Captain Future 14 - Worlds to Come (Spring 1943) Read online

  The surface of the planet was beginning to emerge clearly. Off to one side was a mountain range, stretching across the top of the crescent. The crescent itself was growing in thickness, for he was falling not in a straight line toward the planet’s center, but in a spiral. A streak of silver at last came into view, persisted, broadened. It was a large lake.

  “The water will break the final fall,” thought Curt, “I’m in luck.”

  Time passed, time which he couldn’t reckon. The mountain range at the top of the crescent grew, the lake began to sparkle more brightly. Curt had a slight sensation of warmth. “That must be from friction,” he muttered.

  He aimed his pistol at the lake, let loose a blast of protons. With the adjustment he had made, the recoil was strong enough almost to take his arm off. He blasted again and again, and the sensation of warmth died away. He was slowing down.

  He allowed himself to plunge downward until he could see the tossing of tiny waves on the lake, could see them roll in and break on a vivid green shore. The planet as a whole was no longer visible. All he could view now was an area of a few hundred square miles.

  He aimed his proton pistol at the water, slowed his fall even more. But still the waves were rushing up at him with dizzying speed. One final blast — and then the waters were closing over his head.

  The shock dazed him for only a second. The space suit had helped cushion it. But now its weight was dragging him down. He allowed himself to sink quietly, conserving his strength. The water of the lake was clear, and he could see the currents apparently streaming up as he sank. Queer creatures that had not the slightest resemblance to fish stared at him with thousands of tiny insect eyes as he passed.

  Then the water was black and no longer transparent. He had stopped falling. He tried to move, but his legs were caught, He was stuck in the mud at the bottom of the lake.

  His lungs began to hurt, and he realized that the oxygen supply in his space suit was becoming exhausted. He struggled furiously, but again, in vain.

  STRANGE lights swarmed around him. The lake-dwelling creatures were coming closer, curious about the unfamiliar being that had invaded their domain. Curt Newton raised his proton pistol again, aimed it at the mud, threw the entire remaining charge into one powerful blast.

  This time the recoil was so terrific that the pistol was wrenched out of his hand and disappeared. But at the same time, he was torn loose. With the stream of protons he had created a chemical storm. They had torn into the mud, heated the water to create steam, decomposed the steam into hydrogen and oxygen, disintegrated part of the oxygen itself to lighter gases. Curt Newton rose toward the surface on a giant bubble of steam, hydrogen, helium, and oxygen.

  As he broke the surface, the bubble burst, and he began to sink again. He struggled frantically to free himself from the now useless space suit. The glassite helmet came first. The cold water hit his face with a shock, stimulating him to renewed efforts. Then he tore loose from the rest of the suit. He kicked out furiously and rose to the surface. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with the oxygen his spectroscope had told him existed here.

  The clear, unfamiliar air invigorated him, gave his muscles new strength as he struck out for the shore a mile or two distant. The strange creatures of the lake approached him, then retreated in alarm from his thrashing arms and legs.

  The shore was coming closer. But Curt Newton, his body buffeted by one shock after another, was approaching exhaustion. His arms were moving more and more slowly. No longer did they cleave the water as powerfully as they had done at first. Each stroke was weaker, took him only a foot or two along his way.

  Only that dogged determination that was an essential part of Captain Future’s character prevented him from giving up the apparently hopeless fight, allowing his weary body to sink beneath the waves to the rest it craved. His arms moved slowly, but they did move. When finally he looked up for what he felt was the last time, it was to see the shore only a dozen yards away.

  His feet found the bottom. He dragged himself painfully out of the water, collapsed on the curious light-green sand. His mind became a blank.

  After a time he could not estimate, he sat up again and looked around. The landscape was of the same curious green color, rocky, bleak, apparently uninhabited. And he was alone.

