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Hunters Out of Space

<h2>CHAPTER 7</h2> WOLDEN and Ato, acting as pilot and co-pilot, set The Nebula down with as much ease as a housewife putting a fine piece of china upon the drainboard. There was no fuss and no noise. Jack Odin had seen B-47’s come in with a great deal more hubbub and dithers than the Nebula had caused. The screens were still on. Out there all was dark, and a wealth of stars was in the purple-black sky. They seemed larger and brighter. Wolden touched a knob and the stars on the screen before them slowly grew larger and larger. “An astronomer’s paradise,” he said to Odin. “Look closely and you can see Centauri’s binary suns. Here, with no refraction, a small telescope can do as well as the best that your people have made. There is no telling what your large ones could do. Ah, the riddles that could be answered.” Odin shrugged. Like almost everyone else, he had often fancied how it would be to land on the moon. Now he was here, and the surface of the moon was blacker than the blackest night he had ever seen. Moreover, there had been no change in gravity. The Nebula had been built to take care of that. As though sensing his thoughts, Wolden began to explain. “We are less than fifty miles from a spot where the earth could be seen. Not over a degree below the curvature. In fact, if the moon were full, there would be a bit of light here, for a strong light playing upon any globe always lights up over half of it. We are not far from the Heroynian Mountains and the Bay of Dew. Just a few miles within that other side of the moon which none of your people have ever seen before.” Odin remembered Jules Verne’s account of a volcano spouting its last breath of life in that zone, but out there was nothing but the dark and the stars that smoldered like sapphires, rubies, and diamonds upon a black velvet sky. There were no shadows. The darkness was solid, as though it had frozen there since old and no spark had ever invaded it. “Be patient, my friend,” Wolden had sensed his thoughts again. “Before long, you will see more of the moon than men have ever known. We sent a smaller ship into space. Remember! Our scientists are here. In a place beyond your dreams. Look. They are coming now.” Wolden was adjusting the screen again. Far off, something like a long jointed bug with a single glaring light in its head was crawling toward them. It drew nearer. Jack Odin saw that it was no more than a huge caterpillar tractor with several cars attached, armored and sheathed with sort of a bellows-type connection at each joint. As it neared the Nebula, it played its light around so that Odin got his first glimpse of the moon. Barren, worn, cindered. An ash-heap turned to stone. Puddles and splashes shaped like great crowns, as though liquid rock had congealed at the very height of its torment. Needles of rock, toadstools of rock, bubbles of rock, and glassy sheets of rock—this was the surface of the moon. Then the crawling tractor with its cars lumbering along behind it on their endless tracks was below them and playing its single light upward. <hr class="tb" /> An air-lock in the Nebula opened and a huge hose came slowly down. Odin watched it on the screen. It seemed to have been pleated and shoved together like an accordion. Now it opened out in little jerking movements, extending itself about two feet at each writhing twitch. As it grew longer it expanded and was nearly three feet across when it reached the top of the first car. A round door opened. Unseen hands reached the end of the big hose and fastened it securely. Odin had often dreamed of landing on the moon. There, in the traditional space-suit, with a plastic bubble about his head, he would leap twenty feet into the air, and maybe even turn a somersault as a gesture of man’s escape from the tiring tyranny of gravity. Compared to this dream, his arrival upon the moon was just a bit ridiculous. He and over a score of others simply slid down the inside of the long, slanting hose like a group of third-graders practicing on the fire-escape at the school house. <hr class="tb" /> Larger than the others, Odin landed awkwardly upon the floor of the car. Before he could jump aside, another passenger piled upon him. It was a girl, and the perfume in her hair was the same that Maya had always used. He helped her to her feet and drew her aside just as another voyager came sliding down. The girl was Nea. Somehow, he had an odd feeling that Maya was here. He was just a bit annoyed at Nea, and wished to himself that she wasn’t making the trip. She shook her black curls and thanked him softly. “How awkward of me,” she explained. “It wouldn’t have happened if I had not been carrying this—” She held up a little round satchel. It was