Captain Future 05 - Captain Future and the Seven Space Stones (Winter 1941) (5 page)

“But what exactly is this tremendous secret of the old Martian scientist?” Joan wanted to know.

CURT shook his red head. “I don’t know, and I can’t know unless I can get all the space stones. But the murderer must have a good idea of the nature of the secret, to want it so badly.”

“Which brings us right back around the orbit to where we started from,” growled Ezra Gurney. “Who’s the murderin’ devil that’s after the secret of the stones?”

“Chief, it’s clear as space!” Otho yelled. “Our killer must know a lot about ancient Martian science. And the theory is clinched by the half-invisible fellow in Yale’s jewel vault!”

Curt Newton nodded. “We haven’t a shred of real proof — but I’d bet a meteor against a sun that our man is Doctor Ul Quorn.”

“Ul Quorn?” cried Ezra Gurney. “That smooth-faced mixed-breed scientist we sent out to Cerberus prison for illegal research? What makes you think he’s the man?”

“Several things,” Curt retorted. “In the first place, Quorn is right here on Earth, running a freak-show down at Amusement City. That circus — and Quorn — were on Mercury when the space stone there was stolen. He’s doing stunts that are real feats of ancient Martian science. He undoubtedly would need funds for this plot of his. That’s why he’s running his show, I believe. The point is that Quorn is familiar with ancient Martian science. Therefore it’s a ten-to-one shot that he would have an idea of the nature of Thuro Thuun’s secret.”

“That still don’t say he’s the killer,” Ezra drawled.

“In Yale’s jewel vault,” Curt replied, “a semi-invisible man snatched the space stone from me. He must have been the Chameleon Man, one of Quorn’s freaks.”

“Here’s another possible tie-up,” Halk Anders said. “We’ve been watching a fanatic Martian organization, a queer secret cult of some kind. Its officers have contacted the Interplanetary Circus a couple of times.”

“Ah!” breathed Captain Future. “The mystery begins to clear a little. A fanatic Martian cult, backing Quorn in his quest for the stones’ secret.”

“And look, Chief, here’s something else,” Otho said. “There’s a space stone in the Venus Museum, Lockley told us. The Interplanetary Circus — and Quorn — leave tonight for Venus.”

“Clear as space is right!” Ezra Gurney declared. “What’ll we do — grab Quorn right away?”

“How long could we hold him?” Captain Future asked. “We haven’t any real evidence that would hold up in Interplanetary Court.”

“But surely you’ll do something!” Joan Randall protested anxiously. “A tremendous power in the hands of a man like Doctor Quorn —”

“I’m thinking of that,” Curt admitted bleakly. “Quorn mustn’t get the seven space stones. We’ve got to get the three he has, but first we must beat him to the other four. I’m pretty sure that without all the stones, he won’t have the complete secret. It’s going to be risky. Quorn is a brilliant scientist, perhaps the greatest in the System.”

“As if anybody in the System could surpass you!” Joan cried loyally.

Curt grinned. “Thanks, lady. All the same, I’m not going to take any chances. We’ll need all the cunning and knowledge we have to checkmate him. I want Simon Wright in this, and we’re going home to the Moon for him.”

“Devils of space, Quorn will be on Venus, snatching the space stone there before we can catch up to him!” Otho protested.

“I’ve thought of that,” Curt stated. “Ezra, you and Joan must rocket for Venus right now. Camp down in the museum at Venusopolis, and guard that space stone till we get there.”

Ezra’s faded blue eyes glittered.

“We’re blastin’ off in ten minutes, Cap’n Future! We’ll be there long before Quorn arrives.”

“And I’ll be there with the Futuremen as soon as possible, to set a little trap that will smash his plot,” Curt Newton promised. “See you on Venus. Come along to the
Comet,
Otho.”

A HALF-HOUR later, from a private official landing terrace atop the great Government Tower, arose a small space ship. It was not a Cruh-Cholo, Rissman, Tark, or any other standard make. The queer little craft, shaped like an elongated tear-drop, rocketed skyward with enormous speed. It was the
Comet,
flying laboratory of the Futuremen, the swiftest ship in the System.

