Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Vandals of the Void By ROBERT WILSON The Void had spawned these hell-creatures of destruction, had sown them deep within Earth's soil. And now Earth was reaping a whirlwind of death--weapons futile against the immortal conquerors from another space. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Art Douglas saw one of the very first of them, found and brought in by two drivers from the huge steel burrowing worm which was at that time conducting the sub-crust explorations many miles below the rolling Kansas prairies. Why the men should have brought the discovery to an organization such as the Interplanetary Research Institute, was something not quite clear to Art. They must have known, he reflected bitterly, how utterly bogged down the Institute was, how close to absolute disintegration, from inability to work or progress, and the resultant effect on the morale of the highly trained scientists who made up its staff. But the weird organism which lay before him on the laboratory bench dispelled all such thoughts immediately. His imaginative, yet scientific brain leaped to meet the challenge and the Interplanetary Research Institute became only a workshop full of tools, ready for his use. It was only natural that he should first assume that the creature-plants were probably native to the level at which they had been found, and that this was their natural environment. How terribly wrong this was to prove! Of the terrible menace in the thing before him, Douglas could not dream; although he could plainly see its potentialities. For it had been found boring through solid rock. It seemed to have been designed for just that. Its form was that of spiral screw, about a foot long, tapering from a diameter of about an inch at one end, to four inches at the other. In color it was a dull blue-black, the surface fine textured and smooth, and steely hard. Its strength was of steel also, for it was constantly whipping about, trying to fasten its three needle sharp jaws, which were located at the smaller end, in anything it might find. One of the men who brought it had suffered a frightful gash in the forearm before they had learned that this could be avoided by picking it up at the larger end. The creature could not quite achieve the feat of bending itself double. Art found that once it had hooked those fierce jaws into anything, it started boring and could not be torn loose. However, it would bore _only upward_! When laid on a flat table, it merely writhed about, looking for some object above it. He held a thick piece of board over it. The head had bored through in a few seconds, but when he turned the board over, it backed out hastily, and flopped to the table again, where it resumed its endless searching, searching for something, anything overhead, in which it could fasten its tenuous grip. Art called and had a huge two ton block of granite brought in by the overhead crane. In its lower side he ordered some workmen to chip a cavity, a little larger than the creature on the table. The thing was dropped on the floor, and the block carefully lowered over it, so that it was imprisoned in the cavity. Art had a hunch that it would have made little difference to the creature whether it was allowed the cavity, or merely had the block dropped on it. A little shudder ran through him at the thought of such unearthly strength. He decided to go to lunch, before he got too deeply involved. * * * * * Passing through the outer office, he met Elene Moor, lovely secretary to Doctor Theller, Chief Director of the Institute and his immediate superior. He had known Elene in college before securing this position, and he remembered the sudden elation he had felt when he discovered that he would be working near the girl for whom he had felt such a hopeless yearning in school. She had been so popular, so surrounded by young men whose zest for life, talent for fun, and supply of ready cash had utterly overwhelmed him. Now, after five years of Interplanetary, such a dull apathy had settled over him that even Elene's golden loveliness failed to stir him. "Might as well lunch with me, Elene," he said, seeing that she was about to leave. "I have an interesting topic of conversation for the first time in ages, it seems. In fact, I'm very anxious to tell you about it." She looked at him closely. Something certainly had aroused his interest. His keen blue eyes were alight, and his rugged frame seemed to be invested with a nervous energy which had long been dormant. Elene was glad; he almost looked like the Art she had loved, and had such hopes for, when he had first come to the Institute. But his fine intellect had seemingly withered, stultified by the impossible situation which existed at Interplanetary in the year 2186. Several centuries of scientific struggling had finally produced a mode of interplanetary travel. In 2135, successful landings and safe returns had been made to and from Mars. A year later, Venus was also reached. But fifty-one years had produced little knowledge of any value; progress was at a standstill. Certainly the Martians had been found to be a highly developed and scientific race. They were peaceful and friendly. But they were also very wise. They were acquainted with the history of man on Earth as far back as the time of Christ. Their astronomical instruments made it possible to see plainly events there, under