THE ELECTRONIC SIEGE
By John W. Campbell, Jr.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Wonder Stories April 1932.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Illustration: JOHN W. CAMPBELL, JR.]
_Mr. Campbell's humorous story, "The Derelicts of Ganymede," was a
huge success. He shows now that he can do more serious work, with
just as much skill and power as the humorous efforts. This story
has many unusual aspects: it has strange adventures on another
world, and a scientific theme that is audacious and yet convincing.
There is a mystery to be settled on an inhabited asteroid: strange
kidnapings and disappearances in space; a colony of scientific
experimenters who defy the rest of humanity._
_That is the background of this unusual story, which shows vividly
some of the queer tricks that nature might play to upset the best
laid plans of mice and men._
* * * * *
The dock-guard looked sourly down the long, bare customs landing. A
stream of famous scientists had been coming aboard the space liner
_Vega_ all afternoon. They were the greatest scientists of Earth
and Venus, taking passage on the chartered liner to Mars for the
Interplanetary Society for the Advancement of Science Meeting for
2374, held once each Earth year. Pale faces identified the Venusian
colonist-scientists, and the lightly tanned Earth scientists, but the
figure coming toward the guard now was obviously neither.
He was a short man, perhaps five feet seven, but he seemed shorter
because of the amazing girth he displayed. He must have weighed easily
two hundred and seventy-five pounds, his round body mounted on chunky,
blocky legs was topped by a neck so thick it was almost missing. He was
equipped with a pair of stubby arms on the general plan of the legs.
He waddled up on his blocky legs in a most amazing manner, puffing and
blowing as ludicrously as an old steam engine of four centuries ago.
But more amazing than his own person was the moving rainbow he
represented. Pale green, silken trousers, a deep red shirt, lavender
suspenders, and a deep green sash matching his shoes completed his
costume. No ancient oriental potentate, even Solomon in all his glory,
was not arrayed such as this.
"Must be color-blind to like that," grunted the guard. Then he stared.
Behind the man, following on a series of little self-propelled porter
trucks, faithfully following the lead-set in the fat man's hand, was a
pile of luggage as even this space liner guard seldom saw.
The weighty individual was grunting something to himself as he waddled
hastily along, a curious expression of indignation, worry and annoyance
intermingled on his puffy-cheeked face.
"Stupidity--rank stupidity of these public officials," he muttered.
"Stupidity and red-tape. Will they never realize that it is business
that supports them--yes and science too! Refusing Earth's greatest
business man passage!
"More officialdom! Pass?" he barked at the dock-guard. "Yes, I've got
a pass, and the very devil of a time I had getting it from that idiot,
Commander Morrison. Interplanetary Lane Patrol Commander he is--and
doesn't recognize the rights of business above science! Yes--Ezra
Markham is right. You ought to recognize me--my pictures appear over
the visonews frequently enough--and you're a passport guard!"
The grumbling multi-billionaire went toiling up the inclined gangway,
the luggage trucks trailing behind like so many pet dogs.
"Steward!" he roared as he stepped off the gangplank.
A steward appeared immediately, dressed in his neat white uniform. He
was soon followed by others, rushing to the scene of the emergency the
roar seemed to indicate.
"My suite!" demanded Markham, turning over the lead-set and his pass
to the handiest one. The startled steward accepted them dumbly, looked
down at them, then seemed to remember his duties.
"Yes sir--right this way."
"What--this tiny cubbyhole my room? My closet you mean! Here--show me
a suite. Taken? Who--scientists I suppose, scientists that never had
brains enough to make a nickel for themselves. Come along--Ah--this
will do. Who's in here? Edgar A. Freeman--he's on my engineering staff,
I believe. Well--move out his bags and put my cases in. I'm going to
the lounge."
The white-coated steward looked in blank surprise at the expansive back
of the retreating Mr. Ezra Markham, scratched his head in puzzlement,
and went to look up Dr. Edgar A. Freeman, inventor of half a dozen
devices which had made space navigation possible on a large scale.
Mr. Ezra Markham seated himself in the largest chair in the main lounge
(the only one that would comfortably contain his bulk) and began a very
expensive cigar, made of the finest imported Venusian tobacco.
