Across Earth's radiant civilization lay the
death-shot shadows of the hideous globe-headed
dwarfs from Mars. One lone Earth-ship dared
the treachery blockade, risking the planetoid
peril to find Earth's life element on
mysterious Saturn of the ten terrible rings.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1939.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It was a crisp, clear morning in the city of Copia. A cold winter's
sun glinted on the myriad roof tops of the vast spreading metropolis.
To the north, snow-covered hills gleamed whitely, but the streets
of Copia were dry and clean. There were not many people stirring at
such an early hour. The dozen broad avenues which converged like the
spokes of a great wheel on Government City in the center of Copia were
quite deserted. There was little apparent activity around and about the
majestic Government buildings, but the four mammoth gates were open,
indicating that Government City was open for business.
At the north gate the sentry, sitting behind his black panel with its
clusters of little lights, switches, and push-buttons, glanced upward.
There was a faint humming and a man was circling downward about a
hundred feet above him. The rays of the early sun flashed off a helmet
and the sentry knew that this man was a soldier. The newcomer dropped
rapidly, the stubbed wings on his back a gray blur. Then the humming
ceased as the soldier switched off his oscillator and landed lightly on
the ground before the sentry.
The sentry's swift glance took in the immensely tall, broad-shouldered
figure, covered to the ankles in the green cloak. He took in also the
pink, smiling face and merry blue eyes, and the lock of bright red hair
which showed as the soldier pushed his helmet backward off his forehead.
"Your business?" asked the sentry.
"I have orders to report to the Commander-in-Chief," said the soldier,
with a pleasant smile.
"Let's see," said the sentry, glancing at the insignia on the helmet,
"you're a decurion of the Eightieth Division. And the name?"
"Dynamon," said the soldier.
"Oh, yes," said the sentry, with a recollective smile, "I remember you
as an athlete. Didn't I see you in the Regional Games two years ago?"
"Yes," said the soldier, with pleased surprise. "I was on the team from
North Central 4B."
"I thought so," the sentry chuckled. "As I remember you walked away
with practically everything but the stadium. Hold on a minute now and
I'll clear the channels for you."
The sentry bent over the panels, punched some buttons, threw a switch,
and recited a few words in a monotone. He listened for a moment, then
threw the switch back and looked up.
"It seems you're expected," he said, "third building to the right and
they'll take care of you there."
Ten minutes later Dynamon stood in the doorway of a large, beautiful
room and saluted. The salute was answered by a grizzled, dark-skinned
man sitting behind an enormous desk. This man was Argallum,
Commander-in-Chief of the Armies of the World. He rose and beckoned to
the young soldier.
"This way, Dynamon," said he, opening a small door. "What we have to
talk about requires platinum walls."
Dynamon's face was a mask as he followed the Commander-in-Chief into
the little room, but his heart was pounding and his mind working fast.
The platinum room! That meant that he was about to learn a secret of
the most vital importance to the world. He remembered now, that there
was a delegation of Martians in Copia. They had arrived about a week
before, ostensibly to carry on negotiations in an effort to avert
the ugly crisis that was developing between Earth and Mars. But the
conviction was growing among the citizens of Copia that the chief
object of the Martian delegation was to spy. It was a well-known fact
that the grotesque little men from the red planet had a superhuman
sense of hearing that seemed to enable them to tune in on spoken
conversations miles away, much as human beings tuned radio sets. They
could hear through walls of brick, stone or steel; the one substance
they could not hear through was platinum. Hence the little room off
the Commander-in-Chief's office which was entirely sheathed in this
precious metal.
* * * * *
Argallum sat down heavily behind a little desk and gestured Dynamon to
be seated opposite him.
"On the basis of your fine record," said Argallum, "I have selected
you, Dynamon, to lead a dangerous expedition. You may refuse the
assignment after you hear about it, and no blame will attach to you
if you do. It is dangerous, and your chances of returning from it are
unknown. But here it is, anyway.
"The situation with Mars is growing worse each month. They are making
demands on us which, if we accepted them, would destroy the sovereign
independence of the World-State. We would become a mere political
satellite of Mars. But if we don't accept their demands, we are liable
to a sudden attack from them which we could not withstand. They have
got us in a military way and they know it. We might be able to stand
them off for a while with our fine air force, but if they ever got a
foothold with their land forces, then it's good-bye. They have a new
weapon called the Photo-Atomic Ray against which we have absolutely no
defense. It's a secret lethal ray which far outranges our voltage-bombs
and which penetrates any armor or insulation we've got."
