The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 04 Read online

  Gerry's lips parted to form a round, red "O." For a moment she stood undecided, her extreme distaste for Von Zorn battling with her natural instincts as a huntress.

  Curiosity won. She moved closer to the screen.

  "It's something new," she admitted reluctantly. "I've never run across anything just like it. Where did you get it, Mr. Quade?"

  "Mercury Hotside. That's the truth."

  "Well — how?"

  Von Zorn broke in, leering slightly.

  "That's a professional secret."

  Gerry looked through the man without apparent difficulty.

  "What sort of creature is it, Mr. Quade? It hasn't any eyes, nose, ears or limbs, as far as I can see."

  "Quite right," Quade said, "It has no visible sensory organs. Our labs are working on that angle right now, investigating. If you'd like to examine one of these closely — we have several of 'em — they'll be in the Nine Planets exhibit room on Lunar Boulevard. I'd like to send you one for the London Zoo, but —"

  Von Zorn broke in.

  "I can send one to you by spacemail right now, if — " He held up a sheet of paper that was obviously a contract. "If you get what I mean!" Gerry's rigid control snapped. She struck savagely at the televisor switch, and the screen went blank. The reporters surged around her. This was a story! Gerry Carlyle beaten fairly, forced to dicker with her most hated enemy if she wished to keep the reputation of the London Zoo as the only complete collection of the System's life.

  Gerry impaled everyone in the room with a scorching glance. "I know what you're thinking," she snapped. "And the answer is no. Finally and irrevocably — no!"

  The reporters left with the air of men retreating from the brink of a volcano, and presently Gerry Carlyle was alone.

  The volcano paced the room, seething, After a time Gerry paused, and let out a quiet whistle. She called her secretary

  "Yes, Miss Carlyle?"

  "Give the London Zoo a call, will you? Tell 'em to send over Volume 7 from my private file. By stratosphere plane. I'm in a hurry." Gerry's notebooks, compiled into a library of incredible fact that read like fantasy, were the result of years spent exploring the alien worlds of the System.

  She remembered now that, during one of her earliest trips, she had discovered a microscopic Martian spore that in some respects resembled Von Zorn's Mercurian importation. Unfortunately she couldn't recall much about it, but nevertheless a vague uneasiness gnawed at the back of her mind.

  She had a hunch that Von Zorn and Quade were running into trouble.

  Chapter XV.

  The Prometheans

  Dr. Phineas McColm was a small, wiry man who was appalled by his unconventional mind. Science, to him, was an ever-new and ever-delightful adventure. Often his startling theories had brought down on him thunderbolts of his colleagues, but somehow McColm always had a way of proving his wild guesses — which, actually, weren't guesses at all. A less capable man could never have become chief of staff for the Nine Planets Films labs.

  As though to make up for his mental Bohemianism, McColm always wore the most correct garments in a neat and dignified manner, and inevitably a pince-nez dangled by a black ribbon from his lapels. He had never been known to look through them, however, since, despite his years of experiment in eye-straining laboratory work and the fantasy magazines he read for relaxation, he had the eyesight of a hawk.

  Right how he was sitting in Von Zorn's office, reading a copy of Thrilling Wonder Stories . He stuck the magazine in his pocket and stood up as the door opened and Von Zorn and Quade came in. Quade held one of the Mercurian creatures in his cupped hands.

  "Hello, there," he said to McColm. "Found out anything?"

  "A little," the scientist admitted. "There's something I want to know, though. How'd you manage to get those things from Hotside."

  "Robots and remote control," Quade said. "Keep this under your hat, though. I took a specially-insulated space ship to Mercury and sent out some robots, using a very narrow control beam — and even then I got plenty of interference from the sun."

  "By the looks of your expense sheet," Von Zorn growled, "you must have had plenty of interference all round."

  "It took power, Chief. I was fighting the sun's energy, and even at a distance of thirty-six million miles that's no joke. Lucky we've got the best robots in the System and the perfected beam control."

  "That's true," McColm said. "These — what you call 'em?"

  "Prometheans," Quade supplied. "After Prometheus, who lit his torch from the sun."