He then spent the next half hour assuring distracted stewards that the
rigid "No Smoking" rules didn't apply to Mr. Ezra Markham in the least
degree, and in filling the carefully filtered air of the space ship
with a variety of noxious odors.
Presently they took off. The slim, graceful ship rose smoothly into the
atmosphere, angling slightly up, then driving forward as the gentle hum
of mighty Farrel Atomics poured their millions of horsepower into the
McKinley space-drive discs.
* * * * *
Markham looked at his jewel-studded wrist-watch and grumbled. They were
a few minutes late on the take-off. One of the stewards remarked (under
his breath) that that watch must have been made so thick that more
jewels might be crowded on.
Shortly after their take-off, a slim, powerfully built man in the white
and blue dress uniform of the Interplanetary Lane Patrol came over to
Mr. Markham and very definitely pointed out that "No Smoking" meant a
complete absence of smoking, whether it be smoke hallowed by the said
Mr. Markham, or the second apprentice oiler's assistant.
Mr. Markham put out the stub of his cigar. "I thought," said he
testily, "that you men had ships of your own to go in. Since when have
Lane Patrolmen been riding passenger liners?"
The Lane Patrolman, not unnaturally proud of the reputation of the
Service, replied a bit hotly. "This is a special occasion, as you
should know, Mr. Markham. Two years ago a group of scientists calling
themselves the Eugenics Research Colony set up an experimental colony
on some undiscovered planetoid and have been experimenting on human
genetics with captured subjects. Such fine men and women as are aboard
this liner would be an obvious prize capture for them, and we are
guarding it heavily."
"Humpf. And why has it been going on two years, may I ask?" retorted
the disgruntled plutocrat.
"Because there are more than five thousand known asteroids that might
house that colony, and because their ships have a weapon we have not
been able to duplicate--the protolectric gun," replied the officer,
turning smartly and walking away. Markham chuckled. The Lane Patrolman
had retired in poor order.
The E.R.C. was a sore spot on the Lane Patrol's otherwise spotless
record. Thanks to a mechanism capable of projecting twin beams of
highly dangerous electrons and protons from a "gun", their ships had
beaten off patrol cruisers time and again. Secret service men of the
Patrol had indeed been able to get into the "Colony"--only to become
unwilling subjects to this experiment with human lives. Picked men all,
these men of the service, and desirable material for the Research men.
Four men so far had been released after six months' imprisonment of the
most heartily detested nature to return with a tale of absolute failure.
Markham rose, and walked back to the aft-walk, a narrow corridor lined
on one side with the heavy armour plate of the inner hull, and on the
other by six-inch, metal-ribbed unbreakable glass. Here, where only
the dimmest lights glowed, the stars and planets shone with the cold,
unwinking glory of space, and the sun of space poured down its bluish
light in blinding glory.
Behind them now the greater and lesser globes of Earth and Moon were
circling in slow majesty, yet from this million mile distance they
seemed, and the whole solar system seemed, more as some marvelously
ingenious planetarium where unseen supports and unseen wheels drove
these visible models of worlds. It seemed impossible they could be
real, that Earth with its billions and Moon with its millions of
inhabitants were real worlds.
Silently the stocky man watched out into the night. Dimly his eyes
made out the dark, torpedo shape of another ship, a Lane Cruiser, some
fifty miles astern, and another off to the side. Fifty-man cruisers
each one, equipped with the latest devices of offense and defense--but
would they be able to drive off the E.R.C. ships?
The dim figure started as he observed the slow blotting out of stars in
the Milky Way. Another ship!
Simultaneously there came the soft hum of an alarm signal from
within the ship. A moment later the swift tramp of steps, and then a
start--a surge of power, and the acceleration that had been held at a
comfortable 32 feet per second, Earth normal, was drawn swiftly up to
three normal, the highest acceleration a passenger ship could safely
stand.
The stocky man, now under a weight of fully eight hundred and
twenty-five pounds, should by all rights have lain down at once.
