_The Monster with the Armlets of Gold_
Hemingway Bowman's ardent wish, after he was whipped quickly through
the round exit port of the octopi submarine, was for a quick, clean
death. The horror and mystery of his situation had left him with one
conscious emotion, that he was afraid. The worst had been when he was
hauled through the port; when, expecting anything, he had been able to
see nothing in the dark, water-filled mystery ship.
Deliberate tentacles had stroked over every inch of his
body--tentacles that were not metal-scaled, as had been the arms of
the creature that captured him. It was then that he guessed the true
purpose of the metal suits the octopi wore--to protect their bodies
against the lesser pressure near the surface of the sea. Inside the
submarine they did not need them. He decided that the ship was used
for rapidly transporting large numbers of the octopi to distant
regions, and also for a weapon of offense and defense. The
intelligence of the cuttlefish astounded him.
Keith had got away. At least he knew that, and he thanked God for it.
His bold stroke had not been in vain, his sacrifice not useless.
After the inspection of the tentacles, Hemmy had been shoved to a
corner of the octopi submarine. He had felt cords wrapped around his
body. After being thus secured, he was left to himself. He was utterly
alone, except for strange, vague shadows that floated through the
darkness--shadows that heated his brain as he realized how many of
the devil-fish there were.
Hours that seemed like endless days passed.
Bowman concluded that the submarine had gone straight through the
cavern and emerged finally into what seemed to be another sea. Dead
silence filled the ship. What was happening, he could only guess. The
craft seemed to run on forever. Never once did tentacles brush or
inspect him again.
* * * * *
Finally the ship stopped, and a great round door opened in one wall.
By the soft bluish glow that seeped in Hemmy caught a glimpse of his
surroundings, and his gorge rose at the sight. The ship was literally
filled with a slowly waving forest of long black tentacles. Weird
instruments, unlike anything he had ever seen, were grouped around the
walls, and before them attendant octopi poised, their hideous eyes
fixed and steady. There were no dividing decks as in the _NX-1_; the
craft was one huge shell.
Then came furious activity. The door fell shut again, and the ship
shot off at great speed. Hemmy felt sure that they were advancing to
again attack the _NX-1_, and at once began to try to reach his
comrades through radiophone. He knew that Wells would come back.
Finally he caught a human voice, and heard the _NX-1's_ radio operator
shout to the commander that he, Bowman, was alive and calling. But
when he tried to speak further, the American craft's radio was silent.
And then, in the octopi submarine, had come a soft glow of violet....
Was it a more deadly weapon than the paralyzing ray? In great suspense
the prisoner waited. Silence--silence! Horrible doubts beset his mind.
Was Keith refraining from firing his torpedoes because he, Bowman, was
on board the enemy boat? The thought stung him. He tried desperately
again to reach Wells; but there was no answer. Were the Americans
dead?
Age-long minutes passed. Then the exit port opened and several
metal-clad octopi swam out. Hemmy had a glimpse of the _NX-1_ lying
silent and apparently lifeless on the sea-floor, a gaping hole in her
bow!
As if to taunt him with the sight, the creatures left the round door
open, and presently Bowman beheld the octopi open the _NX-1's_
starboard exit port and enter. Later the port swung open again, and he
saw the monsters emerge, each gripping several men clad in yellow
sea-suits! That they were dead, or victims of the ray, was obvious
from the way they limply dangled.
The exit port closed, and darkness filled the octopi ship. Hemmy
Bowman panted with the futile effort to break his bonds.
"You devils!" he yelled in blind rage, exhausted. "Why don't you take
me with them? Take me! Take me, damn your stinking hides!"
* * * * *
When Keith Wells was taken from the silent _NX-1_, a host of
astounding impressions swarmed his brain. Swinging lightly at the end
of his captor's tentacle, he strove as best he could, with eyes
rigidly fixed straight ahead, to grasp his new surroundings. He had,
first, one flash of the octopi ship lying quite close to them, its
hulk, as always, immobile and apparently lifeless. And inside it, he
was sure, was his friend and first officer, Hemmy Bowman--a captive.
He saw that the octopi submarine had towed the _NX-1_ into one of the
weird mound cities. His own ship was lying in what seemed a kind of
public square, and crowds of black octopi were swarming around it as
he and his crew were brought out. Shooting straight off the square ran
one of the wide streets he had previously seen from above, and on each
side the brown mound-buildings rose. Their details were hazy, because
of the cuttlefish inhabitants who swam thickly in front of them.
His captors started their march down this broad street. Great crowds
of reddish-colored octopi clustered on each side of it; other swarms
hung almost motionless--except for their constantly writhing
tentacles--above, so that their line of progress was through what
resembled a restless, living tunnel of repulsive black flesh, snaky
arms and huge, unblinking eyes. Keith felt faint from the horror of
it. Thousands of the monsters were there, all hanging in the soft,
blue-glowing water; and occasionally, as he floated almost
horizontally in his captor's firm grip, his legs would brush the wall
of clammy flesh; or perhaps one of the tentacles would reach out as if
to touch him.
The octopus that held him swam some five feet off the street bed
itself; at intervals the thick swarm on either side would part for a
second, and Keith could glimpse the huge mound-buildings, ever growing
larger, with round entrance holes dotted all over their smooth
surface, above as well as the sides.
The march was ghastly. Their captors were taking them through the
heart of the water-metropolis; displaying their human captives as did
the Caesars in Roman triumphs of old!
* * * * *
The swarming crowds of tentacled monsters grew thicker as they
progressed, and their tentacles began to whip more quickly, as if
anger was burning in their loathsome bodies. Keith noted the menace of
their sharp-beaked jaws, and the sickening sucker-discs on the livid
under-side of the tentacles. As far as he could see, the swarms fell
in behind the procession after it had passed. Following them--where?