the proper conditions. With the coming of wireless, they had been able to intercept any and all signals they chose. They knew about all they needed or wanted to know about Earth. That was what made them so wary. For they had seen the torture of the early Christians, and the cruel subjugation of the known world by the Romans. They had seen in turn, the overrunning of Rome by the barbarian hordes. They had known Attila the Hun. They had witnessed the Spanish Inquisition. They had seen the slaughter of the aborigines in the new world, their gradual extinction by the white colonists. They had known Napoleon, and most monstrous and horrible of all, Hitler. They had finally seen the Great Gas War, which had so decimated the ranks of mankind, that it had been necessary to set up the International Peace Council, which established peace by the only method which mankind seemed to be able to understand--force. * * * * * It was rather simple. The laws were very strict: briefly, the manufacture, transporting, or even possession of any kind of murder weapon, other than what might be carried by a man for his personal defense, was considered sufficient evidence of intent to kill, and carried a death penalty. The agents and inspectors of the Council were everywhere, entering any machine shop or factory at will, constantly checking all sources of raw material, making almost impossible any secret manufacture of any type of armament. But even this could not convince the canny Martians--for they knew that thousands of years of barbarism were covered only by a thin veneer. At any time, man's innate desire to conquer, pillage, and exterminate another race might break through. The Martians well knew the age-old tactics of infiltration used by colonists of Earth. Consequently, only a few scheduled rocket trips per year were permitted. The personnel of each expedition was restricted to a few scientists, who were carefully investigated. They were allowed to study the language, customs, and art of Mars. But scientific achievements and secrets were taboo. No Earthman was permitted to roam at will on Mars--the knowledge they acquired there was given them by an interviewing committee of high ranking Martians, whose ability to sidestep a direct question was uncanny. Of course, there were a few political hotheads on Earth who advocated building a huge fleet of rocket ships, powered with disintegrators, and sending an expedition to subdue the red planet. Naturally, this merely served to corroborate the bad opinion of Earth held by the superscientists of Mars. A few men, such as Doctor Theller and Art, knew what awful disasters such a move would bring. Not only did the Martians have weapons which made the terribly effective, but uncontrollable, atomic disintegrator look like a clumsy toy, but they could also throw up a force field around their entire planet, at an unknown height, against which any invading ship would smash into blazing fragments. True, there was Venus. Venus, the Jungle Planet. There were two environments of Venus--water and jungle. Both were filled with a teeming growth of nightmarish monsters, among which had been found no intelligent beings. The creatures of Venus were born, fought and ate one another, bred and died. That was all. The whole thing was one vast aquarium. Most of the species had been classified during the ten years following the first landing. There had been many expeditions at first. But gradually they tapered off. Attempts at colonization were given up as hopeless. The climate was sultry and oppressive, but worst of all was the fact that practically all of the vegetation of Venus was poisonous to humans. Any food crops introduced from Earth were strangled by the lush native vegetation, which grew at an incredible rate. Venus had no economic value. Minerals there were, but the expense of freighting them back to Earth by rocket ship made mining impractical. As Elene mulled over these gloomy thoughts, she and Art had covered the short distance from the office to the tube that led to Food Center. As they entered, she saw that he also was preoccupied. In good time, he would tell her what had aroused his sudden enthusiasm. An empty car came by. A photoelectric cell registered their presence in the tube. It stopped, Art dropped a token in a slot in its side, and the door slid silently open. As they entered, Art grinned and said: "They're junking these cars next year. Seems they have developed a new model. They were losing money on these--they waste a lot of time. They always stop for you whether you want a car or not; perhaps you're just waiting to meet someone, or just got off a car." "I hardly see what they can do about that," laughed Elene. "Telepathic communication between man and a machine is something considered pretty far in the future." "They still use the photo cell," answered Art, "but now it registers a complete picture of you. By a system of hand signals the prospective passenger will be able to indicate whether he wants a car, where he is going, et cetera. Even the control panel, which we now set for our destination, will be eliminated." * * * * * Soon they were seated in the one huge cafeteria which served the entire city of Washington. Various levels were frequented by different classes of citizens, and Art and Elene chose a quiet one, usually patronized by scientific and medical students. Their meal was ordered by dialing