Instead his frame seemed to stiffen, the outlines of his body subtly
changed, and he glanced along the deserted companion-way hurriedly
assuring himself no other was in sight. Then--instead of the infinitely
laborious crawl to be expected under nearly half a ton of weight, he
walked easily with firm, lithe strides to a sheltered nook behind a
great beam. He waited there quietly on his feet! Now there was an
amused smile on his face, and the puffiness seemed somehow gone, more
an appearance of swelling prevailed. His grey eyes seemed flashing
with interest, his shoulders had lost their slough, and had come back
squarely.
* * * * *
The Patrol cruisers were dropping swiftly astern, turning to meet the
rapidly approaching sphere ship that was swimming nearer in space. It
was maneuvering that the line of the enemy's approach would not bring
him directly between them.
Faint halos began to form about the cruisers, and now about the
passenger liner. They were the faint halos of magnetic and induction
screens that would stop any shell, or any induction ray before it
reached the ship. But unfortunately not the twin beams!
Eyes alert, the man watched the sphere come sharply near the two
cruisers--a sudden flash, and it was bathed in flaring, shimmering
light, warring energy as its powerful screen battled the rays of the
Patrol ships.
Two streams of nearly invisible fire reached out in lines as straight
as a linear equation toward the two Patrol cruisers. Each was in
reality a twin beam, and each was potentially deadly. They snapped
out in absolute lines--till they hit the magnetic fields about the
patrol ships, then they bent sharply as their electric charges were
deflected by the field. Presently they moved swiftly, shifting till the
deflection of the field no longer carried them past the ships. Then--a
single flash of livid flame, a bursting puff of enveloping fire--and
one Patrol ship was punctured, its atmosphere glowing brilliantly under
the terrific electronic bombardment.
The Patrol ship, perforce, veered off and soon the second ship came in
for a like dose. Again--again they were driven off. It was obvious that
the sphere ship did not want to destroy them, merely to cripple them.
Finally each beam split in two, and they wavered and waved weirdly as
the ships strove valiantly with their magnetic fields, attempting to
divert them sufficiently. Meanwhile a constant terrific bombardment of
induction rays was driving at the sphere, its screen flaring vividly.
The two separate beams found their mark, the Patrol ship seemed to glow
all over its surface, and instantly every ray, every screen went dead.
A moment later, the second Patrol ship went dead.
The stocky man cursed softly. He turned, and as the ship lurched
slightly to a still greater acceleration, nearly three and a half
gravities, in its hopeless attempt to flee, he ran lightly down the
companion-way, slowing to a walk as he reached the bulkhead door. Then
his body seemed to slump, once more his powerful shoulders sagged,
and he crawled heavily into the lounge. The other passengers were
struggling on hands and knees, or flat on their stomachs, slowly moving
along. Finally he fell forward and lay motionless.
Through a great, curving port he could still see the sphere climbing up
behind them, rapidly overhauling them. Suddenly two beams of fire were
reaching out for their ship--two great beams that bent sharply as they
struck the _Vega's_ magnetic meteor-shield. Careful manipulation--and
Ezra Markham started violently, his muscles contracting, while every
sharp bit of metal in the room gave off fans of blue electric fire.
At that same instant every man on the ship fell senseless under the
powerful shock transmitted to them. Like the Patrol cruisers, the
lifeless, defenseless ship careened on through space, her acceleration
dropping immediately to Earth normal as automatic machines took up the
unconscious pilot's duties.
A dozen men in silver-grey uniforms were standing about the room when
Markham regained consciousness. One of them was bending over him,
peering with surprised interest at his magnificent display of coal-tar
dyes.
"Who," demanded the E.R.C. man with interest, "are you?"
"Ezra Markham," answered the prostrate man sitting up, "Who are you?"
The lean, tanned face split in a grin. "Tod Morley, not that it makes
any difference. And so you're Ezra Markham. Well, well. From the looks
of you I should say your type wasn't wanted on our colony. But--it is
an experiment for the benefit of the human race, and we feel sure that
a man as you would want to contribute to its success--say a million or
two. In the meantime--just move over to that corner." A ray pistol in
his hand swung on Markham, and the twin rays leaped out. The animate
rainbow gave a yell of surprise and pain, and scrambled to his feet
with an activity surprising in one so stout. With the inducement of the
pistol he was herded hurriedly to the indicated corner.
