Hell Stuff For Planet X, Page 4

  The walls were lined with barbaric figures of giant insects rudely carved in bas-relief. They resembled the Ledi in form, but they were nearly the size of men. The spears and swords they were armed with, and the tools they plied plainly indicated that the intelligence of the creatures that had cut their history in the living rock was, or had been, on a level with that of human beings.

  As we advanced farther and met none of the huge Ledi in the flesh, I became more and more convinced that their kind had been extinct for countless ages.

  The world-old passageway terminated in a circular room around the circumference of which were many doors. I was led into one, and found myself in a small cell, the floor of which was covered by a thick layer of dust. After I had removed my space suit at an order, my jailer shackled me to the wall. Jack Joywater and the Mekal, both unable to cause any trouble, were tossed carelessly on the floor, and the heavy stone door was closed and locked. The Mekal had a hideous wound on his chest. He was in a stupor and seemed close to death.

  Oddly I felt remarkably calm. I could hear the muffled babble of voices.

  Now and then there came a deep throaty note such as a strong wind blowing through a narrow rocky tunnel might make. The air had a peculiar metallic odor—the smell of the Ledi. Somehow this realization made me uneasy; I was beginning to distrust those tiny devilish creatures. It struck me as possible that the air for these caverns was drawn from their burrows.

  The period of waiting could not really have been very long. A dozen devotees of Mu-Lo returned, and carried the Mekal, Joywater and me farther into the labyrinth. Our procession emerged at last into a tremendous rough-hewn cavern, the arching roof of which sent back with vaulted ringing, the footfalls of those who bore the sacrifices. As we advanced into the great room, the velvety shadows which were disturbed only by a few patches of self-luminous rock, gleaming weirdly in the walls and ceiling, slipped from about the form of a Gargantuan Ledi constructed of a golden-colored metal.

  The image, which crouched against the farther wall, was fully eighty feet high. Its grotesque face, half-hidden by the gloom that enveloped the ceiling, consisted mainly of two enormous, many-faceted eyes, set with clusters of jewels that gleamed and glinted wickedly with a frosty, shifting fire. Hammered gold, encrusted with countless gems covered almost the entire figure—the six thin, multi-jointed limbs, the armored body. The effect was one of incredible richness; and yet the rude workmanship suggested that those who had made the mechanical idol had not attained any great degree of culture. That I was looking upon Mu-Lo, ancient god of the moon, I knew.

  The worshippers bore us with slow steps into a long enclosure extending from the feet of the image. It was surrounded and roofed by transparent glass.

  Tying two of us to upright metal posts and leaving the third carelessly on the floor they left the enclosure. When they had closed and carefully locked the entrance behind them, the sacrificial ceremony began. The little knot of worshippers, led by the Queen, made eccentric movements with their arms while they mouthed queer sounds and phrases which must have been prayers and incantations.

  The Queen was dressed, just as she had been at La Terre Rouge—wearing the same misty robe, the same great jewel gleaming so evilly on her forehead. She was dancing the same barbaric dance and singing the same wild, questioning song: “Haieu seweeah? Haieu! Haieu!...”

  I REMEMBER those words. Occasionally she glanced toward me and smiled with taunting witchery. In the wan purple light of the place, beneath the gaze of the horrid Mu-Lo, she seemed literally gorgeous—as though all the forces of darkness had combined to shower their gifts of beauty and charm upon her.

  At the conclusion of her dance she stood on tiptoe facing the god. Her right hand was raised up as far as she could reach. In a clear, penetrating voice she questioned the deity: “Haieu, Mu-Lo?”

  A moment passed. I was dumbfounded when, amid the scrape and jangle of ancient and rusty machinery, the voice of the god boomed forth: “Haieu, Mu-Lo!”

  Immediately the Queen knelt on the rough pavement and prayed silently. The other worshippers drew forth pipes and proceeded to smoke the sacred drug.