exactly like the cases that people used in his country for carrying bowling balls. Odin was puzzled. And he assured himself that he would never understand women. Why would the girl be carrying a bowling ball with her into outer space? Odin joined Wolden, Ato, and Gunnar in the “engine” of the bumpy little train. Here were real windows of quartz, and he could see more of the moon’s surface as the tractor and its jointed cars wheeled about in a great circle and headed off in the direction from whence it had come. Once there was a loud Ping upon the roof above them. The tractor shook. “A meteorite,” the driver explained. “They’re thick tonight. Don’t worry. There’s a screen upon the roof that slows them down and melts ’em. The larger ones never reach us. Some of the tiny ones get through.” They came to a sheer mountain which in the beams of the tractor looked like a silver pyramid painted across a jet-black canvas. As though answering an unheard vibration, a door opened and they lumbered in. The door closed behind them. For a moment they were in such darkness that even the beam from the tractor seemed alien. Then another door started to open before them and a widening shaft of light was there to greet them. Odin was thinking that each race must have some craft at which it excels all others. If so, then the building of air-locks was certainly the Brons’ highest art. Then they advanced into a cavern where five tiny atomic suns were strung out at equal distances upon the ceiling. The cavern was geometrical. Roughly, it was a mile long, half a mile wide, and half a mile high. The floor was smooth; the walls were sheer. “As though they had been shaped by human hand,” Odin thought, but he soon learned that other hands had sheered those walls. In the very middle of the cavern was a little lake, shaped in the same proportion as the floor. It was surrounded by green grass, and at one corner was a profusion of water-lilies and cat-tails. There were no trees, but flowers were everywhere. A few small bushes. Here and there were great clumps of vines. Odin guessed them to be wild cucumber and trumpet vines, for they had grown riotously. It was beautiful indeed, but there were other things to catch the eye. At least a hundred hemispheres—little igloos of porcelain—were scattered about the floor of the cave. Each one was a different color. They shimmered and glittered. Scarlet, mauve, mother-of-pearl, the blue Capri, and the blue of cobalt. Pinks, yellows, oranges. Every possible shade had gone into those porcelain igloos. And the lighted walls of the cavern were covered from floor to ceiling with numberless figures, marching, fighting, working, playing. At first, Odin thought it was a vast procession of armored knights with huge chests and closed visors. But none of them stood completely erect—and each of them had two sets of arms. Straining his eyes at the windows to look up, Odin learned that the vast ceiling was completely covered by similar figures. In contrast to these was one huge tower of rough stone which Odin guessed to be new. So they came to the moon, and disembarked. And at last Odin felt the lightened pull of the moon’s gravity. He felt so free that he laughed and leaped into the air and turned a somersault just as he had dreamed of doing. Then one of the Brons’ scientists gave him a heavy pair of shoes—as if to remind him that no man can be altogether free. As he glumly strapped the heavy shoes to his feet, Jack thought of something his father had told him: “No man was ever really free, unless it was Robinson Crusoe. Then Friday showed up and became Crusoe’s servant, and Crusoe’s freedom flew away.” <hr class="tb" /> Forty-eight hours had passed since they came to the cavern. Odin and Gunnar had gone with Wolden to visit the Scientist who had led the first expedition to the moon. The Scientist, whose name was Gor, was explaining: “—They were hardly out of the Iron Age. That was how we found this place. Our instruments detected a surplus of iron in this area. They must have developed fast—for life did not last long. Insectival, beyond a doubt. Also, they had what we call The Moon Metal. Their houses, practically everything they used, are made of that. It must have been an accident. In cooling, the moon spewed this new alloy out upon its surface. Yes, it looks like porcelain—but it is as hard as steel. It has strange vibrations. They had musical instruments—although they may have produced tingling vibrations instead of sound. When these people saw that all was lost, they retreated here and closed the cave. “For over a thousand years, theirs was an economy of death and rottenness. Mushrooms and toadstools were their food. Banks of rotting mushrooms made their light. Also, it appears they had some rocks which gave out a dim