Collected Fiction, page 379
Captain Brown said, “I can offer you fifty dollars to guide us to the ruined city—Chahnn. And, maybe, I can offer you ten thousand bucks to do another little job for us.”
THE SHOCK of that was more effective than cold water had been. Garth jerked back, for the first time looking at his companions. There were two of them—a man and a girl, their neat tropical outfits looking out of a place in this grimy dive. The man was thin and bronzed, looking as though all the moisture had been boiled out of him by hot suns. He was made of tough leather, Garth thought. His face was the most expressionless one Garth had ever seen—pale, shallow eyes, a rat-trap mouth, and the general air of a tiger taking it easy.
The girl . . . sudden sick pain struck through Garth. She looked like Moira. For an incredible moment he thought, with his liquor-dulled mind, that she had come back. But Moira was dead—had been, for nearly five years now.
Five years of living death—hitting the skids on Ganymede, where men go down fast. Garth’s ravaged face hardened. He forced himself to look squarely at the girl.
She wasn’t Moira, after all. She had the same look of sleek, clean femininity, but her hair was golden-red instead of brown, and her eyes were greenish, not blue. The softness in her face was belied by the stubborn, rounded chin.
“Ten thousand?” Garth repeated softly. “I don’t get the picture. Any native could take you to Chahnn.”
The girl said, “We know that. We’re interested in—something else. Could you use ten grand?”
“Yeah! Yeah, I could,” Garth said. “What would you do with it? Go back to Earth? We might swing it so you could get a job there. There’s been a shortage of men ever since the Silver Plague started.” Garth laid his fingers gently around the glass and squeezed, till the transparent plastic was bent out of shape. He didn’t look at the girl.
“I’m through with Earth. If I could collect—ten thousand?—I’d commit suicide, in a very funny way. I’d go into the Black Forest. The money could get me the men and equipment I’d need, but—well, nobody gets out of the Black Forest alive.”
“You did,” Captain Brown said.
“Eh? You heard about that?”
“We’ve heard stories—plenty of them. About how you came out of the Black Forest six years ago, raving with fever and talking in a language nobody could understand. And how you’ve been taking trips into the Forest ever since. Just what happened? I know you tried to get up expeditions to rescue a man named Willard—he was with you, wasn’t he?”
Garth felt again that sick deadness in his brain—the monstrous question that had been tormenting him for five years now. Abruptly he slammed his fist on the table. Tolomo’s face appeared behind a curtain and vanished again as Brown waved him back.
“Forget it,” Garth said. “Even on Ganymede, men mind their own business—usually.”
Brown stroked his cheek with a calloused thumb. “Suit yourself. Here’s the set-up, then. It’s strictly confidential, or the deal’s off. You’ll know why later. Anyhow—we want you to guide us into the Black Forest.”
GARTH’S laughter rang harsh and bitter. Brown and the girl watched him with impassive eyes.
“What’s so funny about it?” she asked, scowling.
Garth sobered. “Nothing much. Only for five years I’ve been sweating blood trying to get into the Forest, and I know the place better than anybody on Ganymede. See this?” He rolled up his sleeve and exhibited a purplish scar along his arm. “A cannibal-plant did that. I couldn’t get away from the thing. Bullets and knives don’t hurt the blood-sucker. I had to stand there for two hours, helpless, till it got all the blood it wanted. After that I managed to pull away.”
“I’ve picked up a few scars myself,” Brown said quietly.
Garth glared at him. “Not in the Black Forest. The only way to get through that pest-hole is with a big, armed expedition. Even then . . . you ever heard of the Noctoli?”
“No. Who—”
“Flowers. Their pollen works funny—plenty funny. They grow in the interior, and they give you amnesia. Not even gasmasks help. The stuff works in through your skin.”
“Doesn’t it affect you?” the girl wanted to know.
Garth shivered and drank again. “It did—once. Later I managed to work out an antitoxin. And I’ve built up immunity, anyway. But it’s quite a laugh. The two of you wanting to go into the Black Forest!”
Brown’s face was emotionless. “With an expedition, well armed. I’ll provide that.”