  "Good name. That's exactly what these creatures do, you know. They get energy directly from the sun. Those spines" — McColm took the Promethean from Quade's hands and scrutinized it closely — "they look like heavy fur, but they're largely of mineral content. They serve a dual purpose. Tiny muscles activate them so they can function as legs, and when the Prometheans move, which isn't very often, they can scurry along like caterpillars. But these spines also develop electric energy on which the creature lives.

  "One of the metals we've isolated in the spines is selenium. Now it's obvious that under the conditions of terrific heat and light on Hotside, the selenium reacts with some other metal — it might be one of several — to generate a weak electric current. We can do that in the lab, of course. The Prometheans store the electricity, like condensers, using what little they need whenever necessary." McColm's chubby face was alight with interest.

  Von Zorn said hesitantly, "You mean — they eat electricity?"

  "Don't we all?" Quade asked, and the scientist nodded.

  "Of course. You eat solar energy, or you couldn't live. You'll find chloroplasts — tiny gobular bodies — in the green leaves of vegetation. They contain chlorophyll. And they store sunlight as chemical energy. Photosynthesis enables a plant to change simple inorganic compounds into the complex molecules which form a great part of our own food. Here's the cycle: the plant uses chlorophyll to transform carbon dioxide and water into carbohydrates, which give us solar energy in usable form when we eat the green leaf.

  "These Prometheans simply take a short cut — which they can do because matter is basically electric. Millikan proved that with his oil-drop experiment. The atomic structure of a Promethean enables it to absorb energy direct without any intermediate stages."

  Von Zorn, who had been listening with eyes closed, gave a slight start and opened them.

  "How about keeping 'em alive? We're a long way from Mercury."

  McColm tut-tutted.

  "We've solved that one," he answered. "We used a dry cell. The Promethean wrapped itself around the terminals and sucked the juice out of the battery in no time at all. And for a while it was quite active, too. It had more energy than it gets in many a long day on Mercury. Figuratively speaking, of course, for it's always day on Hotside. I compute that a Promethean needs one dry cell a week to keep it healthy."

  The annunciator buzzed. Simultaneously Ailyn Van entered.

  An unusual woman, Ailyn. She was the ultra-modern star of Nine Planets, and her fan mail had strained the struts of many a spaceship. Despite the streamlined boniness of her face, she was, as the saying goes, a knockout. Her platinum-tattooed eyes passed over McColm, annihilated Quade, and raised Von Zorn's temperature.

  "I want a Promethean," she said, and that was that.

  Von Zorn gulped.

  "Uh — I don't know, Ailyn. We only have nine of them, and the lab boys need them for experiments. What do you want one for, anyway?"

  "They're so cunning," Ailyn explained. "And I'm having some publicity stills taken tomorrow. It'll be lovely publicity."

  Spying the Promethean McColm still held, she strode over and calmly appropriated the Mercurian, which made no comment save for a faintly fluorescent sparkle.

  "Well," said Ailyn, pouring the creature from one hand to another and watching the fireworks. "It tingles."

  "Mild electric shock," McColm explained. "Whenever it's moved about, it has to adjust itself. This means expenditu
re of energy; hence the sparkling. It lives on electric energy, You feed it a dry cell once a week —"

  "How quaint." Ailyn stabbed the unfortunate scientist with a platinum glance, and went out trailing orange and blue sparks. And quite suddenly Quade felt an icy qualm of uneasiness.

  He turned to the others.

  "I wonder if we were wise in letting that creature out of our hands before we know everything there is to know about it," he said slowly.

  McColm shrugged.

  "They can't be dangerous. They aren't large enough to hold a strong electric charge."

  The annunciator buzzed again. A voice said, "Mr. Von Zorn — Miss Kathleen Gregg to see you. She wants a — one of the Mercurians."

  And that was the beginning. The Prometheans were the latest rage of the stars — the newest fad of Hollywood on the Moon. There were nine of the electric creatures to pass around among a hundred stars and featured players, not to mention the wives of the board of directors. Von Zorn helplessly permitted the Prometheans to be taken from him, with the one proviso, of course, that they remain on the Moon so Gerry Carlyle might not have a chance to acquire one of them. The price of a Promethean skyrocketed overnight into the thousands, with no sellers.