Comparatively soon, so tremendous was its speed, the
Comet
was swooping down toward the barren, glaring, airless surface of the Moon. As it sank into Tycho Crater, doors in the floor of the crater unfolded automatically to disclose an air-lock hangar. The ship settled, the doors closed, and air hissed in.

Captain Future and Otho emerged and strode through tunnels in the solid rock. They felt no lighter in weight here than on Earth, because of the flat gravitation equalizers at their belts.

They entered a big room excavated from the rock, illuminated by a flood of softened sunlight from a huge glassite window in the crater floor, which formed the ceiling. Telescopes of large size and odd design, chemical and electric apparatus, paraphernalia of a dozen sciences, crowded this room. It was the home and laboratory of Curt Newton and the Futuremen. Here, Curt had been born.

A strange creature turned its eyes toward them as they entered. It looked totally unhuman — a square, transparent metal case on which were mounted glass lens-eyes on flexible stalks. The queer case rested on a tall pedestal, from which it had been scanning a micro-film book.

“Back so soon, lad?” came a rasping voice from the square metal case.

“The vacation’s over, Simon,” Captain Future said quietly.

The glass lens-eyes of Simon Wright, the Living Brain, fixed intently on him.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Brain sharply.

Curt Newton explained rapidly. As he listened, the Brain’s strange eyes never wavered from Curt’s somber face.

Simon Wright, one of the three famous Futuremen, was a wholly unhuman-looking being. Yet Simon had been a great Earth scientist whose living brain had been taken surgically from his dying body and encased in this transparent cube. It now lived in circulating serums constantly repurified by apparatus inside the case. He saw by means of lens-eyes, hearing by microphone ears and speaking by a voice resonator.

THE Brain spoke slowly in his metallic voice when Curt had finished.

“And you think Doctor Ul Quorn is behind it? I remember reading his monosonic theory and ‘double-gene’ experiments. He’s brilliant, I must admit.”

“Simon, it’s the weirdest thing,” Otho broke in. “When I saw Quorn, I thought I knew him. I can’t understand it.”

The Brain paid little attention, for he was brooding.

“So Quorn is after the ancient secret of Thuro Thuun,” he said finally.

“Simon, what can that secret be?” Curt asked. “Have you any idea at all?”

“No more than you, lad. The old Martian legends say that Thuro Thuun himself was appalled by what he discovered. If it’s that big, Quorn mustn’t get hold of it.”

Curt nodded vigorously. “That’s why we’ve got to get to Venus and have a trap set when he tries to get the space stone in the museum. Then we’d have proof against him. We ought to start at once. Where’s Grag?”

“Down in the foundry room, repairing a fracture of one of his fingers. He’ll be here in a moment. Lad, do you remember what anniversary this is?”

“Sure.” Curt grinned. “The day that Grag was made by you and my father. Grag’s ‘birthday’.”

“Of all the space-struck nonsense, this business of Grag’s birthday is the limit!” Otho exploded. “A robot with a birthday!”

Curt chuckled. “That’s what you always say, Otho. But —”

A clanking sound interrupted him. Grag the robot was hurrying into the laboratory, booming a joyful greeting.

“I heard the
Comet
landing, Master. I’m glad you’re back again.”

Grag stood seven feet high, on jointed metal legs. He was a huge metal man, with a massive torso and a bulbous metal head in which gleamed two bright photo-electric eyes. There was affection in Curt’s gaze.

“This is your birthday, Grag,” Captain Future said. “And here’s a little present for you.” He handed the robot a thick, short metal tube. “It’s a projector I devised. Besides being a light tube, it can emit vibrations all along the electro-magnetic scale by a sliding control. I think you’ll find it useful.”

“You need not have gone to so much trouble for Grag, Master,” Grag’s booming voice stammered in gratitude.

“Listen to that mock-modesty,” sneered Otho. “He was wondering for weeks what he was going to get.”

