest minds of the system. That account would shatter
the hopes of many, even his own, but it was Gene's duty to report
conditions as they were, not as he wanted them to be. His job was done;
Venus was the Center's baby now.
Rather than wait for a tube-train, he decided to walk the distance to
his apartment, which was but two or three blocks from the spaceport. As
he plodded tiredly along, strange happenings gradually made themselves
known to his dulled senses. Although he was about to drop, Gene stopped
to watch with a tense interest the impromptu ball game taking place on
the walk before him.
A pint-sized batter stepped up to the plate and prepared to knock
himself a home-run. The gamins ranged in the outfield hooted and
leered, trying to shake the nerve of the midget Babe Ruth, but the boy
stood his ground. Gesturing threateningly with the light metal bat, he
spat contemptuously at a fat cockroach scurrying frantically from the
field of action and grimly faced his hecklers. "Play ball!" he bawled.
The pitcher took him at his word, and after executing the tedious rite
of winding up, whipped the ball across the plate at no mean speed. The
boy in the batter's box brought his club down fast to connect solidly
with the sphere in as pretty a swing as Gene ever hoped to witness,
among sandlotters at least.
Gene expected to see the ball go whizzing off down the street, but the
next instant his expectations were abruptly dashed, in a manner that
left the biologist wide-eyed and stunned.
The flashing metal bat met the hard-thrown ball in a resounding impact,
_and instantly exploded into a thousand tiny fragments_!
* * * * *
Gene watched incredulously as the gleaming particles rained to the
walk, preceded by a tattered ball that had lost almost all momentum. A
flying piece of metal ripped across the back of his hand, tearing away
an inch or so of skin, but he was oblivious to all but the scene before
him.
The boy at the plate snorted disgustedly and glared down at the remains
of his bat. "That's the fourth bat in six days," he said bitterly. "I'm
quittin' right now. That woulda been a homer, sure's there's rings
around Saturn, and then the bat has to go and fall apart on me. I got
cheated. Nope, I just ain't playin' anymore."
Gene watched the group of urchins disperse, then slowly moved away down
the street, his thoughts centered on the strange occurrence he had just
witnessed.
That bat--it had been made of a very durable metal, metal that wasn't
given to falling apart upon receiving a hard blow. What had caused it
to suddenly lose its stability and disintegrate into a heap of shards
and powder? Something had very definitely gone haywire here on Earth
during his absence. As Gene walked, he found further evidence to bear
out this conclusion.
A rather fat individual came waddling along the walk, making a grand
show of bearing his weight with dignity. His stately reserve turned
suddenly to consternation as the large metal buckle of his belt burst
violently into powder. The fellow gave an alarmed shout and fled
clumsily through the door of an office building, clutching frantically
at his trousers to keep them from completing his embarrassment.
Gene had now entirely forgotten his need for sleep. He had to know the
answer to this perplexing circumstance. One place would know, if the
answer had yet been found, and that was Science Center. He hurried
toward the nearest tube-train terminal, intent on having the mystery
made clear to his mind.
At the terminal he found a message waiting for him. It was from Elliott
Mason, World President, directing Gene to appear before the dignitary
at the earliest possible moment. Apparently the message had missed him
at the spaceport and had been relayed to the tube terminals along his
homeward route. That would indicate utmost urgency, so Gene lost no
time in boarding a train destined for Government Center.
He found the Presidential Mansion in a turmoil. Garrulous diplomats
were everywhere in evidence, and not a few scientists from Science
Center hastened through the halls, bent on mysterious missions.
Gene was immediately admitted to the presence of the president. Mason
sat behind his ornate desk, poring over a thick sheaf of papers. Worry
and anxiety creased his brow, but even so, he flashed a quick smile as
he looked up at the biologist-explorer.
"It's good to see you again, Drummond," Mason began. "Much has happened
here while you were on Venus. Perhaps you are not yet aware of it, but
a world calamity has befallen us, and as yet we have made no headway
whatsoever against it. But before I tell you of our plight, I would
like to know of your findings on Venus."
"I'm afraid it's hopeless, sir," Gene sighed. "As you know, we cannot
colonize Venus, since our respiratory systems could not long stand up
under its poisonous atmosphere.
"As for the native Venusians, they are already man's equal, physically,
having a rate of evolution considerably faster than ours. But mentally,
they are not much more than equal to a chicken. For some strange
reason, their mental development does not keep pace with that of their
bodies. Consequently, it will be many years, possibly centuries, before
the Venusians are capable of rational thought.
"Thus you can see there is no hope of interplanetary commerce with
them. By the time they reach a point of sufficient intelligence to
realize the desirability of trade between worlds, our depleted metal
resources will be gone, and man will likely be on his way down the
evolutionary scale. Science Center has my full report. If I have been
hazy on any point, they will give you the complete facts."
Mason sighed heavily and lowered his head a moment. "This new scourge
with which we have become afflicted also concerns metal," he spoke in
a low tone. "To give you the entire facts would require a long and
detailed explanation, for which there is not time.
"However, the gist of it is that all our metals, including raw ores,
are slowly losing their molecular coherence. Sections of every
continent have come under the influence of the deadly visitation.
Already two of New York's largest structures have collapsed when their
girder frameworks suddenly turned to powder. Many lives have been lost;
tube-train and all other modes of transportation have become extremely
risky.
"The condition, which first appeared a month or so ago, is slowly
spreading to finally encompass all Earth. Science Center has discovered
the phenomenon is not a natural one, but is rather an inexplicable ray
emanating from somewhere in space.
"Earth is in great danger, Drummond, and someone must volunteer to
eliminate that danger. Knowing our system as you do, I believe you are
the man best qualified to track down the ray to its source and destroy
it, if at all possible.
"Accordingly, I have had prepared a brochure, embodying all the facts
you will need. Science Center has devised a special tracer mechanism,
which when directed upon the ray, will clearly reveal its path through
the void, and which will be installed in your ship upon your acceptance
of the task. I--"
Gene held up a respectful hand. "I believe I have heard enough, sir.
You were going to say the decision is entirely mine and that refusal
would not be held against me. No need. I accept!"
Mason stood up and extended a warm hand. "Your courage will not go
unnoticed, boy. The thanks of all Earth will go with you into the void."