Winterbotham Dead Man's Planet and Five More Stories

1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-3-96865-932-9
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 121 Seiten

Six Classic Short Stories from The Golden Age of Science Fiction by R. R. Winterbotham. Featured here: 'Dead Man's Planet', 'Oridin's Formula', 'The Whispering Spheres', 'The Tought-Men of Mercury', 'Lonesome Hearts', and 'A Little Knowledge'.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Winterbotham, R. R.

Leseproben

DEAD MAN'S PLANET
For unmarked ages a dead man kept his ghostly
vigil on that barren, frozen asteroid. "A life-saver!" Mick said, bringing the space freighter down with a gentle bump on the huge, shapeless mass of rock and iron that floated between Mars and Jupiter. The term huge was purely relative, for the asteroid was scarcely ten miles in diameter at its thickest point, and its axis could not have been more than twelve miles long. Mick switched off the rockets, opened a locker and pulled forth a suit of heavy, furlined, airtight garments which he slipped over his uniform. The communication speaker buzzed. "Hey, Mick! Are you still on the bridge?" Alf Rankin was calling from the charting room. "Yes, Alf. What's the trouble." Mick Conner was sealing his space suit. "This isn't an ordinary asteroid, Mick. It isn't barren. There's stuff growing on it." "That's nothing to get goggle-eyed about, Alf. There's moss on Eros which is smaller than this. And there are 142 different kinds of plants and one intermediate—animal-vegetable—organism on Juno." "Hm-m!" Of course this was a surprise to Alf, who had never made a landing on the asteroids before. Science had rather neglected the asteroids during the rapid development of interplanetary flight, yet there were many interesting sights to be seen on the 4,000 minor planets that floated between Jupiter and Mars. "Get on your space togs and oxygen helmet and we'll fix that broken jet," Mick said. "We'll be ready to go in three hours." Mick sealed his helmet and stepped into the automatic lock leading from the control bridge to the roof of the streamlined rocket. He held tightly to the rail of the observation platform, knowing that the gravity of this nameless planet was next to zero. A man might jump one thousand feet into the sky without exertion and, if he wasn't careful, he might fling himself so high that he would be unable to land—he might become a satellite of this grain of cosmic dust. Mick hooked the lifeline from his belt to the rail of the platform and stepped over the side. Instead of falling, he floated a few inches a second downward to the ground. In gravity like this a man might jump off Mt. Everest—if there were an Everest—and land without injury. Alf, the square-jawed giant who manned the engines of the rocket ship, emerged from the lower locks and fastened his lifeline to the iron ladder extending to the ground. "Look at that stuff, Mick," Alf spoke into his radio telephone. He pointed to a dense growth, barely visible in Jupiter's light, just north of the ship. "It looks like corn. Good old American maize!" Mick who had been examining the damaged portion of the starboard rockets, glanced in the direction Alf was pointing. In even, nicely cultivated rows, stood tasseled stalks. "You don't suppose this place is inhabited by men!" Alf's voice was awed. "It can't be. There's no air," Mick replied. "Anyhow, it isn't corn. It must be something else. You know there are doubles all over the system. The Martian pumpkins aren't even vegetables, but they're a species of mollusk. Even if this is corn, it's different, because corn depends on carbon dioxide in the atmosphere." "Maybe there's carbon dioxide in the rocks." "Then this wouldn't be like terrestrial maize. Its leaves would serve some other purpose." "Mick! Look!" As Alf spoke the rows of corn seemed to move. Bright phosphorescent beads seemed to pop from the tassels and float toward the two human beings. Like a rain of meteors, the brilliant specks came floating through the sky. But the brilliant shower fell with tantalizing slowness. Then one of the sparks dropped short, twenty feet from the feet of the spacemen. As it touched the ground, there was a bluish spark, and the rock beneath it glowed with heat. "Look out!" Mick cried. His hand unsnapped the lifeline. His legs doubled beneath his body and he shot upward into the air. Suddenly he plunged into daylight. The corona-crowned sun was sticking its head over the horizon. As Alf shot into the sky beside him, Mick noted that the ground was still dark, and that the terminator line that delineated night and day, still was a mile or so to the eastward, floating rapidly toward them. There were other things about this weird planet that also struck Mick's eyes. It was filled with growing things. Most of these were single stalks, crowned with a bluish bud. But there was a terrestrial note to some of the plants that clung to the rocks and sand of the asteroid. To the south