  He had been Captain Future, a man with the most faithful companions alive, a man with every resource of a great science at his fingertips. Now he was only Curt Newton, without weapons, without equipment, with nothing but his bare hands to fall back upon in his struggle against a savage environment.

  There was no doubt that the environment was savage. A dozen greenish wolflike beasts, each four feet high at the shoulders, were approaching. They had emerged almost unnoticeably from the green landscape. They had curious narrow faces, with two eyes set so close together that they almost formed a single large eye, and three nostrils forming a triangle. Their teeth were bared — greenish teeth, few in number, but broad and dangerous looking.

  Curt Newton almost laughed aloud as he faced them. There was irony in his encounter with these beasts. He had expected to brave danger at the hands of the mysterious Gorma Hass — the danger of a subtle, civilized, super-scientific enemy. Instead, he was staring at death in a highly primitive form.

  The foremost beast snarled and launched himself forward in a mighty leap.

  Chapter 6: The Blue Savages

  CURT NEWTON did not wait for the animal to reach him. He leaped forward and to one side. For the speed at which he moved, he could thank the wisdom of the Brain, who had always insisted that he keep in good physical condition. He seized the animal’s hind legs, used the momentum of the body itself to swing the struggling shape in a furious arc. The head crashed against the ground, spattering it with blue-green blood.

  The other beasts were closing in. Curt Newton swung the dead body in front of him like a rapidly moving club. He wounded one beast, which ran off, apparently as much afraid of its companions as of him. He killed a second. And then the rest fled. Dangerous as they appeared, they were after all cowardly and had no stomach for a fight that was so costly to themselves.

  Curt looked around him. The prevailing color of the ground, as of the blood of the animals he had killed, was blue or green. That probably indicated copper. But the plants with which he was most familiar could not grow in soil that contained much of that element. These plants that did flourish in copper-containing soil were poisonous to human life.

  That meant that he would have a problem finding suitable food.

  Nevertheless, Curt Newton was already making plans. Somehow or other, he knew he would solve the problem of obtaining food. And then would come the further problem of getting off this out-of-the-way world, of making contact with the Brain and his other companions, of checkmating the plans of Gorma Hass.

  For a moment, as Curt considered the situation, he was surprised at his own daring. Alone on this bleak planet, with no instruments to aid him, he dared think of creating means of space-travel, of space-communication! But Captain Future had as much mental courage as physical. Starting from nothing, he was certain that he would attain his goal.

  A shout interrupted his thoughts. “Blad magr gubdu?”

  Curl’s eyes glittered as he looked toward the source of the vocal sounds. So this planet was inhabited by human-type beings after all! Half a dozen of them were approaching. They were short in stature, blue in color, and with high, bulging foreheads. So far as he could tell, they were of the same race as Ber Del, the Vegan. But he could see at a glance that they were savages. They were dressed in the skins of animals, and they carried simple weapons that were nothing more than lumps of malachite bound with animal sinews to a wooden club.

  Their leader was an old man, his face wrinkled, but still vigorous. Four younger men followed him, and shyly bringing up the rear was a girl, her youthful figure clearly defined by the skins she wore. Despite her blue color, she was pretty by any human standards, decided Curt. There was
a look of astonishment on her face as she regarded this tall, stalwart, red-haired stranger.

  “Blad magr gubdu?” repeated the old man, pointing.

  He seemed to be referring to the color of Curt’s hair. In this copper-saturated world, thought Curt, red hair must be as much a novelty as blue hair would have been on Earth. He grinned.

  “It’s natural,” he commented. “I can’t take it off at night.”

  Now the old man was pointing to the dead wolflike beasts, One of the younger men said something, and the leader stared at Curt in growing awe. He pointed to his own weapon, asked another question.

  “I haven’t got any,” returned Curt. “I did it with my bare hands.”

  THE girl was gazing at him as if fascinated. Curt’s eyes accidentally caught hers, held them for a brief second. Her face purpled. And Curt, a feeling of relief sweeping over him, grinned happily.

