Collected Short Fiction, page 229
They plunged down into the inky shadow of a depression. The white, humped spindle of the impulse flyer was lost from sight. Leaping ahead, stumbling in the frigid darkness, they watched the bright globe descending amid the stars. It was near now. It looked huge.
It vanished, sinking in the direction of the impulse flyer.
When they had toiled out of the crater and come again within view of the Spirit of Man, consternation stopped them. The white bulk of the sphere lay motionless beside the flyer. Its shimmering, riveted mass overwhelmed the little spindle-shaped machine.
“It is a ship!” muttered Kane. “What kind of life on the moon——”
“See——” whispered Shiela.
A great valve had opened in the side of the globe. Little figures were tumbling down a ladder. They scattered across the rocky plain. A few approached the impulse flyer. They were diminutive, Kane then realized, by comparison only.
“Men!” he breathed, astounded. “They are men. Have on space suits like ours.”
“They’re trying to catch us,” whispered Shiela, voiceless with fear. “Already we’re cut off from the flyer. And now they are spreading out to hem us in against the ray.”
4. The Machine of Destiny
“YES, they’ve got us,” muttered Kane, wearily. “Look how they travel—leaping like kangaroos! If we had that knack, we might get away. But no chance. Outnumbered. No weapon. Not a chance.”
He looked at Shiela’s helmeted head. He could see a stray wisp of hair, a flame-bathed brown against the whiteness of her brow, and her eyes, wide with apprehension, purple-shadowed.
“I’m a fool, kid,” he said bitterly, “to let you come. And then blunder out here with you, to be caught like a rat.”
“No, Monty,” she said, and her low voice rang with a curious serene strength. “I wanted to come. Remember that. No matter what happens, I’m glad I’m with you.
“And there was no reason to expect hostile life on the moon. No use blaming yourself.”
He gripped her thickly gloved hand for a moment, silently.
“I love you so much, kid,” he said abruptly. “Why must circumstances always wreck our happiness? On Earth this moon-flight was always a river to cross. And now we’re here——”
His eyes went back to the two argent ships, the leaping figures.
“Let’s make a break for it!” he urged, desperately. “They’re trying to surround us. Can’t outrun them, but we might hide in some little crater.”
He was tugging at her arm. She resisted quietly.
“It’s no use, Monty. You know that. They have the flyer already. If they want us, all they have to do is wait until our oxygen tanks are empty. We may as well surrender.
“Anyhow, they may not intend us any harm.”
“Of course,” he said. “No reason why they should.”
Yet, despite his words, wild fear was leaping in his heart. It came from the wild, cruel malice of the moon’s face, from the terrific enigma of the white, blazing ray behind them, and from the swift, well-planned movements of the leaping figures closing in like wolves on helpless prey.
Fear it was, not for himself but for the girl at his side. His mind was fogged with scarlet intuition of danger mounting over her. He felt nerved to any rash attempt that might save her. Yet his reason told him there could be no escape—not now.
“No reason,” he repeated.
Grimly he strove to still his dread with the calm of scientific curiosity.
“Anyhow,” he said, “we should learn if they are really men, and how life exists on the moon in defiance of all the astronomers. And we may learn the how and the why of that flaming ray!”
They moved forward deliberately toward the two dissimilar ships that shimmered upon the white, pitted plain.
The leaping, bulky-suited figures gathered around them as they advanced. Keeping a cautious distance, they menaced Kane and Shiela with long spears and with odd little devices like golden needles. They herded the two toward the ladder that fell from the air-lock of the huge globe. Kane led the way up the ladder and into the air-lock.
The outer valve clanged behind the two, ominously.
Kane and Shiela waited in the bare, cylindrical metal chamber. Air was hissing in about them noisily. The inflated fabric of their suits collapsed slowly as the outside pressure increased.
They were clasping hands.
“Remember, Monty,” Shiela whispered once, “I’m glad I came with you.”