Grag turned indignantly.

“You say that because you hate to admit I’m more human than you are, and having a birthday proves it.”

SIMON’S rasping voice stopped the argument.

“Grag, for my present I’ve devised a new type of rubberoid padding for your feet. Your present foot-pads are always wearing away, you know.”

Grag took the new pads eagerly.

“Thank you, Simon,” he boomed.

Otho came forward, elaborately bored as he handed a small package to the robot.

“I suppose I will have to give you something to keep you from feeling hurt. Here, take it.” The package contained a new set of detachable metal fingers for Grag’s mighty hands. “See if you can break
those
fingers. I made them up of a special formula with super-tensile strength.”

Grag looked astounded. “Why, Otho! Thanks a lot —”

“Don’t thank me. I did it only to while away the time.”

Curt Newton smiled, thinking how characteristic it was of Otho to disguise his deep affection for his fellow Futureman.

“I’ll try out all these things right now!” Grag exclaimed.

“No time now, Grag,” Captain Future said. “We’re rocketing along the space trail to Venus, and there may be hell at the end of it. Otho, bring Simon along to the
Comet.
There’s no time to lose.”

“I’ll have to get Eek,” Grag said.

He dashed away, returning soon with a small, gray, sharp-snouted animal, like a tiny bear.

“I was hoping he’d forget that damned moon-pup,” groaned Otho.

“Why?” asked Grag injuredly as he followed the other Futuremen to the
Comet.
“I owe him the trip. He hasn’t been to Venus in a long time.”

“Yeah, but Dr. Quorn will scare the little coward,” sneered Otho. “He’ll only get in the way.”

“No more than you!” roared Grag.

“Cut your rockets,” Curt ordered. “Save the fight for Quorn.”

The moons of Mars outshine the stars,

And Earth’s Moon’s fairer yet.

And Saturn’s night is gemmed with light,

Yet still I can’t forget

Old Venus’ moonless, cloudy sky,

Down by the Western Sea,

Where the night wind’s damp from the inland swamp,

And the one girl waits for me.

FUTURE sat in the control room of the flying
Comet,
his fingers touching the twenty strings of his favorite Venusian guitar. His lean, tanned face was lazily relaxed as he softly hummed the popular melody of the cloudy planet. The automatic controls were set and the little tear-drop space ship was flying through the star-flecked vault of space. Ahead, the white half-disk of Venus was growing larger.

“Lad, you’ve hummed that song four times,” rasped Simon, his lens-eyes speculatively watching Curt. “It isn’t possible that you're thinking of Joan, is it?”

Curt flushed. “Can’t a fellow sing a tune? You’re getting too analytical. I’m going aft and rouse out Grag and Otho. We’ll soon reach Venus.”

Putting away the instrument, the tall, red-haired scientific wizard strode into the astoundingly complete laboratory of the
Comet.
Wherever the Futuremen might be in the System, they brought equipment that was surpassed only by Future’s underground home upon the Moon.

If a problem required astronomical investigation, the Futuremen had portable electro-telescopes and spectroscopes of advanced design and un-equaled powers. If there was a point of astrography that needed checking, here were the files of star and planet spectra, the maps of the planets, moons and asteroids, the atmosphere-samples from every world.

Similarly the physical apparatus held microscopes capable of seeing far into the infinitesimal. The biological cabinet held complete equipment for research, including botanical and entomological specimens from many worlds. The surgical apparatus was a miracle of completeness and compactness. The philological file contained spoken records of scores of planetary languages. The cabinet of tiny micro-film books was an exhaustive scientific reference library.

In two space chairs with a folding table between them, Grag and Otho sat playing cubical bridge, the most complex of card games. The “cards” were cubes, each face of which bore a different suit, making a total of six suits. The card on the upper side was the one that counted. But it could be “covered” by a matching card of an opponent’s cube, so that the suit that was led might suddenly turn into a quite different one.

“Come on and sit in, Chief!” Otho invited eagerly. “Even though we did adapt this for two-handed play, it’s better with three.”