  That was a blush he had seen. Beneath the blue skin that owed its color to copper compounds was red blood, a blood that contained haemoglobin like Ber Del’s and like his own. His own metabolism was essentially the same as that of this strange blue race, and he would have no difficulty eating the same food they ate. His first problem was solved.

  Next came the question of grasping the essentials of their language. That, he knew, would take him only a few hours. He had long since been forced to develop a technique for acquiring a rapid grasp of any language constructed according to reasonably familiar principles.

  He began to point to different objects, giving the English names for them. It was the girl who got the idea first. She gave him her own name for lake, for water, for a club. Curt began to mimic different actions, and thus to acquire one verb after another. His phenomenal memory, concentrating on the task before him, retained every word, and before many hours had passed, he was speaking hesitantly, but in a way that could be understood.

  The girl’s name was Varra, the name of the blue race the Vardri. The old leader was Kuru. Almost the first intelligible question the latter asked was:

  “Are you from Gorma Hass?”

  Curt started. He had never imagined that Gorma Hass would even have heard of this strange planet. He shook his head.

  “What do you know of Gorma Hass?” he asked.

  There was an expression of awe on the chief’s face. “He has appeared here. He is blue, like one of the Vardri.”

  “And his Sverds?”

  “They are neither like the Vardri nor like any other human race.” Kuru’s face betrayed his fear of the mysterious creatures. “They are invulnerable to all weapons. One of the members of the tribe, a young and strong man, attempted to hit a Sverd with a club. The club passed through the Sverd’s body without resistance, and the Sverd was unharmed. But the young man died.”

  Curt reflected rapidly. He could not imagine that Gorma Hass would have any great use for this minor planet. But perhaps he wanted to use it as a military base. If so, some day the Sverds would return here.

  When they did, he must be ready for them. He must start building his scientific equipment as rapidly as possible.

  He became aware that one of the savages, a tall, sinewy youth, was staring at him with undisguised hostility. He bent over to whisper to the old chief.

  “Lherr claims that you did not kill the beast with your own hands,” said Kuru. “He claims you used magic, evil magic.”

  “All the magic I know is good magic,” returned Curt firmly.

  Lherr frowned, whispered again to Kuru.

  “That savage,” thought Curt, “is going to cause me trouble.”

  Meanwhile he had more important things to worry about. He spoke to Varra again, asking one question after another. But all the while she answered him, he was conscious of Lherr’s angry scowl.

  Chapter 7: The Brain Becomes a Trojan Horse

  FOLLOWING the path Simon Wright had charted, the Comet drove steadily toward the planet Anfren. Inside the teardrop-shaped vessel, all was gloom. From the moment Otho and Grag had discovered that Curt Newton was lost, their manner had become quiet and subdued.

  The Brain himself spent most of his time brooding over scientific questions, to keep from thinking about Captain Future. It was without the feeling of elation that would otherwise have accompanied their visit to a new world that they prepared to land.

  Anfren was a small planet, no larger than their own moon. As the Comet circled about it, Otho quickly caught sight of a huge landing field whose description Hol Jor had given them. With a roar of the deceleration rockets, the Comet plunged downward, losing speed steadily, and finally coming to a slow and skillful landing that aroused the admiration of the watching Antareans.

  It was with a blank look that Hol Jor and the other assembled star-captains greeted him.

  “Where is Captain Future?” demanded the big red Antarean.

  “Lost in space,” replied the Brain somberly.

  “In the trip across the dimensions?”

  “Later on.”

  The star-captains exchanged glances of bewilderment. “Then your long trip here was in vain!” exclaimed Ber Del.

  “It was disastrous,” said the Brain. “Nevertheless, I am going to do what Curtis would have wished. I intend to make an effort to discover the true nature of Gorma Hass.”

  “We have sent spies to learn about him,” declared Ber Del, “but in vain. Either they have been caught, or they have returned with nothing to report.”

