Captain Future 20 - The Solar Invasion (Fall 1946) Page 4

  “It’s Ul Quorn,” Captain Future told him, and quickly went on to describe all that happened. He explained to the puzzled Grag the significance of the dimension-shift that had somehow swallowed and altered the Moon.

  “And now, what happens to us?” asked the Brain when Curt had finished.

  “Curtains, as they said in the Twentieth Century,” suggested Grag.

  “Nothing of the sort,” replied Captain Future quickly. “I know Ul Quoin’s merciless, but he practically admitted that he needed to keep us alive. He wants to know what, if anything, is being done against this invasion by dimensions. That means he won’t kill us, or do weird surgery on our brains.”

  “Of course not,” put in the Brain. “Such surgery would make us slaves of his own mind, but it would also wipe out our own knowledge, which he thinks he must have.”

  “He’ll try to get it by torture,” suggested Grag. “Of course, I can’t feel pain, but I don’t know anything he wants to know, anyway.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t get out of these metal ropes,” interposed the Brain, jiggling in his criss-cross of bonds. “If my traction-beams worked properly, I think I could set us free, but they’re just not as handy as usual.”

  “And I’m a little clumsy, too,” said Grag.

  “Perhaps the dimension-shift blurs the finest mechanical performance,” suggested Curt. “Yes, if they give us any time whatever, we ought to hit on some way to —”

  He broke off. A small trapdoor near the ceiling was opening, and a pallid hand thrust in. A moment later something fell with a solid chunk on the flooring. The trapdoor closed.

  “What was that?” demanded the Brain, extending his eyestalks through the criss-cross of ropes. “Another captive? What?”

  “Just a little thing, the size of a rabbit,” said Curt. “Almost hidden from sight in metal cordage.”

  “But not for long!” boomed Grag exultantly. “That cordage will melt off like snowflakes in the sun, and then we’ll be free!”

  “How?” the brain rasped.

  “Don’t you understand? That’s Eek, my little Eek! Bound in metal. But Eek eats metal! He’ll eat these bonds off of us!”

  * * * * *

  When the prisoners had been led away and shut up, Ul Quorn stood alone in the vestibule of the invasion headquarters that had been the laboratory-home of the Futuremen. There was no longer any need to pose commandingly before Captain Future and the pallid grotesque beings who obeyed Ul Quorn’s orders.

  Ul Quorn sagged a little in his brilliant robe. His handsome, sensitive face twitched a little beneath the turban. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen the real weakness of Ul Quorn — he was a mongrel. Martian and Earthman and Venusian were his ancestors — Martian for high, broad cranium and red complexion, Venusian for fineness of feature and proportion, Earthman for sinewy muscle and black hair.

  But the best of the races had not come out in the fusion. Ul Quorn was all these peoples, and none of them. He was alien, in body and in spirit.

  NOW there were no watchers, or he might not have relaxed. He sighed, and headed to his own quarters. These were luxuriously fitted, as Ul Quorn’s taste dictated, and on a table stood a telaudio with various new improvements devised by the scientific genius of Ul Quorn himself. He sat in front of it, and sighed again.

  “Thinking of me, Ul Quorn?” came a soft, silky voice, the voice of a woman who both questioned and mocked.

  He stared at the vision-screen. He saw there a supple figure in the clinging rich robes of a Martian noblewoman. The figure came closer in the image, until only the face smiled out at him, a beautiful rose-tinted face, with brilliant eyes that laughed and challenged.

  “N’Rala!” muttered Ul Quorn. “You — have you followed me into this between-dimensional universe, after all?”

  “You falter in your mind, Ul Quorn,” said the silky voice. “Didn’t you invent this dimension-spanning telaudio frequency and give me the only attachment, to communicate with you?”

  “I did,” said Ul Quorn, “and you said you’d destroy it — wouldn’t communicate. You’d stay back in the other dimension and rule your own empire there without me.” His voice grew sad and appealing, not at all like the Ul Quorn who had threatened whole systems. “Does this mean, N’Rala, that you’ll join me in my own schemes? Because I need you.”

