Edited with an Introduction and Notes by ANDRE NORTON
stories by Eric Frank Russell H. B. Fyfe • Raymond Z. Gallun K. Houston Brunner • James Schmitz Fritz Leiber • Raymond F. Jones and Jerome Bixby
SPACE PIONEERS
New York and Cleveland
THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
library of congress catalog card number: 54~5338 first edition
Acknowledgments
The Publishers wish to acknowledge with thanks permission to use the following stories
contained in this volume:
"The Illusionaries" by Eric Frank Russell. Copyright November 1951 by Love Romances, Inc. Reprinted from Planet Stories by permission of Otis Kline, Associates, Inc.
"Moonwalk" by H. B. Fyfe. Copyright November 1952 by Space Publications, Inc. Reprinted from Space Science Fiction by permission of the author.
"Trail Blazer" by Raymond Z. Callun. Copyright 1951 by Better Publications, Inc. Reprinted from Fantastic Story Magazine by permission of the author's agent, Frederik Pohl.
"Thou Good and Faithful" by K. Houston Brunner. Copyright March 1953 by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Reprinted from Astounding Science-Fiction by permission of the author.
"End of the Line" by James Schmitz. Copyright July 1951 by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Reprinted from Astounding Science-Fiction with their permission.
"A Pail of Air" by Fritz Leiber. Copyright December 1951 by Galaxy Publishing Corporation. Reprinted from Galaxy by permission of publisher and author.
"The Farthest Horizon" by Raymond F. Jones. Copyright April 195a by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Reprinted from Astounding Science-Fiction by permission of the author's agent, Scott Meredith.
"Asteroid of Fear" by Raymond Z. Gallun. Copyright March 1951 by Love Romances, Inc. Reprinted from Planet Stories by permission of the publisher.
"Page and Player" by Jerome Bixby. Copyright August 195a by Better Publications, Inc. Reprinted from Startling Stories by permission of the author^ agent, Frederik Pohl.
hc 254
Copyright 1954 by The World Publishing Company. AU rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except for brief passages included in a review appearing in a newspaper or magazine. Manufactured in the United States of America.
Preface
Pioneers on this world have always been of two types.
First, the restless explorers who must learn what lies beyond the next mountain, in the depths of the next valley. Men who set no roots in any soil, build no homes, who exist only for the eternal quest, driven by the desire to see—see-There were the "Long Rifles," the woodsrunning contemporaries of Kenton and Boone, the "Mountain Men" who were one with Carson and Bridger, the breakers of new trails. Often unstable of temperament, plagued by restlessness, they swept out to map and explore continents.
And when man reaches into space there shall rise other "Long Rifles" and "Mountain Men," granted new designations, perhaps, but of the same old breed. These shall chart dim trails between planet and planet, star and star, across alien worlds where human feet will leave new, strange tracks. And yet never shall they be satisfied, but their roving will continue, on and out, and up—
In the traces of the explorers tread the second type, the settlers, those who are willing to fight adverse climate, hostile natives, tough soil, to build new nations and civilizations. That same family group, which crossed the eastern mountains to claim "tomahawk rights" in the "dark and bloody ground," producing sons and daughters who, a generation later, dared to cross the plains in white-topped wagons, will be found again among the space-ship voyagers who go to break the soil of Venus, plow up the rusty red dust of Mars, trail out into the galaxy driven by the ancient hunger for new land, or because they are in active rebellion against conditions at home. They shall take root on those worlds the explorers have prospected, and will face down the nameless terrors and
8
preface
dangers of the alien with the same stubborn spirit which kept earlier settlers steady at the loopholes in a fort's stockade.
Together go the pioneers of free space—the explorer and the settler—two arms of the same vigorous body—undefeatable by Man, alien or space itself I
Andre Norton
The editor wishes to express appreciation for the help of Nan Hanlin, Harlan Elision, and Bradford Day in locating the stories here included.