from a numbered menu and arrived automatically in a few seconds, piping hot. Once they were settled, Art began to tell the girl of the weird thing that had been brought him. "I've had no time at all to work on it, of course," he began, "but this much I can almost say for sure--this thing is not an organism like anything else on Earth's crust. Its life processes do not depend on oxidation. It's not composed, as we are, principally of hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon. Carbon, perhaps, yes; that might give it some of its hardness--but it's inert, not involved in any chemical action. The thing neither breathes nor eats!" "Please, Art, start at the beginning--you haven't told me what it looks like, or anything!" "O.K., O.K.," he grinned, and obligingly did so, concluding with, "It's not much, maybe--hasn't anything to do with planetary research, but it's a job--something to keep me busy. That's hard enough to find, these days." "Art," she said quickly, "it seems to me that there's plenty to do now, as never before; so much untapped knowledge right at our fingertips--" "I don't see how you can say that," he interrupted bitterly. "I wouldn't exactly call Mars at our fingertips." "Why Mars? It's always Mars, Mars. You don't have to go there. Find out the secrets they know for yourself. Just because you're stymied that doesn't mean you can't go ahead yourself. A young man with initiative could--" "So I haven't any initiative!" he flared. "Well, how about yourself? After all, a woman now is as good as a man, you know--with modern advantages, physical strength and endurance aren't so important. A woman with enough courage and will power can do as much as any man." "Yes, Art, but a woman is still a woman. All the scientific progress in the world can't change that--she still plays the passive role. Woman would cease to be feminine otherwise. That was proved way back in the twentieth century." "I suppose you're right," he muttered. It had set him thinking. Was he losing his manhood? The human race didn't have so much need for expansion any more. Only greed and craving for adventure would set a man exploring now. And he had neither. Or had he? He thought of the daydreams he sometimes had--of roaming through the primitive jungles of Venus, searching perhaps for a trace of a near human, intelligent civilization, blasting his way through hordes of threatening monsters. But all that was silly; he was a trained man, and it would be very foolish to risk such a brain as his in that hotbed of violence. Still, what good was that precious brain doing anyone at Interplanetary? The shortage of radium prevented their going ahead with the program of experiments which Dr. Theller had mapped out. The idea of wasting their dwindling supply in a roundabout process of learning what the Martians could so easily tell them, had turned the staff of the Institute into a pack of frustrated malcontents. * * * * * The Earth easily supported its population of ten billion. Masterpieces of engineering had irrigated and made fertile practically all of the Earth's surface, except around the poles. There was no need to grow crops, anyway, other than that fresh natural foods were more palatable. Enough food for a hundred billion people could be manufactured synthetically from the sun's rays. There was no need, say, for colonizing Venus, but such a project would certainly provide an outlet for the energies of a bored young scientist. Art still sulked as they returned to the laboratory, but the idea had been planted in his mind, and the more he thought, the nearer he came to admitting that Elene was right. Little did he dream that he would soon be so busy that looking for thrills would be the least of his worries. A white faced attendant met them at the front door of the laboratory. "Dr. Douglas! That thing--we can't control it--it's--" Art ran to the room where he had left the creature. The granite block was where he had left it, but had a neat round hole in its top. Then he looked at the opposite wall of the room. It was a crumbling ruin. The wormlike animal had evidently wriggled its way to the plastocrete wall where it had started boring. As the wall was only five or six inches thick, it had kept emerging from one side or another, dropping to the floor, and starting all over again. The attendants, not knowing how to pick it up, had left it alone after suffering several gashes. They were afraid to handle it too roughly, for fear of damaging it. Art smiled grimly at this. He picked the thing up, threw it on the table. He decided that he would dissect the specimen here and now, find the secret of its mighty strength. But at that moment Dr. Theller came in. "Well, Art, I hope you've thoroughly familiarized yourself with that creature because--" "To tell you the truth, Dr. Theller, I don't know a darn thing about it!" retorted Art cheerfully. "You're going to learn, Art--and mighty soon! I'm going to send you out to Los Angeles. Something catastrophic is happening out there. I can't get anything very clear over the televisor--I see confused pictures of buildings crashing, utter panic everywhere. All the accounts I've heard are garbled--but creatures like this seem to have something to do with it! "Find out what you can, do what you can, then report back. Of course, the city has no defenses, other than the police force, and they are armed only with shock guns." It was