"Now, of course, our Council of Scientists has been working on the
problem of a defense against the Ray. But the only thing they've come
up with is a vague idea. They believe that there is a substance which
they call 'tridium,' which would absorb or neutralize the Photo-Atomic
Ray. They don't know what tridium looks like, but by spectro-analysis
they know that it exists on the planet Saturn. So I am sending you with
an expedition to Saturn to find, if you can, the substance known as
'tridium,' and bring some of it back if possible."
"Saturn!" gasped the decurion.
"I said it would be dangerous," Argallum said, bleakly. "No human being
has ever set foot on the planet, and very little is known about it.
But that's where you'll find tridium, if we're to believe Saturn's
spectrum. You will have the latest, fastest Cosmos Carrier. You will
have a completely equipped expedition. You will have for assistants
the best young men we can find. As head of the expedition, you will be
promoted to the rank of centurion. Do you accept the assignment?"
"Yes, sir," said Dynamon, unhesitatingly, "I accept the assignment."
* * * * *
Dynamon walked thoughtfully out of Government city by the North Gate.
The sentry noticed that his helmet was now adorned with the badge
of centurion, and came to a smart salute. Dynamon went past him
without seeing him, and the sentry glared after the new centurion
disapprovingly. Lost in thought, Dynamon kept on walking until he
came to with a start, and found himself in the middle of the shopping
district.
The sun was getting uncomfortably warm and Dynamon switched off the
electric current that heated his long cloak and looked around him. A
sign in a shop window said, "Only fourteen more shopping days before
the Twenty-fifth of December." Dynamon sighed. He wouldn't be around on
this Twenty-fifth and it was going to be a very gay one. It was to be
the nine hundredth anniversary of the Great Armistice--from which had
come the unification of all the peoples of the Earth. Dynamon sighed
again.
The long peace was threatened.
The Earth, in this year of grace 3057, was a wonderful place to live
in, and Copia was the political and cultural center of the Earth.
For nine hundred years now, the peoples of the Earth had lived at
peace with one another as members of a single integrated community.
The World-State had grown into something which that war-torn handful
of people back in 1957 could scarcely have imagined. No longer did
region war against region, or group against group, or class against
class. Humanity had finally united to fight the common enemies--death,
disease, old age, starvation.
And on this nine hundredth anniversary of the Great Armistice, the
people of the World would have a great deal to celebrate. Disease was
now unknown, as was starvation. Arduous physical labor was abolished,
for now, the heaviest and the slightest tasks were performed by
machines. Pain had been reduced, both physical and mental. Helpless
senility was a thing of the past. Death alone remained. But even death
had been postponed. Human beings now lived to be almost three hundred
years old.
All in all, Dynamon mused, as he strolled along the broad avenue, the
human race had evolved a pretty satisfactory civilization. More was
the pity, then, that human restlessness and vaulting ambition should
have led to the construction of the great Cosmos Carriers. If Man had
been content to stay on his own little planet, then communication would
never have been established with the jealous little men of Mars, and
this beautiful civilization would not now be threatened by a visitation
of the terrible Martians and their frightful Photo-Atomic Ray.
Dynamon's deep chest swelled a little with pride at the thought that he
had been selected by the Commander-in-Chief to take an important part
in the coming conflict.
* * * * *
He turned the corner and found himself standing before an imposing
building. Across the top of the facade in block letters was the legend,
"State Theater of Comedy." A few minutes later he stood in front of a
doorway at the side of the great theater building. The door opened and
a tall, lovely girl appeared.
"Dynamon!" she exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see you for another
ten days." She stepped out of the doorway, and reached her arms up
impulsively, kissing Dynamon.
The tall young soldier gripped her shoulders hard for a minute, and
then stepped back and looked down into her soft brown eyes.
"Yes, I know, Keltry," he said soberly. "I had to report on short
notice."
"Oh!" said the girl called Keltry, "are you here on duty?"
"Very secret duty," said Dynamon with a meaning look. He twiddled an
imaginary radio-dial in his ear and looked around mysteriously.