  I had been searching for some clue which would give me a hint of the way I was to die, and I was not long in finding one. Inch by inch one of the god’s jointed, mechanical arms was dropping toward a lever. When the hand struck that lever, a small gate, which led from a compartment outside the walled enclosure, would open. The disagreeable metallic odor from the hordes of insects hinted to me the kind of horrors that would presently rush in upon us.

  I gazed through the glass wall at the group of worshippers crouching on the floor. In a moment I found whom I sought—Parks. He met my angry stare without a glimmer of recognition. Gladly I would have choked him. The drug was beginning to tell on the other white-robed men. Their eyes, set in their pudgy, dissipated countenances, were growing heavy with sleep. I noticed, however, that Parks only played with the poisoned smoke; he did not inhale it.

  The claw of Mu-Lo was nearing the fateful lever—a foot to go... nine inches... eight... Some of the worshippers were already sprawled on the floor, the others, with the exception of Parks, were either in a dazed or a semi-dazed condition. The Queen continued to kneel on the floor, absorbed in silent adoration of the abhorrent idol.

  There was but an inch now between the claw of Mu-Lo and the lever. The sweat of terror covered my whole body. I envied the Mekal and Joywater their unconsciousness.

  And then there came the sputtering flash of an electronic pistol. Amid a shower of white-hot sparks a section of the glass fence beside me vanished, burned to nothing.

  Parks was responsible. Carrying his still glowing weapon in his hand, he raced through the hole he had made in the transparent wall, and cut the tough cables that lashed me to the post. Then we both turned our attention to Jack Joywater. Since it was easier under existing circumstances for one man to carry him than two, Parks tossed him easily to his shoulder. Mu-Lo’s votaries were in no condition to offer any opposition.

  We were scarcely through the opening in the wall when the gate in the pedestal flew open. Like a living flood the horde of bloodthirsty Ledi poured over the altar, enveloping the Mekal who was still bound. But the inundation of black horrors did not stop here. It quickly found the break in the glass barrier and flowed through it out into the room.

  Anyone who has read about the Ledi knows what these minute furies are capable of when their blood-lust is aroused. We did not hesitate. There was only one of the several doors that led out of the sanctuary open, and though it was not the one through which we had entered, we took advantage of it.

  Parks was in the lead racing down a narrow, rocky passage. My legs still numb from the tight bonds which had been fastened about them, I stumbled in his wake. I had no time to ponder the eccentricities and strange whims of my peculiar companion.

  There were agonized cries filtering down to us from the rear. Doubtless the Queen was among those who were dying under the myriad, clicking jaws of the Ledi.

  We came upon four men who sought the cause of the disturbance. Parks shot two of them down and disposed of another by knocking him into a comatose condition with his fists. A kind of fury possessed me, and I made short work of the last.

  Shortly thereafter we detected a soughing, rustling sound in the tunnel behind us. The Ledi were nearly upon us. And now a chasm, the bottom of which was lost in darkness, yawned at our feet. What the exact purpose of this peculiar trap was, I cannot guess. Twenty feet beyond, the tunnel continued. There was only one way to cross the pit—by jumping. On the moon where gravity is only one-sixth that of the earth, there was nothing impossible in the undertaking.

  But the fact that we must take the unconscious Joywater with us complicated matters. The most feasible solution was for one of us to cross the pit, and to have the other toss the youth to him. At my insistence, Parks was the first to leap the pit. By going back a short distance and getting a running start with the boy, I successf
ully accomplished my share of the task. All went well until it was my turn to cross. A slight miscalculation when I leaped, caused by the numbness of my legs, made me fall a little short of my mark. My shin struck the sharp edge of the chasm’s brink. A sharp pain assailed me as I heard the bone snap. My head whacked violently against the stone floor.

  I must have been senseless for a considerable time, and my brain cleared slowly. I have confused and blurred memories of lying prone on soft cushions within a caterpillar... of thumping and swaying over lunar wastes... then the lights and noises of Tycho... the quiet cleanliness of a hospital.