true--war was non-existent; defensive armament was unnecessary. Everything was fireproof, making a fire department likewise unnecessary. Art took off in his strato flier from the roof of the laboratory, climbing rapidly until he reached the thin isothermal layer, ten miles up. Then he leveled off, and accelerated slowly to a speed of over one thousand mph. At this rate, he would be able to reach Los Angeles in not over two and a half hours. The time dragged as Art tried to picture the disaster that had overtaken the West Coast city, and just how it could have been caused by animals like the one he had seen. Art always disliked riding the strato layer. Too far below him were the rich, rolling prairies, the mountains covered with mighty timber trees and lush greenery. There was no desert, no wasteland. Any land not level enough to grow crops, or occupied by cities, was covered by thick forest. The only exceptions were the higher peaks of the Rockies, brilliant white patches against the green carpet. It was a beautiful old planet, this Mother Earth. Far ahead and to his right, Art finally glimpsed the sparkle of sunlight of the Inland Sea. Once there had been a ghastly blazing hot desert there, called Death Valley, Art remembered from his school geography. Two centuries ago, engineers had dug a tunnel and let the water of the Pacific in, thereby giving the surrounding desert land a much moister climate. Such a primitive measure would not have been necessary in modern times. Distilled sea water could be piped anywhere, in any desired amount, for irrigation. II The sighting of the Inland Sea was a signal to start decelerating. The Los Angeles zone signal appeared, a red light on his control panel. The L.A. beam picked him up, swung him gently to the left, and brought him in automatically. Below him he saw swarms of family fliers, all coming from the city. As he dropped down he found the traffic system entirely disorganized. Outgoing fliers were filling the incoming lanes. After narrowly missing sudden death several times, Art savagely dialed traffic center. The televisor screen lit up--but instead of a picture of the control officer seated at his switchboard, Art saw only an empty chair. It was only then that he realized the extent of the panic that gripped Los Angeles--for the control officer was sworn to remain at his post through the direst emergencies. Now he was over the city--the vast terraced, pyramidical structures of the metropolitan area, each a mile square at the base, with a narrow rim of landing strip around each level. But as he descended lower he saw that they were no longer structures, but ruins. Even as he watched, they were crumbling and caving in on themselves. Some of them were already mere vast heaps of rubble. Projecting his helicopter propellers, he dropped down and hovered over one of them. Everywhere the broken plastoglass was covered with writhing, squirming duplicates of the creature back in his laboratory. Art fished out his code book, found the wave length of Los Angeles Police Commissioner Horne, and rapidly dialled it. The strained and perspiring face of the Commissioner appeared, sitting at the controls of his ship as he vainly tried to straighten out the evacuating traffic. "Douglas of the Institute reporting, Commissioner." "Hope you brought some disintegrators!" barked the chief. "They're the only thing that will touch these beasts. The shock ray has no effect whatsoever on them. An electron torch will burn them, but that's no good--you can't go about killing them one by one. There are billions of them--they're everywhere!" "Possibly you'd better describe the situation from the beginning for my benefit, Commissioner," Art interposed. "What!" roared Horne. "Theller gave me to understand that you had had experience with these things, and understood them. Now you tell me--" "Easy, Commissioner. I've seen one of these things before for a few minutes, and that's all. You asked for help and Dr. Theller sent me out here in good faith to do what I can." This served to quiet the policeman somewhat, for he merely grunted, "O.K., meet me at the top level of the Administration group; that's the silver one, the only one that still has a top level. You'll have to find it. We had to move out the traffic control--that section of the building's ready to go any minute now." A dull grinding roar rose from everywhere below Art as he crossed the city. Clouds of dust billowed up as the huge pyramids fell in upon themselves piece by piece. He saw now the grimly effective way in which the creatures did their job. As long as there was one piece left standing on another, they would bore and chew until it was reduced to fragments. Blind instinct, rather than malice, seemed to impel them. But the effect was equally devastating. Art saw scores of people wiped out by falling wreckage when the rapidly shuttling overloaded fliers failed to remove them in time. He saw one man, trapped amidst a mass of the writhing horrors, make a sudden dash for freedom, and go down screaming in agony as dozens of savage jaws instantly fastened themselves in his flesh. Art shuddered. Something had to be done to stop this carnage. * * * * * By the time he sighted the commissioner's flier atop the silver pyramid of the Civic Center, he had evolved the rudiments of a plan. He wasted no time on amenities as he met the police chief, but came to the point immediately. "Here's