F. E. Hardart - The Beast of Space.pdf - F. E. Hardart - widez2

The Beast of Space

Hardart, F.E.

Published: 1941

Type(s): Short Fiction, Science Fiction

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Here the dark cave, along which Nat Starrett had been creeping,

broadened into what his powerful searchlight revealed to be a low, wide,

smoothly circular room. At his feet lapped black, thick-looking waves of

an underground lake, a pool of viscous substance that gave off a penet-

rating, poignant odor of acid, sweetish and intoxicating, unlike any acid

he knew. The smell rolled up in a sickening, sultry cloud that penetrated

his helmet, made him cough and choke. Near its center projected from

the sticky stuff what appeared to be the nose of a spaceship.

He looked down near his feet at the edge of the pool where thick,

slowly-moving tongues of the liquid appeared to reach up toward him,

as if intent on pulling him into its depths. As each hungry wave fell back,

it left a slimy, snake-like trail behind.

Now came a wave of strange music, music such as he had never heard

before. Faintly it had begun some time back, so faintly he was barely

aware of it. Now it swelled into a smooth, impelling wail lulling him into

drowsiness. He did not wonder why he could hear through the sound-

proof space helmet he wore; he ceased to wonder about anything. There

was only the strange sweetness of acid and the throbbing music.

Abruptly the spell was broken by something shrilling in his brain,

sending little chills racing up and down his spine. Digger! A small, oddly

canine-like creature with telepathic powers, a space-dweller which men

found when first they came to the asteroids. The relationship between

spacehounds and men was much the same as between man and dog in

the old, earthbound days. Appropriate name for the beast, Digger. With

those large, incredibly hard claws, designed for rooting in the metal

make-up of the asteroids for vital elements, the spacehound could easily

have shredded the man's spacesuit and helmet, could, at any time, tear

huge chunks out of men's fine ships.

The half-conscious man jerked his thin form erect. His mouth, which

had gaped loosely, closed with a snap into firm lines.

"She isn't in this hell hole, Digger. You wouldn't expect her to be

where we could find her easily."

Scooping the small beast up under his good arm, he quickly climbed

the steep, slimy slope of the cave. The other arm in his suit hung empty.

That empty arm in the spacesuit told the story of an earthman become

voluntary exile, choosing the desolation of space to the companionship

of other humans who would deluge him with unwonted sympathy. The

spacehound was friendly in its own fashion; fortunately, such complex

things as sympathy were apparently outside its abilities. The two could

interchange impressions of danger, comfort, pleasure, discomfort, fear,

and appreciation of each other's company, but little more. Whether or

not the creature could understand his thoughts, he could not tell.

As he went on, he reviewed, mentally, the events leading up to his

landing here. The sudden appearance on his teleview screen of the face

and slim shoulders of a girl. Her attractiveness plainly distinguishable

through her helmet; for a moment he forgot that he disliked women. The

call for help, cut short … but not before he had learned that apparently

she was being held prisoner on Asteroid Moira. He knew he'd have to do

what he could even if it meant unwonted company for an indefinite

length of time. The spell was gone soon after her face vanished; he re-

membered

former

experiences

with

attractive-looking

girls.

Damn

traditions!

A change in his course and a landing on Asteroid Moira. Here he'd

found a honeycomb of caves, all leading from one large main tunnel. The

cavern walls had been of a translucent, quartz-like substance, ranging in

color from yellowish-brown to violet-grey. It looked vaguely familiar,

yet he could not place it. There was not time to examine it more

carefully.

The room in which he'd found the evil, hungry lake had been the first

one to the right. Now he crossed to the opening in the opposite wall. The

mouth of this cave was much larger, wider than the other. He stood in

the opening, slowly swung the beam of his torch around the smooth

walls, still holding Digger, who, by now, was indicating that he'd like to

be set down. Nat released him unthinkingly, his mind fully taken up

with what the light revealed.

Spaceships! The room was packed with them—all sizes, old and new.

A veritable sargasso. At first, he thought they might be craft belonging to

nameless inhabitants of this world, but, as he approached them, he re-

cognized Terrestrial identifications.

The first was a scout ship of American Spaceways! Nat recognized the

name: Ceres , remembered a telecast account of its disappearance in

space. There was a neat little reward for information as to its where-

abouts. Nat's lips curled in derision: it wouldn't equal the expense of his

journey out here. There was a deep groove in the smooth material of the

floor where the ship had been dragged through the doorway into the

room. What machines could have done this work without leaving their

own traces? He went to the other ships: all were small, mostly single or

two-passenger craft. The last entry in the logs of many was to the effect

that they were about to land on the Asteroid Moira to rescue a girl held

captive there.

None had crashed; all ships were in perfect order. But all were deser-

ted. Two doors were gone from the interior of one of the vessels. They

might have been removed for any of a hundred reasons—but why here?

Nat's glance swept the room, came to rest on the figure of a heavy

duty robot of familiar design. Semi-human in form, it looked like some

misshapen, bent, headless giant. He inspected it: Meyers Robot, Inc. Earth

designed for mining operations on Mars.

"Well, Digger, I can see now how these ships were brought in here;

that robot could move any one of these with ease. But that doesn't ex-

plain where the humans have gone. It might be space pirates using this

asteroid for a base, or it might be some alien form of life. We're still free.

Shall we beat it or stay and try to check this out?"

He did not know how much of this got over to the spacehound, but

the impressions he received in answer were those of approving their re-

maining where they were.

"I suppose the best system is to explore the rest of the caves in order;

let's go."

Followed by Digger, he walked quietly toward the next cave on the

left, slipped through the doorway, and, standing with his back against

the wall, swung the light of his torch in a wide, swift arc about the room.

Halfway around, he stopped abruptly; a slim, petite figure appeared

clearly in the searchlight's glare. The girl he had seen on the televisor

stood in the middle of the room, facing a telecaster, her back toward him.

She did not seem aware of him as he moved forward. What could be

wrong; surely that light would arouse her.

The figure did not turn as he approached. So near was he now that he

could seize her easily, still she made no move. Nat stepped to one side,

flashed his torch in her face. Her beautifully-lashed eyes stared straight

ahead unblinkingly; the expression on her lovely composed face did not

change. A robot! He laughed bitterly. But then, he was not the only

one… .

She was an earth product; Nat opened her helmet and found the trade-

mark of Spurgin's Robots hung like a necklace about her throat. But who-

ever had lured him here easily could have removed her from one of the

F. E. Hardart - The Beast of Space.pdf

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