  IT was days later, I knew. The nurse had just told me that Jack Joywater would recover from his injuries and that he could be cured of the drug habit Then she announced a visitor.

  Parks did not wait for me to give any expression of my surprise at his coming. He approached my bed with a triumphant smile on his face and tossed a folded paper on the bed covering.

  “Congratulations, Grey,” he boomed jovially. “The mine is claimed in Jack Joywater’s name!”

  I scanned the document tentatively, and then gave him a searching look.

  “I’m thankful of course for what you have done, Parks,” I said slowly. “But there are things I can’t understand.”

  “Right! I knew that you mistrusted me from the beginning. I can explain now.” He paused and stared at the floor reflectively. Then he drew a tiny golden image from his pocket and shook it in his half-closed hand.

  “Yes, I did belong to the cult of Mu-Lo, but there was a reason,” he continued. “You know that I am an archaeologist. When I came here to the moon I hoped to prove that it had once been inhabited by thinking beings. For years I wandered about searching, excavating, and spending plenty of money. I found nothing. Then I heard of the Cult of Mu-Lo.

  “Rumors came to me that somewhere out in the desert there was a temple built countless ages ago by an extinct race of giant insects, that a secret organization made up of superstitious, though diabolically clever Orientals and psychopathic Americans and Europeans, had revived the worship of the strange god and were offering him human sacrifices.

  “Naturally this information fascinated me. Exhausting all other means of locating the temple, I joined the Cult of Mu-Lo, hoping that some day I would get a chance to see the god. However, I was careful not to take any part in their evil doings. I won the favor of the Queen and the hatred of the Mekal who was suspicious of me.

  “Some of the things which I did, particularly when I thrust a pistol into your spine and forced you to pose as my prisoner before the minions of the Queen, I admit looked suspicious. I am sure that, but for that act of mine, we would both be dead now. To give ourselves up was the only course we could follow, and I had no time to argue with you with our enemies approaching. To capture you was the only solution.”

  “I understand,” I said, “but what happened after I cracked my shin and bumped my head on the cliff?”

  “I lugged you and Joywater along the passage until I came to a room with space suits in it,” he replied. “Then, after I had fitted out you two and myself with them, I returned alone to the sanctuary. The Ledi had cleaned out the place. The power of the cult was completely broken for all the leaders were dead.

  “Beside what was left of the Queen—only a skeleton—I found the papers and photographs of the mine.” Parks drew a small portfolio from inside his coat as he spoke. “I also found this,” he said, tossing a diadem of thin, flexible metal upon the bed. There was a glorious blood red ruby set in one side of it.

  “It is the gem the Queen wore,” Parks told me with a triumphant gleam in his small eyes, “....the sacred gem, the Eye of Mu-Lo! No one may guess how many millions of years ago the insect men dug it from their native mountains.”

  He was holding up a pair of thin silvery tablets with hieroglyphics engraved on them. “I discovered these in a niche in the wall of the sanctuary. Possibly they are histories of our friends. I hope so.”

  Parks gave me only a moment to look at them. Then he packed them away in his portfolio. “Good-bye, good luck, Grey,” he said shaking my hand. “Maybe I’ll see you again some time?”

  “Where are you going?” I inquired.

  “Back to the temple. I intend to do some excavating.”

  “You ought to slow up on that sort of thing, Parks,” I advised. “I don’t like to predict calamities, but if you keep on that airless wilderness will get you.”

  Parks had looked away. His wrinkled face seemed drawn and tired, and his bulky, muscular body was stooped. His drab grey suit was wrinkled and unpressed just as it had been the first time I had seen him. Over it, it seemed that a faint chalky dust had settled—the dust of the rays of Tycho. At that moment I knew Parks to be a child of the moon. Its empty plains and lonely craters were life and love to him.

  I thought I heard him mutter: “So best.”

  The door closed softly behind him as he left the room.

  The End

  [1] The miniature sets with which our space suits were equipped were purposely of very weak power to insure the secrecy of our conversations. The impulses they produced could not be picked up at a range greater than a few yards. Messages coming from the outside were caught by our vehicle’s radio and rebroadcast to the small receivers in our helmets.