Contents
Preface 7
THE EXPLORERS 11
Earth
The Illusionaries by Eric Frank Russell 13
Moon
Moonwalk by H. B. Fyfe 35
Mars
Trail Blazer by Raymond Z. Gallun 80
Other Systems
Thou Good and Faithful by K. Houston Brunner 102
Other Systems
The End of the Line by James Schmitz 151
THE SETTLERS 191
Earth
A Pail of Air by Fritz Leiber 193
Mars
The Farthest Horizon by Raymond F. Jones 208
Asteroid Belt
Asteroid of Fear by Raymond Z. Gallun 228
Other Systems
Page and Player by Jerome Bixby 268
THE EXPLORERS
IF Terra itself was to be considered as a colonial possibility by an alien exploring party? We, the "Indians," to be confronted by a superior race? (Or so they reckoned.) But there are secret weapons and booby traps on the quietest planet—and Beneker was cautious . . .
The Illusionaries
ERIC FRANK RUSSELL
Commodore Beneker viewed the dawn with satisfaction. It was a strange sun that hoisted itself out of the horizon. A big, brilliant, yellow-colored orb much more impressive than the one that shone over his home world of Neshanta in the region of Bootes. This primary turned ghostly trees into shapes of living emerald, brought birds piping from their nests and warmed the dew-dampened ground in less than half a time-unit.
But his gratification was not born of these idyllic features. He was duly appreciative of them since he had eyes to see and ears to hear. Being on a strange and possibly antagonistic world, he nursed a viewpoint generated by the circumstances, which viewpoint insisted that the birds and trees were of less importance than the fact that no snake was yet evident in this Eden. There could have been snakes by now, a dozen of them, a host of them, lying in the grass waiting for the dawn and emergence of the first unwary Neshantan.
There could have been an ambush if the ship had been seen to come down. True, it had descended in the gloom of the night, with rockets silenced and the counter-gravs taking the weight, but it had not been invisible. A pale moon had limned it with silver during one or two brief breaks in the clouds. Moreover, it had fallen while surfaced with a peculiar aura of pallid purple flames which disappeared at instant of ground contact.
Beneker thought uncomfortably of that moment. The earth-touch had been marked by a superswif t and violent crack and the purple flames vanished and most of the crew dropped flat on their bellies as they gave up a couple of thousand volts.
It's risky work, roaming around. Any world is likely to greet you with a conk off its own bat. If you survive that, the inhabitants line up for their turn, holding in their mitts or assorted grippers a multitude of devices capable of anything from setting fire to beards to automatic and instantaneous skinning.
That's why Beneker felt pleased with himself, at least for a little while. On that pink world they'd left in a hurry before coming here a spiderish creature had discovered them, blandly squatted outside the door biding the dawn, and when Chief Engineer Formel stuck an inquiring head outside it had pursed thick black lips and produced an excruciating sound that addled his br
ains for all time. Formel was still strapped down and would remain so to the home-going, if he lived that long. It was a mode of space-travelling that Commodore Beneker had no desire to emulate. So he looked at the sun, the trees, the birds, and was gladdened by what wasn't there.
He stepped outside onto the grass and still nothing happened. No whirr of attacking wings, no flick of a poisoned dart, no brain-tearing whistle. Just the sun and a yawning world not fully awake.
"Hah!" he exclaimed with satisfaction. He could not expand his chest since he wore his skeleton on the outside. That feature, plus the long, feathery antenna sticking out of his hair, made him resemble an overgrown and upright insect, a three-foot-tall praying mantis. He was not an insect. He was a Neshantan.
Second Engineer Dith and Astrogator Molop joined him on the grass. Their exit was made with the airy confidence of those who've seen it tried on the dog.
"Nice morning, Commodore," ventured Dith. He smelled the air,- tested the springiness of the turf.
"Not too bad a morning," Beneker conceded, giving him the frozen eye. "Seeing that you have been denied the pleasure of slamming the door upon my dead body."
