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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Astounding Stories September 1932.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.
[Illustration: _A blinding beam sheared through Peabody's
middle_.]
Slaves of Mercury
_A Complete Novelette_
By Nat Schachner
* * * * *
CHAPTER I
_The Space Wanderer Returns_
[Sidenote: Hilary returns to find alien diskoids in Earth's
stratosphere, and out-world lords patrolling her cities.]
Hilary Grendon piloted his battered, time-worn space flier, the
_Vagabond_, to the smiling Earth that rose rapidly to greet it. Only
the instinctive ease of long practise prevented a smash-up, his hands
trembled so at the controls.
Home again--the old familiar Earth! He could scarcely believe it!
Perhaps it was only a dream, and he'd wake up among the unhuman
glittering cylinders of Saturn, shuddering and crawling with the
iciness of their fixed regard.
Hilary's eyes blurred with unaccustomed mistiness as he drank in the
warm sunlight, the soft green of the grass and the gracious lines of
the slender birches as they fluttered their leaves daintily in the
unhurrying breeze. How different it all was from the harsh red
angularities of Mars!
He was outside, breathing deeply, inhaling the perfumed air with
delight. This was the only heaven; beyond--that far-flung immensity of
planetary orbs--was hell! He, Hilary Grendon, the carefree, smiling
skeptic of old, was a Fundamentalist now.
How long was it since they had started out on the first flight that
man had taken into outer space--he and those stanch comrades? Five
years? God! Had it been so long? Yet here he was, back on Earth
again, the kindly, blessed Earth their eyes had clung to when they
were fighting desperately for their lives against the protoplasmic
things that inhabited Ganymede.
Hilary brushed a tear away as he thought of those brave, loyal
friends. Dick lay as he fell on Saturn, transfixed by an icicle dart;
Martin had been engulfed in an unholy maw on Ganymede; Dorn was a
frozen idol to the spiral beings of Pluto; and poor Hurley, his fate
was the worst of all: his hideously bloated body was swinging in an
orbit around Mars, a satellite through all eternity.
He, Hilary Grendon, was the sole survivor of that tremendous Odyssey!
Hilary shook his head vigorously to clear away the flood of
recollections. Enough that he had returned. Then a sudden eagerness
surged through him, a joyous intensity of emotion. What a story he had
to relate--how the Earth people would hang with bated breath upon his
adventurings! And Joan--his heart gave a queer leap at the thought of
that slender ardent wisp of a girl with her shining head and steady
gray eyes. She had promised to wait for him, forever, if need be. She
had said it simply, without heroics; yet Hilary knew then that she
would keep her promise.
A rush of impatience succeeded the inaction of his memories. He must
get to New York at once. He could not wait any longer. Joan
first--then Amos Peabody, the venerable President of the United
States--to report his return. He smiled at the stupefaction that would
greet him. No doubt he had long been given up for dead. The world had
been skeptical of the space ship he had invented; had, except for a
faithful few, mocked at his plans. Indignantly he had taken his
calculations, his blue prints of the spheroid, along with him. If the
flight was a success, well and good; if not, they would not be worth
much anyway.
In spite of his fever to be off, he carefully locked the controls,
sealed the outer air-lock. Hilary Grendon was a methodical man: that
was the reason he had survived.
Then he struck across country, walking very fast. He knew where he
was: in the wilderness of the Ramapos, some forty miles from New York.
Sooner or later, he reasoned, he would strike one of the radiating
conveyors that led into the metropolis, or a human being that would
set him on the right track.
* * * * *
A half hour's sturdy tramping brought him out of the tangled hills
into civilization. There was a glitter of metal and vita-crystal
dwellings that stood four-square to the sun and the winds. A broad
ribbon-conveyor hurled its shining length in ceaseless rush down the
narrow valley. Human beings--normal homely Earth men with the ordinary
number of legs and arms, with honest-to-God faces and warm living
flesh, were seated on the conveyor-benches as they flashed by. Hilary
could have wept with delight. It was two years since he had seen his
own kind; two years since Hurley's tragic misstep through the breach
in the air-lock made by a meteor as they were nearing Mars.
Hilary leaped on the slow-moving ramp, skilfully worked his way across
the graded speed belts until he was on the express conveyor that led
straight on to New York.
He sank into a cushioned seat next to an oldish man with iron-gray
hair through which the speed of their flight whipped and pulled.
Hilary was bursting for real human conversation again; he grinned to
himself at the excited astonishment of this impassive stranger if he
should announce himself. How should he do it? Should he remark
casually without any preamble: "Pardon me for addressing you, sir, but
I'm Hilary Grendon, you know." Just like that, and lean back for the
inevitable gasp: "What, not _the_ Hilary Grendon!" And he would nod
offhandedly as though he had just taken a little trip to Frisco and
back.
He stole a sidelong glance at the sternly-etched profile. The man was
staring straight in front of him, looking neither to the left nor to
the right. It did not seem as if he were aware of Hilary's existence.