“Oh. That’s a bit different. Just the same—what are you after?”
“Just sightseeing,” the girl said.
Garth grinned crookedly. “Okay. I know the stories. Everybody on Ganymede’s heard of the Ancients.”
Captain Brown’s eyes hooded. “What about them?”
“The lost race? That they lived on Ganymede thousands of years ago, and had the greatest science ever known to the System. That they died, nobody knows how, and the secrets of their civilization were lost. Chahnn’s only one of their ruined cities. There’ve been a dozen others found. And full of gadgets and robots that nobody knows how to work. There was a central power-source, but Earthmen have never figured out how it worked or what fuel was used. The inscriptions found in the cities didn’t tell anything.”
“Fair enough,” Brown nodded. “Except you forgot one thing. You know the Ancient Tongue. You speak it.”
Garth chewed his lip. “So what?”
“Where did you learn it?”
“I don’t know. In the Black Forest, I suppose. I don’t remember.”
The girl made an impatient gesture. She quieted as Brown glanced at her.
“From the Zamo, Garth?”
“I don’t know! There’s no proof the Zamo even exist!”
“If you’ve gone far enough into the Black Forest—”
Garth said angrily, “Remember what I told you about the Noctoli? The effect of the pollen? When I got back to Oreport here I had amnesia. I—” He hesitated. “I don’t remember. I never did remember what happened in the Black Forest.”
“Um-m.” Brown rubbed his cheek again. “A lost race of savages no outsiders have ever seen—a race speaking the tongue of the Ancients. How could they live around those Noctoli flowers of yours?”
“Natural immunity,” Garth said. “Built up over a period of generations. I didn’t have that—then.”
THE GIRL leaned forward, ignoring Brown. “Mr. Garth,” she said swiftly, “I think I’d better explain a bit more. Shut up, Carver!” She frowned at Brown. “There’ve been too many mysteries. Here’s the set-up. I’ve got half of a—a map. It shows the location of something in the Black Forest that’s immensely valuable—the greatest treasure the System’s ever known. I don’t know what it is. The original inscription, in the Ancient’s language, is cryptic as the devil. But the Ancients thought this treasure important enough to be worth hiding in the Black Forest. They set the Zarno to guard it. See?”
Garth grunted. “So what?”
“Well—I’m Paula Trent, archaeologist. Not that it matters. For months Carver and I have been waiting our chance to fit out an expedition and come on here. We didn’t have the money, at first, and when we did get it, the government refused us permission. We had no proof, they said, and the Black Forest is impenetrable. So we waited. A month ago we got wind of a research ship, the Hunter, coming on here to investigate Chahnn. The same old stuff—digging around in the ruins, trying to find out what made the machines and robots tick, trying to make sense out of the inscriptions. Trying to find a cure for the Silver Plague.”
Garth said, “No cure’s been found yet, then.”
Paula shook her head. “No. Since it started on Earth ten years ago, it’s wiped out one-twentieth of the population, and unless it’s stopped, it’ll destroy all life on our world. But that’s old stuff. Except the government’s sending out their best men to Ganymede, because it’s known the Silver Plague existed here once and was conquered. The inscriptions in Chahnn show that. But they don’t say what the treatment was, or give any hints. However—” She brushed red-gold hair from her forehead. “Carver and I have planted men in the Hunter crew. Tough, good men who’ll strike out with us into the Black Forest. With equipment.”
“Desertion, eh?”
“Technically, sure. But the only way. Nobody will listen to us. We know—we know—the Ancients hid their most valuable treasure in the Black Forest. What it is we don’t know. We’re hoping it’ll solve a lot of problems—the mystery of what powered their machines, what happened to the Ancients—all that.”
“No planes can be used,” Garth said. “There’s no place to land in the Forest.”
“That’s why we want you. You know the Forest, and you know the Ancient Tongue. Guide the Hunter crew to Chahnn. Then, when we give the word—head for the Black Forest with us.”
Garth said, “On one condition. You can’t go.”