The smile died on Keltry's smooth brown face, to be replaced by an
expression of concern.
"You mean--them?" she whispered.
Dynamon nodded. "Yes, I am being transferred to a new post," he said
slowly, "and I thought, if you had no objections, I would ask to have
you transferred along with me."
"Do you need to ask a question like that?" said Keltry. "You know
perfectly well I'd have a lot of objections if you didn't ask for my
transfer."
"There may be some danger," he said, giving her an eloquent look.
"All the more reason why I should be with you," Keltry said quietly.
* * * * *
Four days later, a conference was breaking up in the platinum room
behind the Commander-in-Chief's office. Argallum stood up behind his
desk and carefully folded a number of big charts. He laid one on top of
another, making a neat stack on the desk, then he looked keenly at the
four young men standing before him.
"Once more, gentlemen," Argallum said, "for the sake of emphasis,
I repeat--Dynamon has complete authority over the expedition. You,
Mortoch"--looking at a lean, hawk-nosed man in a soldier's helmet--"are
in command of the soldiers. And you, Thamon"--turning to a studious,
stoop-shouldered man--"are in charge of civilian activities. And
Borion"--glancing at a stocky, broad-shouldered figure--"you are
responsible for the Carrier. But in the last analysis, you are all
under Dynamon's orders. This is a desperate venture you're going on and
there can be no division of authority."
There was a moment of silence. Argallum seemed satisfied with the set,
determined expressions on the four men in the room with him. "Are there
any further questions?" he said.
Dynamon shifted his feet uneasily. "Is the decision--on Keltry, final?"
he said huskily.
"I'm afraid it is, Dynamon," said Argallum, gently. "I had the director
of the theater over here for half an hour trying to talk him around,
but it was no good. He said he would under no circumstances spare
Keltry. He said she was the most promising young actress in Copia,
and that he would forbid her to go on any dangerous trip. Inasmuch as
Keltry is still an apprentice, the Director has full authority over
her. I can do nothing."
Dynamon drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.
"Yes, sir," he said briefly.
"Very well then," said Argallum, "I won't see you again. You will take
off from Vanadium Field promptly at four o'clock tomorrow morning.
Every one of the one hundred and twenty-nine people on the expedition
has his secret orders to be there at three. Dynamon, you have a
hand-picked personnel and every possible resource that our scientists
could think of to help you. May you succeed in your mission."
"Thank you, sir," they chorused.
Argallum shook hands separately with each of the four men, after which
they filed out of the platinum room.
Outside the War Building, Mortoch, the decurion, and Borion, the
Navigator, took their leave of Dynamon and strolled away toward the
West Gate. But Thamon, the scientist, fell in stride with Dynamon.
"For your sake, I'm sorry," said the stoop-shouldered scientist shyly,
"I mean--about Keltry."
"Thanks, Thamon," said the centurion. "It was a nasty blow. I don't
know how I'm going to get along without her. I guess I'll just have to."
"Well--I just wanted you to know," said Thamon, "that I sympathized."
* * * * *
In the middle of Vanadium Field a great gray shape, like a vast
slumbering whale, could be indistinctly seen in the soft half-light
of the false dawn. No lights showed on the field and no sound was
heard. But scores of people clustered around the sides of the Cosmos
Carrier, dwarfed to ant-like proportions by its great size. Inside the
Carrier, standing near the thick double doors in the Carrier's belly,
was Dynamon, near him his three chief lieutenants, Mortoch, Thamon, and
Borion. The members of the little expeditionary force filed past the
youthful Commander, each one halting before him for a brief inspection.
One hundred brawny soldiers, divided into squads of ten, stepped
through the double doors, each squad led by its decurion. Dynamon ran a
practiced eye over the equipment of each man and then for good measure
turned him over to the scrutiny of the Chief Decurion, Mortoch. Then
came twenty-five civilians, including ten engineers, four dieticians,
five administrators, and six scientists. But for a cruel prank of
fate, Dynamon reflected, his own dear Keltry would be a member of the
expedition.
But there was no time for regretting that which could not be. Dynamon
turned and walked toward Borion.
"Are you satisfied?" he asked the navigator. Borion nodded, and
Mortoch and Thamon likewise nodded in answer to Dynamon's unspoken
question.