my idea of it, Horne. Los Angeles as a city is doomed. But I think we can save most of the people who are still here." "How about those disintegrators?" cut in Horne. The disintegrator, being still in the experimental stage, was dynamite in the hands of the untrained. The terrific atomic explosions it set up were uncontrollable and unpredictable. Only the most highly respected and trusted scientists were even allowed to handle one. Horne nursed an idea that all his patrolmen should have been issued one to pack on their hips, and that if they had, this would never have happened. "I have a couple with me. We can use them, but we'll have to be extremely careful. My main proposal is to get to San Francisco, Los Vegas, and all the other principal cities around here organized. Have them send millions of civilian fliers. Did you ever hear of the battle of Dunkirk in World War II? The British saved their army to fight again another day, just in that manner." "Do you suppose I haven't thought of that?" snapped the chief. "I've already asked them. They're afraid to come. Only a few ships have trickled in." "We've got to convince them that it's safe for a flier," insisted Art. "Show them on the televisor--send your patrolmen out to explain--anything!" "All right," agreed Horne. "We'll try it. But I don't believe we can get them all out in time even so. Do you know that there are ten million people out in the poorer residential section, very few of whom own a flier, who depend on the public surface cars for their transportation? Central Power is dead--not a car moves in the city. My patrolmen have been out in La Brea six hours, trying to find an avenue of escape, through which they can lead those people out on foot. Every time they run into a new growth of these--these damnable monsters, and have to start all over again." "That's where we'll use our disintegrators," explained Art. "We'll blast a path through which we can lead these people to safety." Art got on the televisor and contacted the government broadcasting center in San Francisco. "Do you have a news broadcast on now?" he asked. The girl clerk answered in the affirmative. "Please put me on," Art begged. "I'm from Interplanetary Research. Here's my badge. This is a serious emergency. The lives of millions of people are hanging in the balance. You must put me on the air!" A moment later, the news broadcast which was even then picturing the catastrophe in billions of homes all over the world, was abruptly cut off, and Art's face appeared in its stead. "Fellow citizens, you all know the desperate situation here in Los Angeles--but do you know that you can save a life, perhaps a dozen? There are ten million people here who face a terrible death unless they are picked up immediately. Hop in your fliers and get right down here! There is no danger for a ship which hovers a little above the ground. _Do not try to land!_ The Los Angeles Traffic Patrol will guide you to proper zones. Please hurry. Thank you." Art snapped off the switch and turned to the chief. "Now, let's try to make some kind of map of the already devastated areas. We'll have to check in some manner to be sure there are no living people left in them, then blast our path through with the disintegrators." * * * * * Horne readily assented to this plan, and dispatched a number of patrolmen to examine closely the ruined sections. All vicinities which had been taken over entirely by the destroyers, were to be marked by dropping tiny smoke bombs which would send up a dense column of smoke. As the commissioner and Art entered the latter's flier and took off, Art explained the difficulties of using a disintegrator. "The atomic disintegration of a lump of matter the size of your fist sets off an explosion strong enough to blow one of these big buildings to small fragments. You can imagine what would happen to yourself and the surrounding country if you merely turned a disintegrator beam on the ground, or against a building near you. We tone down the effect somewhat by causing these pistols which I have here, to project a ray about the diameter of a hair from your head. Not only that, but the ray is immediately cut off, lasting only for the duration of one wave length. Even so, the firing of one is a plenty tricky business." In an hour's time the air patrolmen had laid out a winding, serpentine trail over ten miles long through the bristling mounds of debris. A warning broadcast was sent directing all citizens within sight of the smoke to get underground, lie low, and plug their ears. "Here we go," said Art, stationing himself at a tiny port in the rear of his flier. "Zoom down over that first signal--as soon as you've passed over it, kick her up again at a slight angle." Horne obeyed. They passed the target; nothing happened. He was beginning to wonder what Art was waiting for, when a half mile past the smoke column, Art fired. The resulting concussion surprised even Art. He felt the ship lurch as it was thrown like a huge projectile high above the city. He grinned as he watched Horne, cursing and fighting until he had the bucking ship under control. [Illustration: _The disintegrator blasted, and hell exploded on the ground._] "Let's take a look," he said, sobering at once. He had an uneasy feeling concerning the way in which the grounded population was taking the shock. But his fears were not realized--the stranded folk nearest the