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  Moon Plague,

  by Raymond Z. Gallun

  Wonder Stories Jan. 1934

  Novelette - 9677 words

  Scientists, when predicting life on other worlds, declare that conditions must be somewhat similar to those of the Earth in order to allow the existence of living creatures—especially highly organized or intelligent ones. They state, therefore, that our satellite is absolutely barren of life, because of its lack of atmosphere. They say that air is a positive necessity, because all creatures must breathe. Perhaps they are correct. No one knows.

  Our author believes that if oxygen is necessary to support life, there may be other ways of acquiring it besides through respiration. If this is possible, it is very likely that intelligent beings can exist on the airless moon.

  At any length, the story is very plausibly written. You will find this vivid adventure tale right up to the Gallun standard.

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  CHAPTER I

  Leisurely, old Steve Jubiston made his way along a narrow valley toward the laboratory-camp which his employer had established on the surface of the moon several months before. He was returning from that which, on Earth, might have been termed a casual afternoon stroll. A short jaunt of this sort had recently become one of his usual pastimes when he had nothing better to do.

  It had been some time since old Steve had been care-free, but he now had some time on his hands. His big, awkward body rolled forward with slow and distinctly sailorish strides. He whistled a blissful ditty inside the oxygen helmet of his space-suit, and his small blue eyes twinkled behind the glazed view-window, as they roved hither and yon, taking in the weirdly beautiful aspects of the lunar scenery. His metal-shod boot kicked casually at a fragment of obsidian that glinted in the sunlit dust of the trail. Now and then he would pause to hurl a stone boyishly up at the steep granite hilltops, and the rugged walls of small craters that towered about him, or to examine a bit of blue lichen [1], which was one of the very few forms of plant life which the almost airless lunar surface could support.

  Steve rounded a peculiar spire of grey rock, that was a well-known landmark to him. Then abruptly he stopped. The happy whistling died on his lips, and his battered features became solemn and concerned.

  Unconsciously, he assumed a half-crouching attitude, on guard. The fine volcanic dust of the ground about him was marked with many curious indentations, which were certainly not like the footprints which a party of men, shod with space-boots, would make. They were too large, and their shape was oval. Old Steve felt a tingling thrill ripple along his spine.

  Warily, he glanced along th
e ravine-like cleft, which branched off to the right from the valley which he had been following. The sun, which had already declined far down the western sky, left most of it in dense shadow, which his eyes, accustomed to the intense glare, could not penetrate. It was into these shadows, peculiar to the moon, where atmospheric diffusion of light is practically lacking, that the indentations disappeared. They came from up the valley, in the general direction of the laboratory-camp. That they had been recently made was evident, for he had traversed the valley when he had started out on his jaunt, and they had not been there.

  Old Steve felt a wave of apprehension. He fumbled at the apparatus at his belt, closing two small switches. “Mr. Melconne!” he called softly into the radio transmitter with which his helmet was equipped. "Mr. Melconne! It’s me—Steve. Can’t you hear me? Mr. Melconne—!”

  For a long minute he stood statuesquely, like a hound at stance, listening, his mind troubled and uneasy.

  But no reassuring word came through his phones. Only the quick rustling of his own pulse, magnified by the total absence of other sound, throbbed in his ears.

  “They might have gone away from the radio for a few seconds,” he told himself inwardly, in an effort to rid his mind of the tense unrest that had come over it. But no, that was against the rigid rules of the camp. While any member of the expedition was afield, there must always be some one at the radio.

  Steve’s eyes dropped again to the peculiar oval markings in the ashy lunar soil. Best to investigate without a second’s delay. No harm at least to do so.

  He started forward in long, easy bounds, for the weak gravity of the moon offered little resistance to his athletic muscles. And always, as he leaped over jagged rocks and tortured volcanic crevices, those strange oval indentations marked the dust under his feet, and continued ahead of him, along the trail toward the camp.