Paula’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in no position to—”
“Men might get through. A woman couldn’t. Take it or leave it,” Garth repeated stubbornly.
Captain Brown nodded to the girl. “All right, it’s a deal. Sorry, Paula, but he’s on the beam. Here’s ten bucks, Garth. Balance when we get to Chahnn. We leave tomorrow at Jupiter-rise.”
GARTH didn’t answer. After a moment Paula and Brown rose and went out through the mildewed tapestry curtain. Garth didn’t blame them. The Moonflower-Ritz smelled.
Presently he found Tolomo and gave him the money. The Ganymedean hissed worriedly.
“Only ten?”
“You’ll get the rest later. Gimme a bottle.”
“I don’t think—”
Garth reached across the bar and seized a quart. “Hereafter I do my drinking out-of-doors,” he remarked. “I’ll feel cleaner.”
“Sfant!” Tolomo flung after him as he headed for the door. Garth’s cheeks burned red at the word, which is Ganymedean and untranslatable; but he didn’t turn. He stepped out into the muddy street, a cold wind, sulphurous and strong, stinging his nostrils.
He looked around at the collection of plastic native huts. Till the Hunter had arrived, he’d been the only Earthman in Oretown. Now—
He didn’t feel like talking to natives. The Tor towered against the purple sky, where three of Jupiter’s moons were glowing lanterns. At the base of the Tor was Garth’s shack.
Swaying a little, clutching the bottle, he headed in that direction. He had waited five years for this moment. Now, when at last he might find the answer to the problem that had turned him into a derelict, he was afraid.
He went into his hut, switched on the radio-lite, and stood staring at a door he had not opened for a long time. With a little sigh he pushed at the latch. The smell of musty rot drifted out.
A lamp revealed a complete medical laboratory, one that had not, apparently, been used for months at least. Garth almost dropped a bottle as he fumbled it from the shelf. Cursing, he opened the rotgut Ganymedean whiskey and poured it down his throat.
That helped. Steadied somewhat, he went to work. The Noctoli pollen antitoxin was still here, but it might have lost its efficacy.
He tested it.
Good. It seemed strong, the antibodies having a long life-cycle. It would work.
Garth packed a compact medical kit. After that he stood for quite a while staring at two blank spaces on the wall, where pictures had once hung.
Moira and Doc Willard.
Damn! Garth snatched up the liquor and fled the house. He fought his way along the steep path that led to the Tor’s summit. The physical exertion was a relief.
AT THE TOP, he sat down, his back against a rock. Beneath him lay Oretown, yellow-blue lights winking dimly. In a cleared field some distance away was the ovoid shape of the spaceship that had brought Paula and Brown—the Hunter . . .
To the west, across sandy desert, lay Chahnn, dead city that had once housed an incredibly-advanced science—lost now, its people dust. Northwest, beyond distant ridges, was the Black Forest, unexplored, secret, menacing.
Six years ago Dr. Jem Willard had come to Ganymede with his intern, Ed Garth. Willard was trying to discover the cure for the Silver Plague that was wrecking Earth. He would have found it—he had got on the track. But—
An emergency call had come in one night. A native needed an appendectomy. Willard couldn’t fly a plane. He had called on Garth, and Garth had been drunk.
But he had piloted the plane anyhow. The crack-up happened over the Black Forest.
That was the last thing Garth remembered, or almost the last. It would have been more merciful if the oblivion had been complete. Months later he staggered out of the Forest into Oretown, alone. The Noctoli poison had almost erased his experiences from his mind. He could remember a bare cell where he and Willard had been prisoned—that, and one other thing.
A picture of Doc Willard stretched on an altar, while Garth lifted a gleaming, razor-sharp knife above his friend’s breast.
He remembered that, but no more. It was enough.
The question burning in his brain had nearly wrecked his sanity. He had tried to get back into the Black Forest, to find Willard, dead or alive, to learn what had happened—to discover the answer to his problem. He had failed.
A year later he learned that his fiancée, Moira, had died of the Silver Plague. And he knew that Willard might have saved her, had he lived and continued his research.
After that, Ed Garth hit the skids. He went down fast, stopping only when he reached the bottom.