"You were too quick for me," said Dith. "I had planned to be first out."
"Me, too," declared Molop.
"So not satisfied with having Formel tied up like a pomicker meditating his sins, you want to get yourselves laid out and thus incapacitate the entire expedition?"
"Oh, no, Commodore." Trapped between joint implications of cowardice and sabotage, Dith sought a plausible escape, found it and said with grossly exaggerated humility, "I thought I could best be spared."
"Me, too," declared Molop, radiating virtue.
"A reasonable assumption," agreed Beneker, thus dexterously damning both of them.
He waved a chitinous limb at the landscape. "There is nothing to indicate that we have been observed. That is the main thing; not to be seen coming down. It seems that we have achieved it."
"Unless it takes them a long time to get here," suggested Dith.
"There is a village a mere two and a quarter linids away," Beneker informed. "I could walk it myself in less than a time-unit."
"Me, too," indorsed Molop, lending his authority to the estimate.
Beneker rasped at him, "Who the space-demon asked you?" Without waiting for a reply, he went on, "The longer we sit around the greater our chances of being spotted. We aren't conspicuous in this valley, and we're in an area where traffic is sparse, but these creatures have air machines from which they could see us almost any time. So let's get moving. Call out the crew."
The crew emerged and lined up twenty strong. Their eyes raked the surroundings warily, their antenna quivered as they sought hostile thoughts radiating behind this clump of trees, that outcrop of rock. None of them shared Beneker's confidence in momentary safety and many would have been glad not to share Beneker.
Looking them over with singular lack of pride, Beneker remarked, "As sloppy-looking a dollop of murts as I've seen since Rimbot crash-landed in a garbage dump." He was pleased to note they resented that. "And as sweet-smelling," he added for good measure. His jaundiced eye went along the line until it found the fidgety one at the end. "You with the jelly-like jerks, are you carrying passengers?"
"No, Commodore."
"Better make sure. No knowing what's been picked up on the last ten worlds. Neshanta won't thank us for a cargo of alien nib-blers and gnawers." He scratched himself at the thought of it. "Get cleaned up while you have the chance. Jump to it, we've little time to spare."
Hastily divesting themselves of harness they brought spray-guns out of the ship and doused each other all over. That done, they lined up again. The atmosphere was pungent with anti-parasite fluid.
"We're going to test our powers on the local talent," Beneker informed. "A couple of guards are required to watch over us. I need two volunteers." He pointed an authoritative finger at Mu-shab One and Mushab Two who, as their names showed, had come from a double-yolked egg. "You and you!"
The Mushabs obediently stepped forward, each taking a dim view of this method of offering one's services.
"Well," said Beneker, with the weary air of one compelled to seek genius among imbeciles, "here they are, our guard. Standing to attention, ready and prepared for the fray." He waited awhile, staring at them while they gaped back, then finished with false cordiality, "If the aliens attack we can trust you to spit upon them?"
A spark of revelation came into their eyes. Turning, they went into the ship, brought back weapons.
"That is better," Beneker approved. "It was thoughtful of Neshanta to arm us, was it not? It showed foresight. We shall not be dependent upon spit, shall we?" Getting no answer other than twin blinks of embarrassment, he shifted his attention to Dith and Molop. "On the last world but one Wenk and Formel explored with me. There were other pairs on previous worlds. It is high time you two had a turn."
"But. . ." began Dith.
"Go get your hand-projectors. You're coming along whether you like it or not. I know of no reason why any two should be exempt from risks. Besides," Beneker went on, "have you not agreed that you can best be spared?"
There was no answer to that one. Glumly they fetched handprojectors, buckled them on, taking plenty of time about it. The crew hung around and mooned at them, watched the trees, the rocks, the hill-crests. Much of their original enthusiasm had been sapped by that pink world's spider.