explosion cheered and gave the ancient thumbs-up sign, as they skimmed low above the rooftops. Evidently most of the force of the explosion had expended itself upward. "Get below--here we come again!" shouted Art through an open port. The sun was descending beyond the blue Pacific, but they went on with their work of continually blasting, blasting, far into the night. Clouds of private fliers began to appear from neighboring California and other southwest cities. Art's desperate appeal had had its effect. By midnight, people were beginning to stumble through the string of smoking craters that had been made for them, toward the untouched open fields and groves to the north. By four o'clock, they were stringing out on the many roads and streets which left the city in that direction. Busses and private cars had been summoned, and were picking them up, to scatter them through neighboring cities where they might find accommodations. Art and Horne, bruised and stunned from continual concussion and buffeting, exhausted from lack of sleep, looked at each other. * * * * * "Guess that's it," said Art. "You'll have to keep the men along the trail with their electron rays, to keep those devils from closing in at the edges." They had found that a line of men armed with these short-range weapons, could kill enough of the creatures to keep them from spreading. The electron ray generated enough sheer heat to melt metal, which was necessary to destroy the organisms. "The city should be cleared by noon," Art went on. "I'd advise you to destroy the whole works immediately. I'll leave you one of the disintegrators. But be careful. Make sure all the wounded are out." "Are you leaving already?" asked Horne, surprised. "How come?" "Just heard from Dr. Theller," Art answered wearily. "It seems I'm wanted in Detroit. Same thing is happening there." "No!" gasped Horne. "In Detroit! What do you suppose is the connection?" "I don't know," Art replied. "I only wish I had time to work this out, to get some of these things in the lab and analyze them--it would help so much to know what we're fighting." Art decided he would stop at the laboratory on the way back, and see if Dr. Theller had been able to find out anything of the nature of the specimen he had left behind. As he entered, he saw that the place was strangely deserted. Dr. Theller and Elene he found in the former's office, however. "I counted on your stopping in," said the Institute head as Art came in. "Things are in pretty serious shape all over. You did a great job in Los Angeles. Now I'm going to ask you to repeat that performance--" "Detroit?" Art interrupted. "No--I've already sent several good men there. You don't realize how this thing has spread. In the last hour, Singapore, Cairo and Athens have all called us. London, in fact, the whole of southeastern England, is stricken. The British Foundation has some fine men, however; they think they'll be able to handle it." "Dr. Theller, must he leave at once?" asked Elene, with an anxious look at Art's weary face. "I'll be all right, Elene," Art assured her. "A hot shower, hot drink, and a transfusion of supervitalized plasma, and I'll never know I missed a night's sleep. I've been eating a food tablet every now and then, so I'm not at all hungry." "All right, Art, you get fixed up--then you're off for Cairo. I'll have the commissary issue you some more disintegrators. I wouldn't ask you to do this, but every minute counts. I'm thinking of taking off for Athens and leaving Elene in charge, myself." "Oh, I almost forgot to ask you, Dr. Theller, have you examined the specimen here yet?" A chagrined look came over the scientist's face. "Well, I hate to admit this, Art, but the thing escaped in the confusion. Don't see how it could have gotten very far away. I'll have some of the men look around the grounds for it." Art shook his head slowly as he went out. Such incompetency seemed unlike the aged savant, but he guessed that inactivity had taken its toll of the old man. III The week following was a long, hideous nightmare, during which Art flew from city to city, fighting the ghastly scourge which was cropping up more and more rapidly, all over the globe. Vladivostok, Berlin, Cuba--he could hardly remember them all. He was glad he could not sleep, because he knew his dreams would be tortured by visions of men and women being cut to ribbons by millions of rending jaws. It was dreadfully apparent to Art what was happening. The creatures appeared in a particular area almost simultaneously. Every bit of life was wiped out, except for perhaps a few small shrubs and grasses. Huge trees, buildings, even mountains, all came crashing down. All sources of food supply were wiped out. The creatures could be cleared from the ground by disintegration, but more soon came to take their place. Art flew back to the laboratory in Washington from Manchuria, scene of his latest struggle, shortcutting across the polar cap. He noted with sick dismay that even the ice fields were beginning to bristle with black stubble. Arriving in Washington, Art landed at the Institute. He searched hurriedly for Dr. Theller, but was unable to find him Elene, however, appeared. "Art! I'm so glad to see you safe! Tell me--is it really as terrible as it looks over the televisor?" "Ever so much worse," Art answered grimly. "We've got to do something, and quick. I know the Martians could help us. Has Dr. Theller