So with a sigh Hilary decided against that method of approach as a
trifle too abrupt.
"Nice day to-day, isn't it?" The sound of his own voice startled him.
English was an alien language to his unaccustomed tongue after the
hissing syllables of the Martians.
With pathetic eagerness he awaited the inevitable answer to this
commonplace introduction; that he might once more hear normal Earth
tones in friendly converse, see the smile of greeting on a real Earth
face.
But there came no answer. The man continued staring straight ahead,
immobile, fixed. There was no slightest turn to the etched profile. It
was as if he had not heard.
* * * * *
Hilary felt a sudden surge of anger. Damn discourteous, this first
Earthman he had met. What had happened to the old hospitality? Had it
passed out while he was roaming the spaces? He leaned over, harsh
words tumbling for exit, when suddenly he checked himself. There was
something strange about that fierce blank stare. The man's face, too,
he saw now, was lined and worn; suffering had left its multitudinous
imprint upon an ordinarily rotund countenance.
Hilary shouted suddenly: "Good morning." The man did not answer, nor
did he stir from his unvarying pose. Deaf! The returned Earthman
suffered swift pity. With gentle forefinger he prodded the man.
The reaction was astounding. The man cowered like a pricked balloon;
little strangling moans forced themselves out of clenched teeth. Dumb,
too! His face jerked around to the direction of Hilary's gentle
prodding. Merciful heavens, the man was blind also! Two vacant
red-rimmed sockets stared pitifully at him--the eyeballs were gone,
ripped out.
But what struck Hilary particularly was the mortal terror that was
depicted on the blind man's face. It was as though he expected some
cruel, crippling blow to follow; as though it were the last straw on
the back of unmentionable former agonies. Hilary shuddered. It was not
good to witness such animal fear. A dark shadow blotted out the
brightness of the Earth-day for him. There was something wrong here,
something that required a good deal of explanation.
* * * * *
His probing eyes went thoughtfully over the poor cowering wretch.
Those careworn features were familiar, somehow. Where had he seen the
man before? Suddenly he stiffened, choking an exclamation. The man was
bound immovably to his seat. Thin metal links, almost invisible,
encircled his feet; held the elbows taut against the fluted columns of
the seat-back.
Hilary's space-tanned features hardened; the light gray of his eyes
darkened. All the pleasure of his homecoming vanished. The kindly
Earth seemed suddenly grown inimical. What had happened in the five
long years of his absence? This would have been impossible on the
Earth he had known; a man, manifestly the victim of hideous tortures,
bound like a wild animal to the seat of a public conveyor.
He went swiftly into action. From the depths of a capacious pocket he
fished a sheathed blade of stellite, triply keen; its razor-sharp edge
sawed smoothly at the bonds.
In his mounting anger Hilary had paid no attention to the scattering
of people occupying the cushioned chairs of the speeding conveyor. But
a smothered nearby gasp caused his head to jerk up. He met the
incredulous stare of a paunchy, heavy-jowled man seated some chairs
away. There was more than incredulity, there was furtive fear in the
small beady eyes sunken in folds of fat.
Hilary gave way to unreasoning anger.
"Stop looking like a stuck pig," he called sharply. "Give me a hand
with this poor fellow."
The response was surprising. The man got up from his chair
precipitately, stark panic written all over him. The sweat oozed from
his shiny forehead as he backed cautiously away. He tripped over the
edge of the seat behind, and fell. Once more he scrambled to his feet,
and as if the fall had released his trembling muscles, he turned and
ran, stumbling and dodging across the local conveyors, never once
looking back.
* * * * *
Hilary watched his mad flight wonderingly. "Good Lord," he thought,
"does my face frighten people so? Maybe I've turned into a Martian."
He turned to appeal to the others on the conveyor, and received
another shock. The few men within earshot were already on their feet
and moving away from there with unostentatious celerity. Hilary
surveyed their receding backs thoughtfully. What was there about
himself to frighten grown men out of their wits? Or was it the poor
tortured wretch he was trying to release who was responsible for the
exodus?
Already the express was almost clear. He saw the deserters throwing
themselves guiltily into seats on the local belts, and then he was
carried swiftly past. Only one man remained stubbornly in his seat,
some fifteen rows back. He was a huge mountain of a man, a giant upon
Earth, and there was a strangeness in his wide stare.
Hilary frowned, then shook his head, and dropped down to his task
again. The blind man moaned and jerked as he felt the bite of stellite
upon his fetters. Hilary made soothing sounds, forgetful that he could
not hear, and worked steadily. There was a little clinking noise and
the links that bound the arms fell apart. He attacked the leg shackles
next.
There was a tap on Hilary's shoulder, light, electric, yet strangely
heavy in its implications. Hilary turned his head sharply, saw the
landscape blotted out by a huge overshadowing bulk. Five years in a
hostile universe had made him cautious. He pivoted on his heels and
rose in a single flowing motion, stellite blade ready for instant
action.