  “Ah, Ul Quorn needs me!” N’Rala laughed musically. “I fought and toiled for Ul Quorn, tasted defeat at the hands of the Futuremen for Ul Quorn, and he valued me only as I was useful! Now, since we plunged into a new dimension and found that the dwellers there saw us as different individuals, with different wills and wishes, he suddenly misses my presence at his side! No, I stay here, Ul Quorn. Because someone else finds my presence of great value.”

  “The Overlord,” growled Ul Quorn. “You turn to him.”

  “I turn to nobody,” said N’Rala. “I have decided to emulate you, guide myself only by my own wishes and plans. Much is happening here. Perhaps your plan of conquest back in the universe where we started will affect it, a little, as I wish. Meanwhile I only wanted to see how you were faring, Ul Quorn. Goodbye.”

  The screen went blank. Ul Quorn sagged in his chair, frowning.

  Yes, N’Rala had spoken this much truth. She had once done Ul Quorn’s bidding like a slave, using her considerable scientific skill, her dazzling personality, to forward schemes that twice almost conquered whole planetary systems. But the final step in the last clash with the Futuremen had whirled them and their ship into Dimension X.

  There, as if suddenly realizing how much a subordinate she had remained in his estimation, she had turned from him, and taken her own path.

  A knock sounded on the door of Ul Quorn’s room. In came one of the pallid creatures, wearing the shiny collar of a junior officer. A big three-fingered hand lifted in salute.

  “You are required to present yourself to the High Command,” said the officer. “You must report on progress.”

  Ul Quorn rose.

  “The prisoners,” he said. “Are they well confined?”

  “Yes. Bound and locked up, with guards at every possible entry.”

  “And the small craft in which Captain Future came?”

  “It is being brought from where it landed.”

  “Treat it carefully,” admonished Ul Quorn. “It has dimension-travelling equipment, undoubtedly. That is all.”

  The officer departed. Ul Quorn rose from his chair and turned to a rear corner of the room. A sort of coffinlike case stood there, of white metal, roughly but strongly made. It was set all over with dials, terminals, strangely fabricated mazes of wiring and bus rods. Though the master switch was turned to “off,” there was about it a tiny whisper and throb as of tense power.

  Ul Quorn threw the switch. A hum arose, great sparks of light darted out. He stepped inside.

  He felt the sudden shock, tearing every fiber of body and brain, that always comes with a switch from dimension to dimension. Recovering, he found himself in blackness so thick that it seemed to choke and deaden any normal sense. But he knew, from previous experience in this meeting-place, that there were enclosing walls, and around him sat entities — high leaders of the strange people with which he was leagued.

  THROUGH the utter dark cut a voice — a voice high but harsh, like the clang of metal, dripping danger as liquid venom:

  “We will speak, servant, in the language of what you call your Solar System, that my lieutenants and I may accustom ourselves to its sound and use.”

  “Don’t call me a servant,” Ul Quorn replied, proudly and disdainfully. “I’m here with you, under these stupid limitations, because I choose it that way.”

  A moment of silence followed, as if the harsh speaker were considering the daring response and deciding whether to let it pass. Then:

  “You blundered into our universe, caused disruption and damage, until we captured you and the other survivor of your party. Your one chance for survival was that offe
r to betray your native system of worlds to us.”

  Ul Quorn chuckled.

  “What is the chance of survival of my companion? N’Rala — what has she offered? Conquest in another direction — or has she done the conquering?”

  “N’Rala does not enter this conversation,” said the harsh voice.

  “You’re a fool to count me as a captive or a subordinate,” said Ul Quorn. “And don’t accuse me of betraying anything. If I ever felt loyal or friendly to my home string of planets I’d have disdained to help you overwhelm them. I’m serving my own purposes, not yours.”

  “A little patience, Overlord,” came another voice of the inhuman metal-venom tone, but more calm. “He is valuable to us.”

  “He’s not indispensable,” the one addressed as Overlord retorted. “I honor him too much by this bargaining.”