The hiss of air at last ceased. The massive inner valve opened. A man walked through it toward them.
Gaunt he was, tall, lean of frame, yet erect and powerful. He was all in black: odd, long tunic and high, skin-tight hose of black, lustrous, silken stuff. The hands hanging from his black, tight-sleeved arms were thin talons, corded, powerful.
The hair upon his bare, angular head was long, fine, completely white. His face, long, thin, high of brow, was wrinkled as if with extreme age; yet the skin had the healthy pink of youth. His eyes were dark; they gleamed with quick intelligence; within them lay the shadow of deep and ancient melancholy.
Within the valve he halted, his somber eyes resting upon the two. He bowed a little, gravely, without mockery. He spoke, and his voice came through the fabric of the space-suits distinctly. It was a low, deep voice, measured, deliberate.
“Shiela Hall and Kane Montel,” it said, “I convey to you the greetings of my master, Aru, who styles himself Lord of Destiny. And I congratulate you upon your intelligence in yielding without attempting to cause us difficulty.
“You may remove your space-suits now. You need them no longer. Do so and come with me. Many things await you.”
AT THAT first somber-toned word, Kane’s sense of reality crumbled. His world dissolved bewilderingly into chaotic, conflicting illusion. He was seized again by the helpless bafflement which lately had so often overcome him. Again he felt that he was but a puppet dancing on the strings of a jesting fate.
In dumb silence he waited until the tall man had done speaking; then a dazed, wondering impulse in him framed the question:
“You knew we were coming to the moon?”
Somberly the gaunt man nodded.
“All things on Earth,” he stated gravely, “are ordained by my master.” Solemnly he repeated his request: “Remove your suits now and follow me within. Much is waiting for you.”
Kane was grappling with an incredible possibility. The question burst from him incoherently:
“Our failures—when luck was holding us back—was that——”
“The desires of men,” said the man in black, “conflict often with the supreme will of my master.”
Kane turned to the silent, motionless fabric that cloaked Shiela beside him.
“I believe him,” he muttered. “Thing’s impossible. But I do. I’ve felt a will, a purpose, in fate.” His voice sank to the faintest whisper. “Frightens me, kid. Such power. Absolute power to rule men—without their even knowing. And it’s a cruel power, malicious, dreadful. I wish you were safely back——”
“Steady!” her serene whisper came to him. “Remember what I said.” Her hand touched his arm. “After all, this is just a man. Probably his master is only another man. Things look mysterious and terrible, but that’s probably just because we don’t understand.
“Ask him a few things: what his name is—how he knows English—how he knows about us. When we understand——”
Kane turned toward the man in black to meet his grave, measured voice:
“Me, you may call Vethlo. Please remove your space-suits and come with me. You shall soon see how I know your language, your names—how I am aware that you came to the moon because a man named Martin Grenfell was foolish enough to think that your flight would avert a war.
“Come.”
Numbed with apprehensive bewilderment, Kane turned to Shiela. Pale, trembling with uncomprehending dread, she had mechanically begun unfastening the catches of her helmet. He assisted her out of the clumsy fabric. Then, in the freedom of her trim white coveralls, she helped him unfasten his own.
And they followed the man in black into the ship’s interior.
IN A curiously shaped chamber whose curving, fluted walls were illuminated with pallid, flowing lights of violet and green, he made them sit upon a deep, oddly fashioned divan. Seating himself opposite, he waved a thin, powerful hand.
Silent servants in white appeared at once, kneeling to offer crystal goblets of some fragrant purple drink, and deep silver bowls filled with unfamiliar, delicately textured ruddy fruits, and platters of small brown cakes.
“Refresh yourselves,” said Vethlo. Seeing Shiela about to decline the purple glass, he suggested gravely: “The drink brings strength, of which you may soon have need.”
Kane found his goblet pleasantly stimulating. It revived his courage, cleared a little of the numbed incredulity from his mind. When it was empty, he leaned toward the man in black, asking:
“Just where do we come in? Your master—this Aru—what does he want with us?”