appealed to them?" "Didn't you know?" she asked, wide eyed. "We haven't had any contact with Mars all week. Two ships were scheduled to arrive from there, and haven't been heard from." Art whistled softly. "Guess I've been missing quite a bit of news lately!" "That's not all," Elene continued. "You know Denny was out on Venus with a crew. He sent in some kind of wire to Dr. Theller about discovering some ancient ruins, traces of a lost civilization, and saying that he was heading back. That was over a week ago--he was due in day before yesterday. I've tried repeatedly to contact him on the way, with no success. Dr. Theller certainly behaves strangely--I don't know--he--" Art wasn't listening. He was thinking of Denny--the bronzed, hard-bitten space pilot, who had always represented to him all the glamour of the far flung outposts. And been just a darn good friend, too. The perils of Venus were many and varied--but on the other hand, he had the utmost confidence in Denny's ability to take care of his space ship and crew through almost any situation. "Art, I'm beginning to have a dreadful feeling that somehow this is all tied in together," said Elene hesitantly. "I've been wanting to talk it over with you for ever so long. This plague of subterranean monsters--communications with Mars cut off--Denny out there somewhere, cut off, too--" * * * * * "Perhaps there's not so much cause for concern over Denny," Art put in soothingly. "After all, any sort of trivial accident might have occurred which would delay him this long." "Yes, Art, but I feel that even though the creatures don't seem to have much intelligence, there is some kind of horrible plan behind the whole thing, and that the stopping of traffic with the other planets is part of that plan." "That is quite a theory, Elene, my dear," came a patronizing voice from behind, "but it's quite possible that I and my colleagues may be able to work out a solution without the aid of my secretary." Dr. Theller had entered the room unnoticed. Elene flushed, and was on the verge of making an equally caustic retort, but bit back the words. "As far as Denny is concerned," the doctor went on, "he has been going out there for a good many years now; unless I miss my guess, the space madness is creeping in on his brain. That story of finding remains of a lost civilization--that's really pretty steep, you know. It's well known that the evolution of fauna on Venus has not, and will not, progress to the point of producing reasoning, speaking beings for millions of years." "I can't believe that of Denny!" flashed Art. "Space madness attacks those who can't stand the solitude, exposure and utter loneliness of that awful void. You know that Denny always laughed at those things. He was iron. And I don't believe he's getting old, either. The last time I saw him, he was in his prime." A hot argument was averted only by the flashing of signals at one side of the room, which announced a televisor communication. Elene was nearest and flipped the switch. The face of a middle-aged man, tense with suppressed excitement, appeared on the screen. He scanned their faces closely. It was Haight, of the British Foundation. "Theller--Douglas--all of you!" he blurted. "Listen! I've just found--oh, but what fools we were not to see! Those organisms--they're--but I can't possibly tell you over the air. I'll be there as fast as a strato-ship can take me. I'm bursting to tell someone. There's not a soul here in the lab; it's very late. Expect me in three hours, at the most." The screen went black. * * * * * Art and Elene were on the roof of the laboratory, enjoying the soft summer evening, and talking over this new turn of events. The city was quiet around them. New hope seemed to blaze within them with the brilliance of the countless stars overhead. Perhaps Haight's discovery meant the turning of the tide in this losing struggle in which they had been participating. Art felt that he could relax for the first time since that heartbreaking week had begun. As his fatigue fell away, he felt a great longing come over him. How near he had come to losing this lovely woman by his side. All those years of dull routine in the lab, near her every day, yet doing nothing about it! But Art had changed to a man of action, through sheer necessity, and he wore his new personality with heady exuberance. He took the girl in his arms. "Darling, life is very good," he murmured. "I don't want us to die. I don't want to be pushed off this lovable old earth of ours by an alien form of life. And it's chiefly because of you. But we're not going to let that happen, are we? We're going to fight until every last hideous, ugly one of them is gone." "Yes, sweet," she sighed contentedly, "And Art, please--when it's all over--let's not just sink back into the old way of life again. I think our love will be able to stand even that test from now on--but let's not put it to that test. Can't we get out of Interplanetary, travel, open up new worlds, just anything like that?" "I have a hunch that from now on we're going to require plenty of danger in our everyday life," he laughed. "After we're married--" A shrill whine interrupted them, and they broke apart. Far out in the midnight sky, hours had slipped away like so many minutes, and Haight was arriving. He had been hurling his ship along at a reckless speed and was braking only at the last minute. Now they could