"Ten planets," grumbled Dith, fiddling with his harness. "Three fertile but full of brainless life. Suitable for settlement only if we tackle all the hard work ourselves. Then two more worlds completely sterile. That was the first solar system. So we try a second, this one. And what do we find?"
He shot a glance at Beneker and, encouraged by that worthy's lack of remark, continued, "Worlds big enough to crush us and with satellites either sterile or full of life-forms too dim-witted to be of use. A pink world crammed with eight-legged menaces. Now this one."
"So what?" inquired Beneker, with heavy sarcasm. "Did you expect to find a Neshantan heaven in the first ten out of all these millions?" He swept a hand to embrace the cosmos.
"It's not that," said Dith. "It's just a feeling that bad luck or good luck hangs around the right suns."
"Gross superstition! A sun cannot determine the suitability of the various planets around it." Then, aware that such a statement could be argued, Beneker modified it with, "In limits, of course. We choose suns approximating most closely to our own. That makes sense."
"Yes, I know. It's just a feeling I've got that this particular solar system is a waste of..."
"The space-demon take your feelings! If I went by such illogic I'd never get anywhere." Irately, Beneker turned to the nearer hillside, started upward through the trees. He went at a fast pace.
Dith trailed after him, muttering. "Maybe the need is urgent but, all the same, we ought to be limited to six or seven planets per trip. Enough is enough. Sometimes I get sick of it."
"Me, too," said Molop.
"You'll be sicker before you're through," promised Beneker, his hearing sharper than they had thought.
They went silent. The brothers Mushab mooched in the rear, bearing their heavier weapons with dumb resignation.
The testing place was ideal for its purpose. A narrow dirt road ran along a little valley with low but well-wooded rises at either side. To the right, the hillocks gave way to hills and those in turn to mountains shining in the far distance. Way over to the left the outskirts of a village could just be seen.
There was every facility for close concealment within a mere quarter-linid of the road. This was plenty good enough for the task in hand. Posting the Mushabs higher up the rise and well separated to provide cross-fire without Neshantan casualties, Beneker laid himself flat under heavy bushes. With Dith and Molop close by, he watched the road, directing his attention mostly toward the village.
It was a dreary wait. The world was still yawning and slow to arise. Nothing could
be seen stirring among the distant houses but finally thin bluish shafts of smoke began to drift from a few roofs.
Beneker filled in the time with warning lectures. "Don't get overexcited when one approaches, like Wampot did on that third world. We aren't here to pick a fight. Our job is to check on their possible usefulness as slaves."
"Yes, Commodore," agreed Dith, who had no yearning for a fracas anyway. He eyed the sun through a leafy gap, decided he did not like its color, size, degree of light and heat, or anything about it.
"When one of them appears he will look strange. That is inevitable, as you should know by now. But what of it? No matter how he looks or what weird abilities he possesses, he is a prospective article of utility so far as we are concerned. All we need do is lie low, keep calm and test his responses."
"Yes, Commodore."
"That and no more," insisted Beneker, determined to educate the less fortunately endowed. "No matter how intelligent and dexterous these creatures may prove to be, they are of no use to us if we cannot control and direct their intelligence and dexterity. Without control, we shall have to do all our own labor." He was revolted by the thought of it. "Neshantans were created to direct the energies of other forms, not to perform lowly tasks themselves."
"Me, too," said Molop, piously.
Beneker rolled onto one side in order to glare at him. "Was that a deliberate impertinence? I suppose you think you're doing too much doing, and not enough directing on this trip? Let's all boss the ship, eh? Everyone a space-admiral, eh?" He motioned higher up the rise. "Very well, you can do something more right now. Go see whether those dopey egg-friends are still on guard. And go carefully."
Molop crept quietly away, not so much to please the Commodore as to avoid giving the Mushabs the jumps. That pair had a habit of doing things simultaneously and more or less on mutual impulse. They were likely to let go first and then look to see what had bounced.