  “I expect to see Gorma Hass for myself.”

  There was an uneasy silence. “What we hoped that you and Captain Future would do,” put in Ki Illok, “was teach us means of combatting the Sverds.”

  “You asked for the help of our science,” rasped the Brain impatiently. “It is for us to decide how that science can be most useful. And as your chief enemy is Gorma Hass, and not the Sverds whom he controls, I intend to investigate him first.”

  “How?” asked Hol jor.

  “By letting myself be captured by his soldiers.”

  “You can’t do that, Simon!” gasped Otho. “Why, they’d kill you!”

  “My life isn’t so valuable, now that Curtis is gone,” returned the Brain. “Moreover, I think you are unduly pessimistic. I can go to places where no ordinary man can penetrate. If I am seen by the soldiers of Gorma Hass, I will appear to them merely as a piece of machinery.”

  “You are right, Simon,” boomed Grag approvingly, “It’s the kind of thing the Chief would have done. Don’t wait for the enemy to come to you! Go boldly into his camp!”

  There was a sorrowful expression on Ber Del’s face. “It appears that we have asked you and Captain Future to come to our galaxy merely in order to bring you to your deaths!”

  “We Futuremen were always accustomed to taking risks,” asserted Simon. “Where can I arrange to be captured by the men of Gorma Hass?”

  IT WAS Ki Illok who answered. “There is an outer planet in this same system of Antares that is expected to be attacked soon by Gorma Hass. There you will be sure to find both his soldiers and his Sverds.”

  “Then that is where I must go,” declared the Brain.

  “We’ll go with you, Simon,” cried Otho eagerly. “I can disguise myself as a member of a captive race, and Grag — well, nobody would take him for any kind of a human being, anyway!”

  “I go alone,” said Simon sternly. “Otho, you and Grag stay here with Hol Jor. Assist him in every way you can. If I am fortunate, and succeed in my efforts, I shall give you further orders later.”

  It was with a curious respect in their eyes that Grag, Otho, and the assembled star-captains stared silently at the determined Brain, who was about to put himself of his own free will into the power of the sinister and mysterious Gorma Hass.

  The Brain hated action. He was able to move, and to utilize his traction beams skillfully in the place of hands, but ordinarily he reserved their use for the scientific experiments he loved. He was pleased therefore to find that letting himself be captured was a simple matter.
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  Left on the planet that Ki Illok had mentioned, he needed to do nothing but wait. Eventually the soldiers of Gorma Hass arrived, and one of them, attracted by the curious-looking contraption that Simon appeared to be, seized him, and stored him away.

  During the brief interval of fighting that took place, Simon was able to see with his own lens-eyes the mysterious Sverds, so much feared by the star-captains and all others who had fought against them. He watched them walk through material obstacles, apparently unharmed by weapons of any sort, and blast their enemies with deadly effect.

  “They’re animal, not human,” he decided. “And as they’re not images, there can be only one explanation of their ability to move through solid obstacles. The atoms which compose their bodies must be in a different plane of vibration from normal matter. Curtis and I long ago recognized the possibility of matter existing in so peculiar a form, although we never succeeded in creating it. But how is it then that they can reach out and affect matter in the ordinary plane of vibration?”

  It was while Simon was pitting his wits against this question that he was discovered as he had hoped to be. It was characteristic of him that while being carried, by the soldier of Gorma Hass, he continued his attempts to puzzle out a solution.

  “The answer must lie in the weapons with which Gorma Hass has furnished them,” he decided finally. “These weapons enable them to affect matter in a normal plane of vibration while remaining outside it. Unfortunately, neither Curtis nor I ever knew how this could be done.”

  Lying with a miscellaneous mass of machinery in the hold of a space ship that was taking off from the captured planet, Simon continued to ponder the question, and to make mental calculations. Days passed thus in intense thought, interrupted only by an occasional rest period, for the Brain had no need of ordinary sleep.