CHAPTER II
An Artificial World
In the center of the lounge all the scientists were grouped with the
captured crew and the I. L. Patrolmen, helplessly hedged in by a
barrier of brightly luminous blue-green rays. Professional looking men
in simple uniforms were going among them, pointing out one here or
there, who was immediately singled out and put in a second, smaller
group. Now Markham was marched up, and the entire group efficiently
escorted to the communication lock, where a long, flexible tube between
the ships permitted them to go from the passenger liner to the space
ship without space suits. Twice prisoners rebelled, to be instantly
and efficiently paralyzed with a beam from a pistol. In a few seconds
the rebellious ones regained consciousness and were able to go on.
The rest of the trip they enjoyed from several small ports. The entire
group was penned in a small prison locker with a few guards to watch
them. After some six hours of travel, during which the space liner had
been left helplessly behind, and the two Patrol cruisers lost in the
blackness of space, one of the men in charge came down and gave them
a brief lecture on the experiment in which they were soon to take an
unwilling part.
It was nearly twenty-four hours later that they finally approached
their destination, a tiny, five-mile world of solid metal, a part of
the nickel-steel core of some long vanished planet. Its surface turned
swiftly beneath them, flashing around in moments as they watched, a
surface made up of great crags and clefts of metal, broken, barren
masses of metal.
"Lord--it would be impossible to establish a city on the surface of
that top!" exclaimed one of the Patrolmen. "The centrifugal spin there
would throw anything off into space."
"How about the inside of it then?" asked one of the guards, smiling at
him.
"Inside? Is it inside?" asked Markham in alarmed surprise. "Is it
always dark?"
The guard laughed and pointed toward a huge cliff of solid metal.
"See that--now it's turned by--but that's where we go in. Even from
here, what with that fast rotation, you can't see the entrance.
See--the ship's going into an orbit about it, picking up to landing
speed, trying to move at the same speed as the ground. When the
colony was established, the whole interior was carved out with atomic
burners--burned the stuff out into gas, and let it escape. The shell's
about half a mile thick. Inside, the centrifugal force gives an
acceleration just equal to one earth gravity, we're up to speed, and
you can see we have about an earth-weight away from it now. And an
artificial sun gives plenty of light."
Indeed, as he spoke, they saw the planetoid consistently above them,
and now spinning very, very slowly while the heavens gyrated swiftly
about. The sun was flashing in and out of the windows in bewildering
streaks of light.
Before them the great metal cliff loomed suddenly. Then they saw a huge
black gulf under the glare of the spotlights that lighted it during the
momentary "nights" of this spinning world.
Into the great tunnel they sank, and the moment they were within it
all sense of spin, of rotation, ceased instantly. It seemed they were
following some vast tunnel on Earth, where smooth walls of shining
metal reflected their spotlights from crystalline metal surfaces.
Far ahead the light was swallowed in blackness. The ship shot straight
on, till gradually a curving wall that bent upward appeared, and around
the bend the ship sailed. Then a short upward channel and another long
level stretch. Light here now, and the spotlights blinked out. The
walls were strung with long, thin daylight gas-glow tubes, and far
ahead a ring of such tubes surrounded a gigantic metal door, a huge
thing that plugged all the great tube.
As they approached, it swung open its sections, lay back along the
channel, and closed behind them as the ship came to a halt. Ahead was a
similar metal door, and now as the rear door shut there was a terrific
shrieking roar as air pounded into the lock, the inner door was
opening. Now the tube ahead was ablaze with lights, a short horizontal
stretch, then an abrupt rise of several hundred feet--and they had
entered their weird artificial world.
In amazed wonder the captives stared out of their ports. Outside the
metal ground curved gradually up and away till it arched in a mighty
curve far above their heads. The metal here was smooth, obviously fused
that the world might be air-tight, free of cracks. Plants, grass, a few
trees grew about them, and even above them. And yet there was no more
sense of motion here than on Earth, though this world spun far faster.
Directly "above" them was the sun. A huge sphere it was, glowing with
the brilliant daylight gas-glow, and beside it was a second great
sphere, but glowing with the weird blue-green of mercury vapor.
The rays from this sun were rich in ultra-violet, and they were
warming, supplying heat and light to this inner world as does our own
sun to the earth.