glow. Even their dead went to feed the mushrooms. And so they lived. With time on their hands they covered the walls with paintings. Also, we think they must have developed their music to a high degree—though we may never know about that. Then their water and air gave out and they died.” <hr class="tb" /> Good heavens, Odin thought, what a cold-blooded obituary for any race! “And so, Wolden,” the Scientist continued, “it has worked out well. We were lucky to find this spot. We fashioned the two doors first, for the cave was open when we reached it—I think a meteor must have crashed here long after these people died. After that, it was easy to build the lights and to draw moisture and air from the rocks. We have struck a balance now. I said all along that it could be done, if we could escape the constant interference from those ruffians above us—uh, Odin, I beg your pardon.” Odin always resented these cracks at his people so he ignored the request by asking another question. “But how did you do all this in so short a time? Those vines look like they have been growing for years.” “Just as they do in Alaska during the growing season. We kept our suns burning all the time. Soon we may be able to afford both day and night, but not yet. “And after that,” the Scientist went on, “we were able to get back to your work on the Time-Space Continuum. We have made some wonderful advances. I would like to show you—but Gunnar and Odin, I am boring you.” “Wouldn’t you care to look at the new lake?” Wolden urged. “I can take a hint,” Gunnar grumbled. “Nobody wants a fighting man about until the swords are flashing—” As Odin and Gunnar went down the front steps of the tower, they met the girl Nea. She was swinging the bowling-ball-shaped satchel at her side. When they greeted her, Odin felt that he could hold back his curiosity no longer. “Are you a bowler, Miss Nea?” he asked. “A bowler!” Then she laughed a silvery laugh. “Oh, no. This is an invention of mine. My father and I were working on it. He died in the tunnel when it was flooded.” For a second her dark eyes appeared infinitely sad. Then she laughed again. “But it is not perfected. It may not ever be perfected now. I thought that perhaps Wolden and Gor might help me with it.” Gunnar muttered some words that might be roughly interpreted as “Fat Chance” and he and Odin left the girl on the steps. As they walked around the little lake which was as smooth as a mirror, Gunnar explained. “Her mother was a cousin to Maya’s mother. You know how the Brons number their kin to the seventh generation. Her father was one of the Scientists. A brilliant man—but a poor provider. However, he died nobly. Remember, Nors-King, Nea’s branch of the family is a strange group. They have done brilliant things, but they have thought up some hare-brained schemes, too. As I said before, she is also kin to Grim Hagen—” Another day had passed. The voyagers had been summoned to a council hall within the tower. A screen was set up for the convenience of those who had been left upon the Nebula. Wolden arose to speak. “My friends, a troubled question has entered my mind. As you know, I am a man of peace. My entire life has been spent in developing theories upon what I call this subject before me. I had thought it to be something that could be developed within three generations—if we were left at peace. But we were not left at peace. And I accepted your decision that we go forth into space and find Grim Hagen. But now I have learned new things. This discovery of the Moon Metal has advanced my work by fifty years. Gor here has advanced it farther. We are upon the brink of perfecting my life’s work. Now, I ask that I be relieved of command. Look, you have my son Ato. A much better commander than I could ever be. Let me stay here with my work, I beg of you.” So the votes were taken, following a century-old ritual. Wolden was relieved of command and Ato was given his place. Hours later Gunnar and Odin sat with Ato in his quarters, making some last-minute decisions. There was a knock at the door. Wolden entered, carrying a strange-looking slug-horn that glimmered like mother-of-pearl. “I want you to take this with you,” he begged his son. “It is made of the Moon-Metal. I think I know its secret now. A vibration that defies a vacuum. I hope to perfect my work, but I may not. Here,” he offered the tiny horn to his son. “Blow it if you need me. It is soundless, but it defies time and space just as my work does. I carry a ring to match it. I may not succeed. But blow it when you need me, son, and if I can I’ll be there—” Tears were in the eyes of both when Ato took the slug-horn from his father. Table of Contents <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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