Just as Wells felt himself on the verge of fainting, the procession
turned to the right and entered the largest mound-building of all, a
vast dome rising in the very center of the octopi metropolis. They
continued through a corridor perhaps twenty feet high, from which at
intervals other corridors branched. Held by one arm, and ever and
again turning helplessly over in his horizontal transit, Keith caught
glimpses of walls covered with intricate designs on a basic
eight-armed motif--designs of artistic value, that gave evidence of
culture and civilization.
The passage ended as suddenly as it had begun, and they came into the
main body of a gigantic building.
The commander could hardly credit his eyes. The place resembled a
stadium, and was so vast that he felt dwarfed to nothingness. The
domed roof soared far above in misty bluish light. On the floor,
exactly beneath the center of the great dome, was a raised platform,
and on it a dais resembling a very wide throne. Around the dais a
score or more of octopi--officials, Keith supposed--were grouped.
Rapidly the creatures following the procession swam into the chamber.
Monstrously large as the place was, the floor soon was filled with the
thick flood of cuttlefish which swarmed in from many doors. Keith,
held with the other captives just to one side of the hole he had
entered by, began to think that they must soon refuse to let any more
in--when, to his surprise, he saw the latest arrivals begin to form a
gallery twenty feet above those on the ground floor, and, when this
was extended far back and completely filled, start yet another above
it--and another, and another.... In ten minutes the mighty hall was
crowded with countless layers of the cold-eyed monsters, each layer
angling up from the central dais so that all could see.
"God!" the commander thought. "Nothing but solidly-packed devil-fish
all the way to the dome! A slaughter pit! And we, of course, are to be
the cattle!"
* * * * *
Minutes passed. The throne was still empty, and the thousands in the
amphitheater seemed waiting for an occupant. Keith wished he was able
to close his eyes. The restless, never-ceasing weaving of the
countless tentacles in the levels above made the scene a nightmare.
Some waved slowly, others whipped excitedly, but never for an instant
did one pause. The movements were like the never-ceasing shifting and
swaying of the trunks and feet of elephants; in the dim glow the huge
chamber seemed to be filled with one fantastic, million-tentacled
monster that stared with its thousand eyes down on the forlorn group
of puny human beings....
As if at a command the arms of the octopi on the platform suddenly
began to weave in perfect unison in some weird ceremony. First they
swayed out towards the waiting captives, then they swerved slowly to
the empty throne. Then came a few quick, excited whippings; and once
more the long arms reached out at the small group at the entrance.
This went on for some minutes. Then, very suddenly, a creature swam up
from what must have been an opening in the floor onto the dais-throne.
Keith saw it well.
It was an octopus, a giant amongst octopi, and Wells knew at once it
was the ruler of the realm, the lord and master of the swarming
galleries and the cities of mound-buildings.
It was larger than its fellows by a full three feet. And, encircling
each great tentacle just where it joined the central mass of flesh,
was a broad, glittering band of polished gold--eight thick armlets
that ringed the creature's revolting head-body with a circle of
gleaming pagan splendor. Keith could almost fancy that a certain royal
air hung over the monster.
The huge, unblinking eyes of the king stared at the horror-frozen
captives. One long tentacle lifted slowly upward, and their captors at
once started towards the throne with them. The score of octopi on each
side stilled their weaving arms. A battery of emotionless eyes drilled
into Wells' paralyzed body. He felt faint. Unquestionably the horrible
ceremony was leading up to some form of cold-blooded sacrifice....
* * * * *
The monarch stretched a mighty arm towards Keith, and, as in a dream,
he felt himself lifted out of his guard's grasp. The snakelike
tentacle gripped him about the waist, and held him dangling like a
puppet twenty feet in the water while the two deadly eyes stared
steadily at him. He was brought closer, until the hideous central
mass, with its cruel beaked jaw and ink sac hanging behind, was no
more than a foot away.
Then another arm stroked slowly along the commander's helpless body.
Once or twice it prodded sharply, and Wells felt a surge of fear, for
his sea-suit might break. Deliberately the prying tentacle moved over
him, delicately feeling his helmet, his weighted feet, his legs.
Keith Wells grew angry. He was being inspected like a trapped monkey!
He, commander of the _NX-1_, representative of one of the world's
mightiest nations--prodded and stared at by this fish, this octopus! A
great rage suffused him, and with a terrific effort he tried to jab
his arms into one of those devilish eyes. But try as he might, his
body would not respond. He could not move a finger.
For a long time the loathsome inspection continued, until the
monstrous king seemed satisfied. Wells was handed back. There followed
an interminable period in which nothing whatever was done, as far as
he could see. He was sure that they must be talking, debating, but no
sound reached his ears through the tight helmet. All the time the
endless motion in the swarming levels above went on. It became hazy,
dreamlike, and in spite of himself the commander began to feel drowsy.
The weaving and swaying was producing a hypnotic effect. At last the
desire to sleep grew overpowering.
Wells and his men were more than half unconscious when their original
captors finally pulled them back from the royal presence and began a
humble retreat from the throne room. Slowly they backed to the
entrance. Keith's last drowsy glimpse was of a grotesque, gold-ringed
monster on a throne, with a score of smaller tentacled creatures
around him, and a vast haze of weaving tentacles and unblinking eyes
above.
They passed from the huge chamber. The commander felt delirious, as in
a nightmare, but he knew that they were again in the long corridor,
and that their captors were taking them further into the mighty
building, further from the street outside. He glimpsed great rooms
branching off the corridor, and swarms of black octopi inside them.
The light became fainter; and at last the procession turned into a
separate, rough-walled chamber, dimly lit and empty.
Wells felt the grip around his arm loosen, and he floated limply to
the floor among his men. He slept....