* * * * *
Streets--metal pavements on which ran swift, stream-lined cars equipped
with rubber tires. Planes were unknown here, unmanageable in the tricky
air currents and the tricky acceleration effects of centrifugal force.
Off to the left of the tunnel entrance was a low, squat building built,
as all these buildings of this world, of solid nickel-steel, high grade
armour plate. The world itself was a gigantic lump of armour plate.
"Power-house," grunted the patrolman. Its aerials, beam projectors and
leads told in an instant what its purpose was. Even now a faint, nearly
invisible beam could be seen reaching up through the atmosphere to the
artificial sun.
Off to the right, half a mile away, lay a group of buildings; and now
the captives were driven toward them. A pair of guards were given the
special duty of escorting Mr. Markham to his private room. He was not
to be used in the experiments, but held for ransom, and as such was
led to the tower rooms, instead of the regular "quarters" as were the
others.
Half an hour later Mr. Ezra Markham was complaining volubly. He had
been put in a room, a bare metal room, containing only a table, a chair
and a bed.
Could he have a pillow-case? He never could sleep without a
pillow-case, he had grown so accustomed to one, and it should be silk.
And a rug? The metal floor was so cold on his feet. And hot water to
shave with? And did they turn out the sun at night? When was night?
The guard on his floor brought the pillow-case, soon discovered his
mistake, and ceased to bring other things. The fat and worried Mr.
Markham had an insatiable desire for comfort, and had complained
bitterly at the tough, linen pillow-slip.
The guard, in self defense, assured him there was a night, that it was
two hours distant, it lasted twelve hours, and that the stars could not
be seen through half a mile of metal. But, he added, the room lights of
the buildings across the world looked like stars.
Then, quite fatigued, he retired permanently to the guard on the floor
below, out of range of Mr. Markham's querulous voice.
True to the promise, night closed in with the extinguishing of the
"artificial sun."
Mr. Markham had spent the evening gazing out of his narrow, barred
window. He was about fifty feet above the ground, and directly beneath
his window was a rose bed, growing in imported soil. Beyond that was a
path, and then a broad, soft lawn which stretched out some distance to
join finally with the sweeping metal ground of this world.
As the great spheres sputtered into darkness, a slow, firm smile spread
across the man's face. He turned from the window. Now again those wide
shoulders were firmly back. His head rested squarely on the short,
powerful neck held boldly erect, an air of ease and enormous agility in
his walk. A lightness, almost restraint was in his step.
His hands were working at his face, and in moments bits of wax were
taken from his mouth. He worked swiftly at the washstand a moment
removing the last traces of the bothersome face coloring, to reveal
a lean, tanned face, almost black from the constant exposure to the
unshielded sun of space. Next, cumbersome, heavy shoes were removed and
the flapping, gaudy clothes. Finally he stood clothed only in a dark,
elastic suit, a pair of soft-soled rubber shoes and the dark-green sash
and the lavender suspenders, as well as the wrist-watch.
But now with the floppy garments removed any modern man would have
recognized his type instantly. The heavy, blocky legs; the short, squat
body, tremendously broad of shoulder and deep of chest; the rather
long, powerful arms were all typical of the Jovian colonist. Humans
who had spent their lives on that huge, heavy planet developed just
such blocky legs and heavy arms--and, more, the tremendous speed of
motion and agility the burdensome gravity necessitated. Since Jupiter's
gravity was two and a half times Earth's, it was now plain why the
acceleration of the ship had not bothered him--scarcely more than polar
gravity of Jupiter!
His grey eyes were alight with amusement as he thought of the guard his
volubility had driven below. Now Donald Barclay, crack lieutenant of
the Interplanetary Lane Patrol was safely barred in a room fifty feet
above the metal ground in a solid metal building.
Ready now, he strode lightly to the window, and settled his hands
firmly on two of the inch-thick steel bars set in sockets, that barred
his window. Silently he began to strain, and great muscle sheaths stood
out across his back and shoulders. One bar began to bend in, and the
other out, and finally he lifted the two bars from their sockets. A
moment later he had two more.
* * * * *
He lay the bars neatly on his bed, and stepped to the window. He
stepped across the sill, lowered himself to arm's length outside, then
jumped out as far as he could as he let go.
