tramp: a freight vessel that does not run regularly between fixed ports, but takes a cargo wherever shippers desire.
truck with, had no: had no dealings or associations with.
varmint: an objectionable or undesirable animal, usually predatory, as a coyote or bobcat.
what for: a punishment or scolding.
witch doctor: a person who is believed to heal through magical powers.
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© 2008 L. Ron Hubbard Library. All Rights Reserved.
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Cover art: © 1949 Standard Magazines, Inc. Story preview cover art: © 1948 Better Publications, Inc. Reprinted with permission of Hachette Filipacchi Media. Horsemen illustration from Western Story Magazine is © and ™ Condé Nast Publications and is used with their permission. The Beast, The Slaver and Space Can story illustrations; Fantasy, Far-Flung Adventure and Science Fiction illustrations; Story Preview and Glossary illustrations: Unknown and Astounding Science Fiction copyright © by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Reprinted with permission of Penny Publications, LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59212-565-4 ePub version
ISBN 978-1-59212-371-1 print version
ISBN 978-1-59212-249-3 audiobook version
Library of Congress Control Number: 2007927526
Contents
THE GREAT SECRET
SPACE CAN
THE BEAST
THE SLAVER
GLOSSARY
The Great Secret
The Great Secret
SWEEPING clouds shadowed the tawny plain, and far off in the east the plumes of night spread gently, mournfully, burying the corpse of the Livian day. Fanner Marston, a tattered speck upon a ridge, looked eastward, looked to the glory he sought and beheld it.
Throat and tongue swollen with thirst, green eyes blazing now with new ecstasy, he knew he had it. He would gain it, would realize that heady height upon which he had elected to stand. Before him lay the Great Secret! The Secret which had made a dead race rule the Universe! And that Secret would be his, Fanner Marston’s, and Fanner Marston would be the ruler, the new ruler, the arbiter of destiny for all the Universe!
All through these weeks he had stumbled over the gutted plains toward these blue mountains beneath the scorching double sun. He had suffered agonies but he had won!
There, glittering in the yellow sunlight was Parva, dead, beautiful city of the ancients, city of the blessed, city of knowledge and power.
There, glittering in the yellow sunlight was Parva, dead, beautiful city of the ancients, city of the blessed, city of knowledge and power.
Fanner laughed. He was strong; he was lean; but he was not handsome; and of all the things about him this laugh, distorted by thirst-ravaged lips, was the least pleasant. His eyes, which had of late grown so very dull, flamed greenly with the ecstasy which came with that vision.
He had won. They had told him that he could not; the legends said it was not possible for any mortal man to win. But the spell of the ancients was broken, their books were open, their riches lay for the taking. Parva was there! Parva was his!
It mattered nothing to Fanner that nearly twenty miles of gashed and forbidding terrain still lay between him and his goal. It mattered not that his canteens were empty; nor did it matter that, behind the ridge on which he stood, his monocycle, last vehicle of his caravan, was a ruined wreck.
He was glad now that his companions were dead—of thirst, of quarrels, of disease. He would not have to murder the last of them now and so preserve to himself this incalculable thing which awaited him. Fate was shaping everything for him!
He could do these twenty miles by noon of the next day, do them the hard way, on foot and without water, for there was something to sustain him now; he knew that the city was real, had truly existed through all these ages, was just as the history books had said it was. And if this much was true, then all was true. And he had seen the silver river!
Fanner’s boots were scuffed relics but he set forth down the rocky slope and so great was his ecstasy that he did not feel the sharp bites of the rocks, nor did he feel the fingers of thirst which were throttling him. He was hard; he could outlive forty men and had done it; he would succeed, for he was Fanner Marston!
He had fought these deserts and mountains and he had whipped them—almost. He would live through to the end, and see the Great Secret which awaited him emblazon his name throughout space!
Fanner Marston would bring a new era, a day when spaceships no longer had to land in seas to save themselves from being shattered, when men would be hampered no longer in combating the atmospheres of many now uninhabitable planets. The wealth of the Universe would be his for the taking; the entire race of mankind would bow to his command like vassals. For there, glittering in the sunset, was Parva—Parva, the city of the Great Secret.
Darkness caught him, and he groped his stumbling way among a great forest of black boulders. He did not mind the shocks of falling, the cuts inflicted upon him, the gouges of the unkind earth; nor did he mind the constantly increasing size of his tongue. Distance he had mastered; mere thirst would not stop him now. And besides, he had seen it, just like in the legends. The silver river. What cared he for thirst when that mighty stream awaited him?
Fanner Marston, master of the Universe: it was a pleasant title to resound through his brain.
Black-mouthed with thirst, stumbling with fatigue, lightheaded with his dream of power, he struggled on through the night.
Fanner Marston had always considered himself some favorite child of fate; he knew now that that must be so. How otherwise could he win through where so many had failed? How otherwise could he alone of forty men come to his goal? Fate meant this to happen to him; the devils who were his guardians strongly bore him to his victory. He alone would reach Parva; he alone would know.