He killed the bottle and threw it out into emptiness, watching yellow light glint on glass as it dropped.
Well, he had his chance now. An expedition going into the Black Forest. But Garth was no longer the same husky giant who had fought his way through that deadly jungle. Five years on the skids had played havoc with him. Stamina was gone. And the Black Forest was as terrible, as powerful, as ever.
Garth wished he had brought another bottle.
II
JUPITER is a ball of luminous clouded marble, gigantic in the sky of Ganymede. Its light is a queer, pale glow that lacks the warm brilliance of sunlight. When the titanic planet lifts over the horizon, gravity seems to shift, and the ground feels unstable beneath your feet.
Jupiter was rising now. Oretown lay ugly and desolate in the strange dawn. Across the plain where the spaceship had landed a string of truck-cats, big silvery desert freighters, stood motionless, ready to start the trip. There were signs of activity. At the central port of the Hunter stood a lanky, gray-haired man with a clipped, stiff Van Dyke. Behind him was Captain Brown.
Garth, his medical kit strapped to his back, ploughed through the light film of snow that lay over the sand. He was shivering in his thin garments, wishing he had a drink. Neither Brown nor his companion saw Garth’s approach. The gray-haired man was speaking.
“—time to start If this guide of yours doesn’t show up, we’ll have to wait till we find another.”
“He’ll show up,” Brown said. “I only gave him ten bucks.”
Garth reached the foot of the ramp leading up to the port-valve. “ ‘Morning. Am I late?”
There was no answer. He climbed the slope, slippery with snow despite the skid-treads, and stopped before the two men. Brown nodded at him.
“Here’s our guide, Commander Benson.” Benson scowled incredulously under tufted brows. “What the devil I You—you’re an Earthman!”
“Sure,” Garth said. “What about it?” The Commander glanced at Brown. “I expected a native. I didn’t know—” He left the sentence hanging. “You can’t wear those rags, man. Captain, break out some clothes for him.” Without another look at Garth, Benson hurried down the ramp, shouting orders to someone below.
Brown grinned at the other. “Come on inside,” he urged, and, in a lower tone, “He’s the big shot. You know enough to keep your mouth shut—eh?”
Garth nodded. Brown peered at him sharply.
“You need coffee. I’ll lace it. Come along.” He took Garth to the galley, and, presently, supplied food, drink, and clothing. He lit a cigaret, idly watching the smoke sucked into the air-conditioning grill.
“Benson’s a tough egg,” he said at last. “If he had the slightest idea we were figuring on—what we’re figuring on, there’d be trouble. The Commander never takes chances. We’ve got to give him the slip, somehow.”
Garth gulped coffee. “How many men do you have?”
“Ten.”
“Not many.”
“Fully armed, though. There are sixty in the expedition altogether, but I could only feel sure of ten. Some of them I planted myself.”
Garth took the cigaret Brown handed him. “Thanks . . . I know Chahnn pretty well. Once we get there, we can get away from the others.”
“How?”
“Underground passages—not well known. We’ll come out about thirty miles from Chahnn, and from there it’s another twenty to the Black Forest.”
“The last lap on open ground?”
“Yeah.”
“Not so good. If Benson misses us, he’ll have planes out scouting. I’ve a hunch he’s suspicious already.”
“If he catches up with us, so what? There’ll be other chances.”
“That’s what you think,” Brown said grimly. “I told you Benson was a tough egg. He’d clap us all in the brig and we’d end up with prison sentences on Earth—hazarding the success of a planetary expedition, they call it. So you see why we’ve got to find this treasure, whatever it is.”
“Then you don’t know either, eh?”
“Maybe I’ve a few ideas . . . Finished? Let’s go, then.” Brown came to his feet.
GARTH followed Brown out of the ship, pondering. The Ancients had, admittedly, been an incredibly advanced race. Any treasure they thought worth guarding would be plenty valuable. Gold? Gems? They seemed trivial, compared to the tremendous scientific powers of the Ancients. And unimportant as well, while the Silver Plague raged over Earth.