“The Lord of Destiny willed that you should reach the moon,” said Vethlo, solemnly, “because he has a deep purpose for you.” His dark and ancient eyes rested upon Shiela’s white-clad form, full of somber and veiled speculation. He modified: “For one of you.”
Whiteness flowed over the girl’s fair skin. Her eyes dilated with sudden, shrinking fear, to dark pools of purple. Shuddering a little, she moved instinctively closer to Kane.
Fiercely protective, Kane’s big arm went around her trembling shoulders. Savage, helpless rage was touched off in him by the leering significance he read in Vethlo’s glance. His voice harsh and rasping with emotion, he demanded: “What is Aru’s purpose—with Shiela?” Gravely, Vethlo said:
“That will be revealed to you in time.” Muscles trembling in his giant shoulders, Kane pushed himself forward, half out of the seat.
“Do what you please with me,” he muttered grimly, “but nobody’s going to touch Shiela! That clear? Anybody lays a finger on her—I’ll smash him.”
No answering resentment touched the long face of the man in black. His grave calm was unruffled. In the same weary voice, heavy with age-long sorrow, he said:
“I beg you to control your emotions, Kane Montel. You must realize that the will of my master overrules the desires of men. His purpose will be revealed to you.
“First, however, it is my task to convince you of his power. You are now to be allowed to see the instrumentality which directs the destinies of Earth, the machine by whose means my master rules every act of every dweller upon your planet.
“When you have seen what I shall show you, you will know how pitiful, how helpless, are your desires against his will. Perhaps you will then more willingly accept the fate my master has ordained for you.”
Leaning forward, Kane whispered breathlessly:
“Who—or what—is this—Lord of Destiny?”
“You shall come before him,” said Vethlo. “But first I must demonstrate to you the mechanism of his power.”
His dark eyes fell to a panel of small instruments set in the arm of his seat.
“The ship has lifted with us,” he said. “We have passed back over the summits of the mountain ring you know as Tycho. We are descending, now, through a shaft, into a space beneath the central peak. In this space is the instrumentality that I must display to you—the machine which rules your world.”
“Machine?” echoed Kane, incredulous. “A machine, on the moon, that controls happenings on the Earth?” He laughed at himself with a sound almost harsh. “You had me going,” he said. “But a machine that rules fate! It’s impossible——”
“A scientist,” said Vethlo, gravely, “should be slow to use that word.”
He gestured again. Again servitors came silently to offer cakes and fruits and frothing glasses of the purple drink.
“My task of explanation will be simpler,” he said, “if I begin by recalling certain instruments which my master has allowed your scientists to devise upon Earth.
“The harmonic analyzer is one of them. It can separate the functions or components of any curve. That means that it can isolate the factors that bring about events.
“The product integraph is another twin instrument which multiplies together any given curves. It combines functions, integrates elements. That means that it can predict the events that will be brought about by certain factors.
“Decades ago your scientists devised crude apparatus of this type to predict the tides on the seas of Earth. The Great Brass Brain, it was called. By the process of harmonic analysis it obtained the value of each harmonic constituent for a given time. The addition of all these constituents gave the tide at that time.
“Your own scientists have since been allowed to go far beyond that crude beginning.”
“The weather machines, you mean?” asked Kane.
He was beginning to be absorbed in the quiet voice of the man in black, in spite of the shadow of wonder and apprehension still upon him.
Gravely, Vethlo nodded.
“From predicting tire tides to predicting the weather was but a step—though a long one,” he said. “The periodic factors involved are much more numerous, much more difficult of analysis. The project, as you know, involved the construction of thousands of automatic relay stations, which automatically observe and report innumerable such factors as solar radiation, barometric pressure, wind movements, humidity, temperature. And if the Great Brass Brain performed integrations beyond the power of the human brain, your new analyzers, synthesizers and integraphs are a thousand times more complex.