He had forgotten where first he had heard the legends of this city he now approached, for he had not immediately grasped their truth and significance. As a child he had been too hardly driven as a slavey in a pirate camp to dream much on the mastery of the Universe. As a young man petty thievery in the large cities of the Universe had occupied his skills. Not until he had become master of his own craft and crew, not until he realized that there was destiny awaiting him, did he turn his mind in earnest upon Parva.
There, men said, lay the most advanced science of the Universe, sealed up in a strangely constructed city, covered with the dust of eons. It had been seen from afar by this one; it had been reported by a man gone mad with thirst; it had crept down the centuries in the literature of space. One and all agreed that Parva and Parva alone contained the sum total of knowledge gathered by a vanished race, one which had been so far advanced that ethereal communication with the planets had been possible, that its spaceships could land on ground. That civilization had used atomic power, not radioactive fuel. Its men had been able to clothe themselves against the rigors of the many uninhabitable planets. And then Parva alone remained of all that great culture and Parva itself had died. But within it there must be the Great Secret.
Of the Great Secret, men understood very little save that which had been expressed in a short formula. But with that formula a man might master all.
Fanner Marston had no qualms about getting out, for if he had the Great Secret, would not travel be a simple thing? He could see himself arriving in triumph on Earth, center of the universal culture which now obtained. He could hear th
e cheering throngs and feel the waves of adulation which would be his. And he could nearly taste the liquors—fantastically expensive and satisfying—which he would drink, and feel the warm flesh of the women who would love him, would love the master of the Universe. And he would tell men to go hither and thither; he would move great armies and fleets; he would cause vast conquests, and kings would bow before his brilliance and his might. For all of eternity he would be remembered. The Great Secret would be his.
Dreaming, not realizing how acutely his body suffered and how slender became his strength, he struggled on until dawn, through the dry washes, over the shaled ridges, through the gritty valleys. He to whom the most beautiful women and the most exquisite liquors of the Universe would be a commonplace could not be worried now about mere thirst and exhaustion.
As the light broke, and as he mounted a ridge, he could again see the city and before it the silver river. He had less than eight miles to go; the towers looked huge and overbearing. For a moment a small doubt clamored to be heard and then he swallowed it in a tidal wave of exultation. Women, liquor, power! He, Fanner Marston, stood on the threshold of All!
He started down the ridge, but fell and tumbled far before he could stop himself and stand again. The physical shock of shale cutting into him as it slid brought him close to the reality which waited to torture him. His hand trembled as he sought to staunch a flow of blood from his thigh. A great weariness sought to sweep upward from that gash and with an angry gesture Fanner Marston put it down. He crossed the gully, clambered up the far side and went through the rocks toward the city. Now and then he stumbled, caught himself and stumbled again. Once he fell and lay sprawled for several minutes before consciousness returned.
It was the double sun, that’s what it was. The great dumbbell star blazed furiously now, two hours into the day, and brought heat waves writhing up from the tawny plain, writhing up into the shrieking wind which raced clouds through the iridescent blue heavens. The avarice of that sun, which would let no moisture fall, took away what small stores of moisture might remain in Fanner Marston, took with them the hidden reserves of energy.
He fell more often now and the grin upon his swollen lips grew more fixed. Women, cheering throngs, liquor— he could think of them and find strength in them and go on. But little by little he was losing his grip upon the reality of his dreams and, gradually, he was becoming aware of the actuality of this searing plain, the shrieking, dry wind, the sharp rocks, the double sun which drained him and charred his very eyelids.
Crawling over the distance which remained, the single thought, water, obliterated his dreams for seconds at a time. His tongue had begun to hold open his mouth. His throat was such that his breath came in strangling wheezes. Ah, damn it, he was earning the Great Secret. He was earning Parva. Only Fanner Marston would have nerve to go on. Another man would lie here, in the very sight of that river, would lie here and fry and die. Liquor . . . women . . . POWER! Liquor . . . women . . . power . . .
God, he was tired!
He lay still for a little while, shielding his eyes against the monstrous glare. And then he shook himself together and crawled painfully forward.
The double sun was in the zenith; the wind had increased in velocity until it picked up from the plains, as it had all the sand in the eons past, stones the size of baseballs and hurled them down again. Only the giant rocks themselves withstood that gale and the only surcease from its fury was close to their bases.
Water. He had to have water. He . . . had . . . to . . . have . . . God! Would that river never come close to him!
He did not realize that there was no river until he stood at the very base of the giant dome, holding to its polished base, staring up at the clear glass above. There was no silver river, there was only a silver fringe. No water.
But inside there would be water. Inside there would be the Great Secret which would solve all and with that there would be water!
He steadied himself. He must fall back upon these dreams. These dreams alone would keep him going. Women. He had to think about women. Not water. Women. Women were the necessary things to his being. Liquor, he would think—
Water!
Damn you, he told himself, damn you, keep going. You can’t quit now. I won’t let you quit now. You are going through with this. You are going to become the master of the Universe. . . .