  “So,” interrupted UI Quoin, who was never at a loss for boldness, “you admit to bargaining? Well, let’s forget threats and poses. You want to conquer my native System for reasons we both know. I want to conquer it, too — for revenge. We can help each other without interfering with each other. Your organization of forces, instruments and science is at the peak. I, familiar with these Solar System worlds, am acting as the intelligence and reconnaissance departments —”

  “Enough of that,” broke in the Overlord. “We have gone to tremendous labor and expense. One of the worlds of our System has been used to snare one of the worlds of yours. We want some word on what progress is being made.”

  “Great progress,” said Ul Quorn. “We have been able to seize the individual most to be feared — Captain Future.”

  “I thought that his capture had been bungled.”

  “Only at the first move to seize the satellite. Captain Future, left free, deduced what had happened, as we might have foreseen. He came into the between-dimensional field, and we captured him and also a small craft in which he made the transfer. Now,” and Ul Quorn became impressive, “we shall send our first important expedition into the Solar System, in that ship.”

  “You’ll command, of course,” said the Overlord.

  “Yes, because I am of the Solar System race, and will not be recognized as alien. I want N’Rala to go with me. She is the only other specimen available.”

  “N’Rala stays here, said the Overlord.

  “Without her I can do nothing,” sighed Ul Quorn. “Do you not trust us together?”

  “I do not need to trust when I do not fear.” The Overlord thought for a moment. “She will be sent to you.”

  Ul Quorn decided to comment no further on N’Rala, lest he betray his triumph in getting her back. He changed the subject.

  “Between dimensions, then, we occupy and dominate an entire world — Luna, satellite of the Solar System’s third planet, Earth. To observers throughout the Solar System, Luna seems to have vanished. Captain Future, the only one who knew and met our threat, is also in our hands. His subordinates —”

  “Subordinates?” echoed the Overlord. “Will they not know what he knew?”

  “Not so clearly as he did. Our first task will be to capture, or destroy them as well.”

  Ul Quorn was maliciously eager.

  “Proceed with that. You may go.”

  Ul Quorn stepped backward, through the dimension-transfer field. A shock, a struggle of all his fibers, and he was again in his quarters.

  His first move was to the telaudio. He turned it on.

  “N’Rala?”

  “I’m listening, Ul Quorn. Orders come fast, don’t they?”

  “You heard him, then?”

  “I am to work with you again, Ul Quorn,” said N’Rala, her face smiling from the screen. “But not for you. That’s understood — the Overlord is an understanding individual. Stand by to meet me.”

  Her image vanished from the screen. There was a buzz in the coffin-box in the corner, and she stepped out toward him.

  “What do we do first?” she asked. “Where’s our destination?”

  “Earth — New York,” replied Ul Quorn. “Come with me.”

  Chapter 6: Counter-Espionage

  FOR one brief second, aboard the Comet, Joan Randall and Otho knew fierce joy when they saw the little life-rocket whip back into view from nowhere; then the joy turned to consternation as the tiny craft plunged past them toward Earth.

  Joan, at the controls, leaned to the telaudio. “Curt!” she called.

  “Curt — Captain Future! Why don’t you come back here?”

  No reply. Not even a waver in the course of the smaller craft. It continued toward Earth. Joan whirled the Comet and rocketed in pursuit.

  Then happened something even more mystifying and daunting. The proton gun mounted aft on the rocket spouted fire. Only by chance did it miss the Comet, and Joan quickly slanted and buck-jumped in space to avoid a second blast.

  “They’ve gone mad!” cried Otho. “They don’t recognize us.”

  “Would Curt fail to recognize the Comet?” Joan demanded. “That’s the life-rocket that left but someone else is aboard! An enemy!”

  “Enemy?” Otho was at the gun-levers. “I’ll blast him.”

  “No, we must capture them!” Joan reached a free hand to the telaudio dials. “Hello, Planet Patrol! Comet calling! Let me have Ezra Gurney.”

  “Gurney here,” snapped back a gruff voice, and the seamed face of the marshal popped into view on the screen.