  And less than twenty-four hours later — the Moon started to go haywire. Quade and McColm were leaving the offices of Nine Planets with the intention of absorbing solar energy as prepared by the Silver Spacesuit's renowned chef. They got into Quade's surface-car but the automatic starter did not immediately operate. Quade investigated.

  "Battery must be dead," he grunted. Getting out, he lifted the hood and let out a soft whistle of amazement. Wrapped about the battery terminals like a drowsy cat was one of the Prometheans.

  "Just look at that," Quade said to McColm over his shoulder. "The little devil's deliberately sucked all the juice out of the battery. Wonder who put him there? A corny gag, if you ask me." He slipped on a glove and ungently removed the Promethean, tossing the creature to the street, where it lay sparkling vigorously and continuously. But, more surprising, it was much increased in size over any of the other Mercurians.

  "It was hungry," McColm said, "that's all. Or shall we say thirsty? Our little friend here has been tapping a sort of fountain of youth. More electricity at one time than he ever got on Mercury. Naturally the size increased. Doubtless its activity will increase proportionately."

  Taking the cue, the Promethean arose, sparkling indignantly, and moved off down the street with precise movements of its under-spines. The dignity of its progress was somewhat impaired by a pronounced libration.

  The Promethean wobbled.

  Quade and McColm exchanged looks suddenly grinned. Though the creature bore no resemblance to anything human, it somehow managed to convey a perfect impression of an intoxicated reveler veering homeward with alcoholic dignity.

  "He can't take it," Quade chuckled. "He's tight."

  "Too much energy," McColm nodded. "He's drunk with energy, more electricity than he's ever had before at one time."

  Quade recaptured the Promethean and left the scientist briefly to take his prisoner into the Nine Planets building and turn him over to the labs. When he returned he found McColm waiting with a taxi. They drove to the Silver Spacesuit and found a table near the stages, where hundreds of important acts were striving valiantly to catch the eye of movie mogul and talent scout.

  Right now a trio of acrobatic dancers were performing. The woman had form-fitting gravity plates, powered by wires invisible in the tricky lighting, and weighed less than a pound, so that her companions could perform seemingly incredible feats of skill and strength. But this was an old stunt, and attracted little attention.

  Without warning the lights flickered and dimmed. Simultaneously the woman, who was at the moment shooting rapidly through the air, fell heavily upon an assistant director who was absorbedly eating lobster at a ringside table. There was an immediate confusion of acrobat, assistant director, and lobster. The audience laughed with genial approval.

  Then the mirth changed to indignation as the lights went out altogether. There was mild excitement as the early evening crowd milled around aimlessly in the dark.

  Wordlessly Quade and McColm ploughed through the mob toward the rear. There, where the power lead-ins passed through the meter box, another of the Prometheans was found coiled around the bared wires. The headwaiter, gripping a flashlight, was staring in wide-eyed amazement at the object and shaking his free hand.

  "It — it shocked me," he murmured. "Ouch."

  Quade found a glove in his pocket, and with its aid he ripped the rapidly growing Promethean from the wires. The lights flared up again. With the Mercurian under one arm he fled back through the cocktail bar in a short cut to Lunar Boulevard, McColm at his heels.

  "If any more of these little devils are loose, they may get into the central power house. That'd be plain hell."

  And, just then, every light on Hollywood on the Moon except those on vehicles wavered and went out.

  "You're a little late, Tony," McColm said. "They're taking the juice from the generator terminals right now."

  Chapter XVI.

  Panic on the Moon

  Quade hailed a taxi, leaped for its running-board. He promptly found himself sailing up in an astounding jump, hurtling completely over the surface-car and coming down lightly on the other side.

  The cabbie thrust her head unwarily through the window to stare at this athletic marvel, and dived ungracefully out to crack her head smartly against the paving of Lunar Boulevard.

