Forbidden Planet

They were experienced space explorers. They'd sweated in the jungles of Venus and tasted the dust of dead planets. But nothing prepared them for Altair 4.

It was a paradise—sure. A topsy-turvy Garden of Eden—with green moonlight, golden grass . . . and the astonishing girl, Altaira.

But there was horror behind the beauty. There was non-human intelligence at work—and then there was the sudden, shrieking, agonizing death . . .

This was the forbidden planet—Altair 4.
And this is the story of the Earthmen who
risked everything to conquer its secrets.

M·G·M
Presents

FORBIDDEN PLANET

STARRING
WALTER PIDGEON • ANNE FRANCIS • LESLIE NIELSEN

WITH
WARREN STEVENS

AND INTRODUCING
ROBBY, THE ROBOT

SCREENPLAY BY
CYRIL HUME
BASED ON THE STORY BY
IRVING BLOCK and
ALLEN ADLER
DIRECTED BY
FRED McLEOD WILCOX
PRODUCED BY
NICHOLAS NAYFACK

A METRO GOLDWYN MAYER PICTURE

A Bantam Book / published March 1956

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

FORBIDDEN PLANET

Foreword

ONE Major (Medical) C. X. Ostrow

TWO Major (Medical) C. X. Ostrow (continued)

THREE Commander J. J. Adams

FOUR Commander J. J. Adams (continued)

FIVE Edward Morbius

SIX Major C. X. Ostrow

SEVEN Commander J. J. Adams

EIGHT Commander J. J. Adams (concluded)

Postscript

Excerpts from “THIS THIRD MILLENNIUM—A Condensed Textbook for Students” by A. G. Yakimara, H.B., Soc.D., etc.

(The following are taken from the revised microfilm edition, dated Quatuor 15, 2600 A.D.)

. . . So that in the year 1995 the first fully manned satellite Space Station had been established as a ‘jumping off’ place for exploration on the Solar system—and by the end of the year 2100 the exploration (and in certain cases colonization) of the planets in the Solar system had been more than half completed . . .

*  *  *

. . . It seemed then that Space conquest must necessarily be limited to the Solar system—and it was not until 2200, a couple of centuries after the full occupation of the Moon and fifty years after the final banding together of Mankind in one single Federation, that the conquest of Outer Space became a possibility instead of a scientist’s dream. The possibility was brought about by the revolutionary Parvati Theory, which proved as great a step from the Relativity Laws as they themselves had been from the age-old gravity superstition. The Parvati Theory completely negated the Einsteinian belief that “At or past the speed of light, mass must become infinite”—and the way was open for such men as Gundarsen, Holli, and Mussovski to develop and transmute the Theory into fact. Their labors resulted, as regards the exploration of Outer Space, in what is now called the QG (or Quanto-Gravitum) drive . . .

. . . By the middle of the fourth century in our millennium the first exploratory trips beyond the confines of the Solar System had already been made, and all the time the design, construction and performance of Space craft were being improved . . .

*  *  *

. . . The early days of Outer Space penetration were naturally productive of many events and deeds which have since attained almost legendary quality, perhaps chief of these being the extraordinary story surrounding the two expeditions to Altair, the great mainsequence star of the constellation Alpha Aquilae. The first of these (Aboard the Space Ship
Bellerophon
) was launched, from Earth via the Moon, on the seventh of Sextor, 2351. The second (on the United Planets Cruiser C-57-D) was launched twenty years later almost to the minute . . .

In all the annals of Space History as known to man, there is surely no stranger tale than that of what befell the crew of the Cruiser C-57-D when it reached its objective, the planet Altair-4. Like all Cruisers sent on these investigatory missions, it carried a smaller crew than the big Space Ships, only twenty-one in all. Its Commander and Chief Pilot was John Adams. Under him were Lieutenant J.P. Farman, Astrogator; Chief Devisor and Engineer Alonzo Quinn; Major (Medical) C.X. Ostrow—

Well, I’d asked for it hard enough—so it wasn’t any good wishing I hadn’t. But all the same, I couldn’t help it. I wished I was anywhere except in this metal box, this huge oddly shaped shell which felt motionless as a mountain but was really hurtling across Nothing at more than the speed of light . . .

More than the speed of light! More than six hundred million terrestrial miles an hour!

At the beginning of the trip I used to find myself writing down that figure all the time—a six and then eight neat little zeros. But it didn’t help. Although I knew it was true, my mind couldn’t really accept it.

It was different for the other men, of course. They were used to it, used to the thought of it. Except for one or two old space-sweats who’d reached the age of thirty, they were all kids to me. Being over forty myself, I hadn’t been reared to the idea of the QG drive. When I was their age speed was measured in thousands of m.p.h. and we never thought our lifetime would see Man breaking out of the Solar system.

More than six hundred million miles an hour! I knew I’d never get my mind to stop reeling at the thought of it. Or at some of its sequelae either.

Take what they call the ‘time-squeeze’ for instance. The kids knew—they automatically accepted—that while time is fixed at each end of one of these preposterous journeys, it is concertina’ed on the journey itself. I didn’t know it; my mind kept rebelling against it. Not being a mathematician, I couldn’t help regarding it as some sort of infuriating conjuring trick. John Adams had told me (and I’d checked with Quinn) that the ‘squeeze’ on this journey, which would be about a year for us, was in ten to one ratio. I’d smiled at them politely, and thanked them for the information—but my mind still boggled at the thought that even if we just reached our destination and went straight back to Earth, I’d only have spent twenty-four months on the round trip but all my friends would be twenty years older.

Except those of them who’d died in the meantime . . .

It didn’t matter to me of course. Nothing had mattered much to me since Caroline’s death. But at first I used to wonder about these youngsters who made up the crew. In spite of their youthfulness, most of them were experienced deep-space men—and I couldn’t help worrying about what their lives must be like. Fancy falling in love, for instance, and then leaving on a trip and coming back to find the girl with grey hair and dentures!

It was this thought, really, that finally put me wise to them. They were a new breed—adventurers set apart from the rest of Mankind as adventurers have always, in a sense, been set apart. But with one great difference: adventurers, old-style, deliberately set themselves apart, secure in the knowledge that the rest of Mankind would wave tear-stained handkerchiefs from docksides and cry, “Come back soon!” But with these boys, nobody (in the personal sense, that is) wanted them to come back, soon or ever. Because nobody likes to be reminded of how rapidly he is approaching the grave—especially if the reminding’s done by an uncanny contemporary who should be as old but somehow isn’t . . .

So there they were—a bunch of youngsters who, on the surface, were just like any you might find in one of the Services, but underneath were hard-bitten way beyond their years and with no emotional ties to anything except each other and their extra-human work . . .

By and large I liked most of them at lot. And I think most of them liked me. They certainly took my advice and treatments without any complaint; in fact, before we’d been three or our months on the voyage quite a few of them were coming to me voluntarily, in between checkups.

But I never seemed to get really close to any of them, not even to any of the officers with whom, after all, I shared all of my off-duty life on the ship except for those hours spent in my own little eight-by-six cage of a cabin.

Whether they felt the same way about me or not, I don’t know. I’m inclined to think they did—and that the reason for having this final barrier between us, like a sheet of invisible, impalpable plastic, was that I knew and they knew I wasn’t really one of their breed . . .

II

I’m not likely to forget that three hundred and fifty-sixth breakfast of the flight.