was a huge tree, with gnarled branches and leaves. Tucked away in a small gully were reddish flowers that looked like roses in the distance. There were vines clinging to the rocks. The corn that had first attracted attention of the spacemen, occupied a small, rectangular patch and the stalks were so evenly spaced that the field suggested artificial cultivation. Slowly they came back toward the ground. Below was one of the budded stalks which slowly nodded its tip toward the terrestrials as their feet came in contact with the soil. Mick was ready this time. His gun was in his hand as the little white bead emerged from the tip of the bud. The gun sent a streak of flame into the middle of the stalk, and the plant was sliced as neatly as a knife could have cut through a stem. "It's not nearly as pleasant here as I expected," Alf panted into the phone of his space suit. "Who ever thought we'd have to fight plants on an asteroid?" Mick did not answer. Still clutching his gun, he was walking toward a little path that led into a gully in the rocks. He moved cautiously, halting at each turn in the little path, searching the gully ahead of him. The path indicated animals, for plants do not walk. Alf trailed behind, keeping his eyes peeled for fire-shooting plants, and carefully gauging his steps to keep himself from sailing high into the sky. In the steep places along the path, there were steps carved into the rock. "It looks—almost human," came from Mick, "but why would a human being need steps in this gravity?" At the end of the gully was a cliff, fully one hundred feet high flanked by a mound of sand. The path led toward this mound and in the center was an iron door, looking all the world like the outer locks of a space ship. Toward this door the two men walked. Whatever doubts they had of a human touch on this asteroid vanished at the sight of the door. It was possible for nature to duplicate her works on two different planets. The physiology of Martians, Venusians and terrestrials had much in common. The processes of biochemistry are limited and living types are always similar to some degree. Even on earth many species of animals and plants which have no direct relationship may possess resemblances—the fish and the whale, or certain reptiles and amphibians. But the airlocks of space ships were human inventions. There was small likelihood that another race in the universe would mark its doors with the Roman letters: UNIVERSAL LOCK COMPANY
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI The two spacemen stared speechlessly at the evidence of human habitation. Then slowly the door swung open. They waited for someone to emerge, but the silence of space remained unbroken. The locks were empty, yet they had opened. Was someone watching them from inside? If so, why didn't he hail them? "Hello there!" Mick spoke on the universal wavelength into his microphone. No answer came. "Maybe his radio's out of whack," Alf said. "Shall we go in?" Alf started forward, but Mick seized his arm. "Look!" he whispered. "Up there, above the door!" Just above the door was a ledge, which neither man had noticed at first. On this ledge stood a human figure. He wore no space suit, no oxygen helmet and his head was bare. An empty pistol holster dangled at his side and his hands were on his hips. He was standing motionless in the cold of space watching the two terrestrials below him. "Great guns!" The figure didn't move. He didn't even blink his eyes. He only stared. Not a flicker of movement crossed his face. "He's dead," Mick said. He bent his legs and shot up to the ledge beside the man. "Dead and turned to stone!" "Stone?" "Ice, rather. He's frozen hard as a rock. Probably he's been here for years. Not enough heat to thaw him out." "But why hasn't he fallen down?" Alf asked. "Why should he? There's hardly enough gravity to pull him down; there's no wind to blow him down. There are no earthquakes on a planet as small as this." "How did he get there?" Mick shrugged his shoulders. It was a puzzle, certainly; but there were possible solutions. The first and most logical was that this fellow had exposed himself, rather than to die a lingering death from starvation or lack of oxygen. "Let's take a look at his quarters," Mick suggested. He dropped lightly to the ground and entered the lock. He quickly inspected the lock control apparatus, making sure that the outer doors would function properly. Then he closed the locks and opened the inner doors. The glass of Mick's space helmet frosted as warm air from the interior struck its surface. Wiping away the mist he stepped aside. Standing in the center of the room, smiling at them, was an exact replica of the man they had seen on the ledge. But this one was alive! "Welcome to Dead Man's planet!" the faint human voice drifted to the ears of the men. "You may remove your helmets. The air here is pure and there is plenty of it." The man's greenish eyes drifted down over the figures of the human beings facing him. "But...