He crawled along the wall and found a port which opened easily to his touch. The sudden silence of the interior was a relief great enough to bring him strength again. Upright he stumbled down a silver street. It was cool in here after the fury of that double sun. Parva had been well planned. Something kept it cool even after these eons had passed. There were no signs of decay and these strangely built cubicles which flanked the streets stood as they had stood long ago.
Entering one he tried to find water. And he found none. He entered others, with no different result. A small panic began to grip him now which evaded his control. With the strange clarity pain sometimes brings, he knew that the river which had fed water to Parva had dried under the onslaught of the double sun. The pools which remained with their statuary in the street intersections were dry, dusty dry.
The Great Secret! The Great Secret which was almost within his reach would bring him water. It was reputed to bring everything, to be the key of anything. With controlled rationality he sought the mighty golden plaque which men said held the inscription. He knew he would find it. He knew the language in which it had been written and he had a dictionary of that language as the only possession he had brought through.
Water!
He steadied his nerves and sought calmly. His jaw ached with his swollen tongue and he could barely breathe. But he knew he would find the thing for which he sought. He was Fanner Marston. He was destined for greatness! Fanner Marston, ruler of the Universe! And what things would those riches buy!
The Great Secret had made this civilization great. And it would make the fame of Fanner Marston as great as eternity. He had won. He had only to look up. . . .
It hung in a room entered by four arched doors and the doors were open. Upon golden chains it dangled, that plaque, not even dulled by dust.
He sank to the floor, gazing at the inscription in ecstasy. His dreams flooded back upon him, revitalized him. He was not a broken and torn wretch crouching there, nearly dead with thirst and exhaustion, he was Fanner Marston at whose beck would come all those things for which he craved.
Scrawling upon the white, smooth floor, he began to decipher the words. He worked with nervous, impatient speed, reading nothing of what he wrote, saving until the last the full import of the Great Secret. He savored every instant of this work. Forgotten was his throat, his tongue, his gashed body.
And then he stared feverishly at the assembled words he had written and drank them in. He read again. Slowly, wearily, once more he read them.
The Great Secret that had made this civilization great . . .
If thou, O Man, would rule the worlds, the All,
First learn thou, the folly of matter and the material lusts.
Space Can
Space Can
LANCING through space, slammed along by a half million horses, the United States destroyer Menace anxiously sought the convoy which had been wailing to all the Universe for aid but now was still, still with an ominous quiet which could mean only its defeat.
She was only one, the Menace, and “they” would be more than one, but the little space can charged ahead, knowing well that she was a pebble from the mighty slingshot of the embattled fleet, a pebble where there should have been a shower of stones. Gracefully vicious, a bundle of frail ferocity, a wasp of space designed for and consecrated to the kill, the Menace flamed pugnaciously onward; she had her orders, she would carry them out to the last ounce of her fuel, the last charge in her guns and the last man within her complex and multiple compartments. She carried the Stars and Stripes upon her side, gold lace upon her bridge and infinite courage in her heart, for up
on her belligerent little nose rested the full tradition of four-hundred-odd years of Navy, a tradition which took no dares, struck no colors and counted no odds.
She should have been a flotilla in this lonely cube of space, but with the fleet embattled off Saturn, no flotilla could be spared. She had done other jobs, hard ones, in this long war. There was faith in her, too much perhaps, and so she was here alone, raking the black with her detectors, bristling with impatience to engage the enemy, be he cruiser or battleship or just another destroyer; she was a terrier who had no eyes for the size of her rats.
On her bridge a buzzer sawed into the roar of her motion, and her executive officer stood aside to permit her summoned captain a view of the detector. Her captain, Lieutenant Carter, steadied himself with a hand on Ensign Wayton’s shoulder, and his face, usually young and efficient, became weary as he looked at the message which registered there.
In the detector, the supply ships were colorless spots, unmoving, without order. Among them were fainter dots which gruesomely indicated ships which were growing cool, having been emptied of air. Because spacesuits might mean desertion of crews near the first port, there were few in naval vessels unless they were crack ships like the Menace. This battle was almost over and there would be many, many dead.
One spot began to turn violet, which meant that a vessel, friend or foe, was heading toward the Menace.
Second-class Petty Officer Barnham was already training an analoscope on the red spot. He shuffled the spectrum plates of all navies until he had one which would compare with the lines on his screen.
“Saturn destroyer, sir,” said Barnham matter-of-factly.
Lieutenant Carter shook himself into the fighting machine he was trained to be. The situation was a plain one, a simple one. The convoy had been set upon by a raiding fleet, the existence of which had not been suspected. Bravely the train’s escorts had flashed into battle and had fought their ships to the last pound of air; that they had not done badly was indicated by the fact that only two Saturn vessels remained in action; that the entire escort was dead was plain in the silence of the battle communicator; that the supply ships were paralyzed and already half destroyed was to be found in the garble which spewed and gibbered from the all-channel speaker.