“Weather control,” he said, “might be the next step—if my master chose to allow you to undertake it. Certain of the elements with decisive influence upon the weather are comparatively infinitesimal. A few propellers mounted on the towers of your relay stations, to start small currents of air, a few heat bombs to create small changes in temperature—small things mold circumstances.”
Vethlo paused. Somberly his sorrowful eyes rested upon Shiela and Kane, dark with some enigmatic speculation. Slowly he sipped from a tall purple glass.
“Yet all that is simple,” he said, “childish toys—beside the machine of destiny.”
He set down the goblet and looked again at the little dials beside him. Deliberately he rose.
“The ship is at rest,” he said. “Come, and you shall see the machine that rules your world.”
Icy feet of dread raced again along Kane’s spine. And Shiela shrank back into the divan, trembling. Her face was bloodless, her eyes distended with premonitory horror.
“Come,” repeated the weary, sorrowful voice of the man in black. “It is my master’s will.”
And they rose and followed him.
The inexpressibly weird creature known as Aru, and the strange woman known as Athonee, make next month’s installment of this story a feast of imaginative writing. Reserve your copy at your magazine dealer’s now.
The Ruler of Fate
A thrilling, fascinating, thought-provoking tale of romance and a weird creature that rules our Earth from a cavern of horror on the Moon
The Story Thus Far
INJURED in a deadly accident, Kane Montel is ready to abandon his attempts to reach the moon, in his impulse flyer. Bad luck—fate—has defeated him. But then his friend, the statesman Martin Grenfell, tells him that he must carry on, to avert war.
“Tangled circumstance,” he says, “fate, has created this world-wide fever of war. It is needless. And you can kill it, Montel, if you reach the moon—with the sense of common human victory. If you fail, civilization is doomed.”
And Kane takes off, hastily, for a last grim attempt. Lovely Shiela Hall, his secretary, is with him. And luck has changed miraculously. Without mishap, the two reach the moon, near the mysterious rays of the great crater, Tycho.
Investigating the rays, they are captured by unexpected human dwellers on the moon. Amazingly, Vethlo, the gaunt, young-old leader, speaks English. He seems to know all about them.
“My master is Aru, the Lord of Destiny,” Vethlo tells them. “Through the machine, he rules your world. He caused you to reach the moon, because he has a purpose for you—for one of you.”
His dark eyes leer at Shiela, dreadful with hidden speculation.
He demonstrates the colossal machine of destiny. Through the terrific force of the rays of Tycho, which curve out to hold the earth in their web of impalpable power, the machine controls the world like a toy.
The story continues:
5. “The World Is a Toy!”
“THE subsiding magmas of the cooling moon left many such cavernous spaces as these under Tycho,” Vethlo informed them.
They had descended the ladder beneath the air-lock of the spherical ship. Their apprehensions momentarily overcome by amazed wonder, Kane and Shiela were staring about, breathlessly.
The thin, cool air about them was filled with a pale, violet light, as if it were itself slightly luminous. The sourceless radiance shone upon the dark, looming, cragged walls, upon the oppressive roof, of a cave incredibly vast. Vastness brought no relief from the sense of crushing, overwhelming mass above. Farther spaces extended away into purple gloom.
The cavern floor was covered with thickets and fields of curious vegetation. It was fungus-like, or fern-like, or totally strange. The predominating color, beneath the sourceless, enigmatic light, was a weird blood-red.
Looking into the darkness of a far, unlit space, Kane saw a distant structure towering luminously. It was a cluster of thin, lofty cones, fluted spirally. They shone with deepest blue, and each high point was tipped with purple flame.
The eldritch mystery of it, burning against the violet dark, held him with a nameless fascination. Beside him Shiela shivered, clutching at his arm.
“That is the dwelling of Aru, the master of destiny,” Vethlo informed them. “I shall take you before him, there. But first you must witness the machine.”
He led them a little aside, so that they could view a thing that had been hidden by the bulk of the ship. Kane gasped with amazement, and Shiela cried out.