Now the fifty-foot fall would be fairly certain death to most humans.
But to a trained Jovian it meant merely a thorough shaking up. Barclay
landed heavily but correctly, and in a moment he was on his feet once
more, running across the lawn in long, light strides.
But a guard had heard the heavy thump of his landing, and come out
to investigate. And despite the dim light from buildings, he saw the
shadowy figure running across the lawn and fired at it. The twin
fires of his beams immediately revealed him more clearly. A second
flash--the man stumbled--then was suddenly leaping in wild, bouncing
flight. The guard stood dumbfounded as he saw the man jump about like
a rubber ball--twenty feet into the air--thirty feet in a long leap so
swift he could not possibly track it with his beams. The beams were
working once more--and the man was running toward him! Now his beam
must sweep wider on each of those insanely incredible bounces--
Other guards were coming at his shout--a half dozen of them--and in
that instant the shadowy figure was gone!
The others gathered excitedly about him--where--how--what?
None of them even saw the shadow bounce out of a deeper shadow of a
rose-bush. He was just suddenly among them, landing in their midst,
apparently falling from the other side of the tiny world. And from some
other world he was indeed! Half a dozen places at once, bouncing among
them, staying among them so they could not beam him, handling the men
like children, till in ten seconds they lay stretched out on the metal
path and the lawn.
Then Barclay stooped over them an instant, straightened--and was away.
But now he carried four of those ray pistols stuck in the deep green
sash.
More guards were coming, but they ran to the crumpled bodies. While
they strove vainly to wake the men the Jovian had put out, Barclay
disappeared in the dimness.
But the alarm was out before he had made half the distance to the
power-house--his goal. Would he reach it to hide nearby before the
guard there could establish their cordon?
Above the soft thud of his leaping feet he could hear the cries of
excited men. Lights were beginning to flash on here and there about the
ground of the power-house, shadowy men were running about.
The power-house loomed low, squat before him, a crouching mass against
the surrounding darkness. The tiny slits of the windows here and there
showed bright streaks, save where the thirty-foot wall about the
buildings masked its lower half. The building was enormous--the power
plant of a world of science!
Suddenly there was a warning sputter of light about him, like some
diffused lightning--the great artificial sun was waking to life as cold
tubes were warmed by rapidly warming generators.
Two--one--he was beside the ten-foot thick wall of solid metal that
surrounded the power-house. He tensed his muscles, walked back a way
limbering once more, then--up-up-up he sailed, his powerful arms
outstretched. With a sigh of relief he grasped the edge of the wall and
snapped his body over, dropping on the other side to a tree-spotted
lawn. Almost simultaneously with his soft landing the great artificial
sun came into dim, flickering life. Shouting, calling men were
racing across the lawn toward their posts, looking here and there
hurriedly--for none would suspect the runaway could have reached this
wall and crossed so quickly.
Darting across the lawn, taking advantage of every bit of cover
and blessing that winking, sputtering cold light, Don made for the
power-house wall.
Then--he was there. His plan was made already. He had seen the enormous
steel grille-work door, protected by heavy protolectric guns and knew
he would never be able to enter there. He leaped--his fingers caught
in a window-frame twenty feet above him. Then his powerful arms snapped
him up against the light, Earth gravity to the next window-slit. Like
some weird fly he went up the wall in jumps and spurts. Just shy of the
low parapet wall of the roof he listened for a moment. To his ears came
mingled, muffled cries--the calls of guards below, the stamp of feet,
the dull whirr and hum of huge Farrel atomic generators within the
power-house's ten-foot metal walls.
But from the roof--no sound. In an instant he was over, and hidden from
the rapidly strengthening light of the artificial sun. He started as a
muffled, rapidly increasing thump sounded behind him. A snap, a creak,
and a trap-door in the roof opened. Barclay dived suddenly for one of
the tiny booths at the side of the broad roof. Inside he found the
controls of one of the high-power protolectric defense guns.
An instant's observation confirmed his belief--these guns were supplied
by the great generators in the power-house itself.
"Clever," he muttered, "if they are captured, they can't be turned
against the plant, and nothing smaller could phase these walls."