  McColm, guessing what had happened, hastily glided around the taxi and helped the two men to their feet.

  "The gravity plates below us," he said tonelessly. "They're not working either. More Prometheans sucking away the power."

  "You don't tell me," said Quade bitterly, experimenting with a tender ankle. "Take us to Central Power, buddy, and make it fast." As the taxi jerked into motion he murmured, "Thank God there's only nine of these blasted things altogether." He still held the captive Promethean and now, opening a baggage compartment, he thrust the creature inside and slammed the panel.

  Men and women were pouring from night spots and buildings along Lunar Boulevard. Even late workers on the sets of Nine Planets gave up and joined the tumultuous throng. Surface autocars, with their individual batteries and lights, were small oases in the absolute blackness of interstellar space. Hollywood on the Moon was half frightened and half amused by what they considered something of a gag while a temporary difficulty in the power rooms was repaired.

  Through the mob Quade's taxi scooted skillfully, heading for the entrance to the lunar caverns, where gigantic generators produced the electric power that was the very life-blood of the Moon. Arriving at the skyscraper that masked the mighty machines beneath, Quade and McColm piled out.

  "Turn around so your headlights shine down the entrance ramp," Quade commanded, thrusting a bill in the driver's hand. Without waiting for an answer he followed McColm down into gloom.

  The elevator bank was motionless and dark, but not silent. From within two of the shafts floated up a terrific shouting from carloads of passengers trapped between floors and suspended precariously by emergency brakes.

  Quade ran to the stairs and led the way down the descending spiral. Two minutes of clattering, reckless flight in total darkness brought the men to the power room level. A flickering red glow guided them to the central cavern, a vast natural chasm filled with the dynamos, generators, and huge machines that kept the Moon alive. Several piles of cotton waste were burning here and there.

  Normally everything in the power house is more or less automatic, and few attendants are necessary. At the moment one of these, a burly man with a harassed expression, was striving frantically to pry loose one of the Prometheans from the terminals of a generator.

  Since the Mercurian was more than ten feet in diameter and spread over most of the generator's surface, the burly man's efforts were not notably successful. Indeed, his
attempt to pry the creature loose with a crowbar seemed merely a gesture.

  Quade ran forward. The whole cavern seemed to explode in a blinding blaze of flame. There was a deafening thunderclap, and an invisible hand seemed to lift Quade and McColm and smash them back. The attendant vanished. A spouting, roaring fountain of sparkling pinwheels showered over the power room's plastic floor.

  Presently the world stopped reeling and Quade clambered unsteadily to his feet. The electric lights were again burning — blue mercury and pinkish helium globes glowed here and there among the others. With numbed surprise Quade noticed that the Promethean no longer clung to the naked power lines. But all over the room were scattered dozens of small Prometheans, glittering madly as they poured in a drunken rout toward the generators. A score of them reached the bared terminals, and the lights went out again."

  The cotton waste still burned. McColm arose, his round face grimy.

  "Did you see that?" he breathed. "They've reproduced. When they get so much electricity stored up in them they can afford to share it with offspring, they divide by multiple fission."

  Quade was kneeling beside the attendant's motionless body.

  "Yeah … he's still alive. That's a miracle. McColm." He stood up, lips tightening grimly. "This is pretty serious. We've got to stop those things right away."

  The two men marched into the sparkling sea, kicking a path toward the generators. Quade, with his gloved hand, began pulling the Prometheans from the terminals, McColm tried to help, but was promptly knocked sprawling by a savage electric shock from one of the visibly growing Prometheans.

  "Never mind," Quade said swiftly. "I can pull 'em off faster than they can climb back on. Find a bag or something to put them in."

  But it was too late, The Prometheans were, so to speak, in their cups, and large enough and active enough to cause Quade trouble. In some obscure fashion they realized that Quade was an enemy, trying to prevent them from reaching the intoxicating electric current. So they advanced with drunken persistence and surrounded him.

  An electric shock is not calculated to induce calm. Quade yelped and fell down, his legs momentarily paralyzed. The Prometheans sparkled with a vaguely triumphant air and advanced.