"All right," said the young centurion. "Stations!"
A moment later the great outer door of the Cosmos Carrier swung
silently shut, after which the thick inner door was secured and the
great ship hermetically sealed. Dynamon followed the navigator into the
control room.
"This is a gorgeous ship!" said Borion. "It's absolutely the last word.
There's a cluster of magnets underneath our feet that are brutes and
yet they can be so finely controlled, I'll guarantee you won't feel
a bump at any time. Dynamon, these magnets are so strong that this
ship will go at least ten times faster than anything that has yet been
built. Once we get up out of the stratosphere, beyond the danger of
friction, we can go almost twenty miles a second. You ready for the
take-off? If you want to use the loud speaker system just throw that
switch."
Dynamon nodded; a moment later his voice was heard in every compartment
of the Cosmos Carrier.
"Men, we are taking off. Hold your stations for five minutes, after
which you may take your ease until further commands."
"Come and watch the altimeter," Borion said after Dynamon closed the
loud speaker switch. "You won't believe we're off the ground, these
controls are so smooth." The centurion watched the needle creep gently
upward a few feet at a time. But he could feel no trace of motion.
"I'm going to take her up vertically to two thousand feet," said
Borion. "Then we'll be clear of all obstacles and can pick up our
course horizontally--"
"Yes, good," Dynamon broke in quickly, "but don't tell me your course
until we are out of the stratosphere."
"Aye, aye, sir," said Borion with a wink, "little pitchers have big
ears, don't they?"
"How soon will we get out of the stratosphere?" Dynamon asked.
"Well, I'm lifting her very slowly," answered the navigator, "I don't
want to take any chances on friction. I would say in about three hours
from now we will be ready to go."
"I will be with you then," said Dynamon, and walked out the door.
* * * * *
The young centurion had in mind to make a thorough inspection of the
entire ship, but he had scarcely been ten minutes away from the control
room when the loud-speaker system boomed forth.
"Centurion Dynamon is requested to come to the control room." Dynamon
hurried up a metal staircase and then through a companionway. As he
threw open the door to the control room, Borion turned quickly and
laid a finger on his lips. Then the navigator gestured Dynamon toward
a series of glass panels. There were six of these panels, each about a
foot square, and ranged in two vertical rows of three each. One word,
"periscopes," was stenciled at the top, and beside each mirror were
other labels, "port bow," "port beam," "port quarter." The other three
panels were labeled in the same way, designating their location on
the starboard side. Borion flicked the switch beside the "starboard
quarter" panel and it become dimly illuminated. Dynamon threw a swift
glance at the altimeter, and saw that it said two thousand feet. Then
he bent over and peered into the periscope panel. A wide panorama of
twinkling lights spread out before him, the street lights of Copia.
But the pale blue of approaching dawn was creeping fast over the city,
shedding just enough light to reveal a dark shape a mile behind the
Cosmos Carrier, and perhaps a thousand feet below. As Dynamon stared
into the periscope screen, he thought he could detect a faint glow of
red in the following shape. He turned questioningly to Borion. The
navigator was writing rapidly on a piece of paper. A second later he
handed the paper to Dynamon. It said:
"I queried Headquarters and was told that the conference with the
Martian delegation is still officially going on. But that Carrier
following us is bright red, the color of the Martian Carriers."
* * * * *
Dynamon held the piece of paper in his hand for a minute and gazed
doubtfully into the periscope screen. Then he took the pencil from
Borion and, bending over, wrote the following:
"I don't like the looks of this. Can we out-run them once we get out of
the atmosphere?"
Borion nodded slowly.
"As far as I know, we can," he said, "unless--" he reached for the
paper in Dynamon's hand and wrote "--unless they have developed a new
wrinkle in their Carriers that we don't know anything about."
"Well," said Dynamon, "we won't waste time worrying about things over
which we have no control. Proceed as usual."
There followed some anxious hours, which Dynamon spent with his eyes
glued to the periscope mirror. In a short time the early golden
rays of the sun appeared, and the Martian Carrier followed behind
inexorably, glowed an ugly menacing crimson. Once Dynamon instructed
his communications officer to speak to the Martian ship.
"Lovely morning, Mars. Where are you bound for?" was the casual message.