  “Ezra!” Joan greeted him. “Quick! Send a ship to observe at the point we’re quitting — and others to head off a life-rocket dropping down —”

  “Too late,” groaned Otho. “I see it shooting toward the space-docks — no, the dock warrens beyond!”

  It was true. They had followed the fugitive into Earth’s atmosphere, tailed it down to New York. And the little craft was heading for the thick of the shabby, unsavory district beyond the docks, where all races and types of men, all of them raffish and some dangerous, lived in furtive and sometimes lawless squalor.

  The Comet leveled off and spiraled above the place where the life-rocket had settled among spires and towers. Ezra Gurney, in a space-ketch of the Patrol, came alongside, synchronized his speed, and maneuvered aboard through the airlock which was opened for him.

  “Glad to see you, Ezra,” said Joan hastily. “Take over here, will you? Otho and I must chase that life-rocket.”

  “What’s it all about?” pleaded the old marshal.

  “No time to explain. But we’ll keep in touch with these.” From a locker Joan snatched two pocket transmitters, and handed one to Otho. “Do as we ask, Ezra! We’ll tell you everything, when the universe is safe, and Captain Future is back. But we have to go now!”

  She fairly dragged him to the Comet’s controls, and before he could frame another question, she and Otho were into the ketch and dropping down.

  As they expected, a small plummet-way showed among the towers. The Comet could never have dropped into it, but the ketch could. They slid, like a bullet down the muzzle of a gun, to a small private landing stage, surrounded by dingy structures. Out they jumped.

  “There’s the life-rocket,” said Joan, pointing. “Its hatch is open, the raft is empty. Where did he — or she, or whoever was in there — get to?”

  “We’ll find out,” said Otho. “Look — half a dozen doorways to dives and bars. The trail may lead into, and through, any of them. I’ll start one way and you the other, unless you’re afraid.”

  “When was I ever afraid?” demanded Joan.

  She strode from the stage into a dingy establishment with a sign promising drinks from all the planets.

  But there were only stupid barmen and more stupid customers inside, not the remotest sign of excitement or other evidence that a fugitive might have come in. Flashing her police badge on the proprietor, Joan made him conduct her through the little office, the kitchen and several rooms. She found no trace.

  IN THE bar next door was only a pudgy half-breed Uranian, who had been drinking too much of his own war
es. He happily allowed her to search, and was almost too admiring until Joan dropped her hand to the hilt of her proton gun.

  The third bar had half a dozen customers. The big green Jovian who was serving them looked up at her as she entered. One of the customers leered and giggled. Another cursed.

  “That’s one of them,” said the man who cursed, a brutal-faced Earthman. “I’ve seen her. A friend of Captain Future.”

  “To be sure I’m a friend of Captain Future,” replied Joan, walking toward him. “And I’m here on his business. What —”

  “Grab her,” said the Jovian, and closed his green paw on her elbow before she could draw the proton gun.

  She strove frantically and with science, for from Captain Future Joan had learned many a grip and twist of wrestling, but these creatures were too many for her. They had forced her into a corner, and one of them was opening a door, when a hoarse voice hailed them from the entry.

  “All of you roughing a lady! Is that the way you do things in this dive? I have a notion to bust yuh!”

  The newcomer swayed a little on his feet, as if he had been drinking. His flying-clothes were disarranged, his face flushed, his mop of gingery hair disordered. Only Joan could recognize him as Otho, hastily disguised with makeup from the little kit he always carried. He came toward them, feigning a drunken truculence.

  “I never did like fighting women,” he told the group.

  One of them covered him with a proton pistol. Otho’s own weapon was out of sight. He lifted his hands warily, but watched his chance.

  “Brave, aren’t you?” he jibed. “About six of you, but you need proton artillery against one man and a girl!” He spat on the floor in contempt.

  “You don’t look hard to handle,” boomed the big Jovian, who seemed to head the party. “Get out of here!”

  “Wait,” said one of the others. “He’s seen us grab her — and we’ve drawn guns. If he goes blubbering to any police, we’re finished.”