see the dark shape arching down toward the laboratory. Suddenly it seemed to stop, to poise in midair. Then it dissolved into a blinding white flash. The deafening roar of the explosion came seconds later. Art and Elene looked at each other in mute horror and despair, amid a great silence broken only by tiny, distant sounds as the fragments of Haight and his ship rained down gently on the city of Washington. "We'll keep fighting," Art finally said in a dull voice. IV Beneath Art's flier swept the tumbled mountains of Ozark Park. Once there had been people who lived there and actually eked a living from cultivating those steep and stony hillsides. Long ago that had been given up as impractical and unnecessary, however, and the whole region had been turned into one vast national forest. It was covered from one end to another with mighty timber, stocked in profusion with all kinds of wild game. That is, it had been covered the last time Art saw it. Now, the great trees lay tumbled about like so many match sticks, their great roots gnawed away by blind, mindless creatures. There was not a green thing in sight. A pall of smoke hung low overhead--great fires were raging everywhere in the dry stuff. Man had no time to protect the trees, when his own cities were being destroyed. Art had just left Mexico City, and was headed for Chicago. There he intended to introduce an experiment with which he had had some degree of success elsewhere. He had constructed an ark of thick plastocrete, into which the passengers could be hermetically sealed. Oxygen and food were synthetically manufactured, enabling them to live without danger from the unknown poison in the water. But in his heart, he knew that this was a poor device, that there must be some simpler, more direct solution. After the death of Haight, he had wanted to take one of the Institute's ships, and blast off for Mars. He was sure that the savants of that age-old planet could help. But Dr. Theller had been strongly against this, in fact refused to permit it. As he sped over the ruined forest, a grim look came over Art's face. He had not seen Elene since the night of Haight's death, four days ago. Since then he had been in the thick of the fight, as before. Elene had been suspicious that the death of the British scientist had been no accident, and had promised to investigate and keep in touch with him. Her lovely face had appeared several times in his televisor screen, during the first two days, although she had nothing to report except that she loved him. But two more days had passed without a word. Art could raise nobody at the laboratory. He frowned, and thought that he had better have a look there, before he went on to Chicago. Something caught his eye, below and ahead. There was a patch of untouched forest, a little canyon that had not as yet been invaded by the monsters that were ruining the surrounding country. There the huge trees still waved, calm and unmolested. But there was something else, something sharp and bright that had captured his attention. Yes, there it was again--a tiny fleck of sky blue. The same sky blue with which his ship, like all the fliers of the Interplanetary Institute, were painted! * * * * * He swung around, and came down in a tight spiral. As he levelled off, he saw a tiny figure, standing at the side of the wrecked ship. It waved frantically, and no doubt shouted. Art settled gently in a thicket of vining maple, and clambered stiffly out of his ship, as the marooned pilot came running toward him. Great Glorious Galaxies! It was Elene! "Oh, Art, I don't know how you found me, but I'm so glad it's you, darling," she sobbed in his arms. "Elene, I wasn't looking for you--didn't even know you were lost!" he exclaimed. "It's a miracle that I stumbled on you like this." "But didn't Dr. Theller--no--of course he wouldn't--" "How did you ever happen to crash _here_?" "Dr. Theller sent me with Paul Hedrik, that new boy, you remember, the nice blond one--to check casualty lists in San Francisco. We were crossing the Park, at about thirty thousand, when we ran out of rocket fuel. Well, that wasn't so serious, we could easily make a long glide, and if we could find a place safe from these--worms--we could make a helicopter landing. But Paul saw this little canyon dead ahead. It was the only safe looking place for miles. That meant we had to come in at a steep angle. He licked in the braking jets, hoping there would be a little fuel left in the lines. There was. One of the jets was plugged or something--it exploded back into the cockpit. Paul was killed instantly. I was stunned. The ship was out of control, but I finally came to and managed to make a crash landing somehow." "Where's Paul's body?" Art asked. "Still in there." She pointed to the wrecked flier. "My televisor was smashed. I couldn't stand the thought of sleeping in there. I made a little camp over there by the creek. It was awfully cold, even though I built a fire. But I wasn't frightened--I had my friends--" "Your friends!" exclaimed Art. "Who--" "Don't you see them?" she asked, pointing. And he did see what the gloom of the forest had at first hidden from his unaccustomed eyes. The leafy corridors were swarming with creatures. Deer, oppossum, raccoon, bear, even a puma or two, all were gathered there in dumb resignation. They knew with unerring instinct that they were trapped, that there was no escape from this tiny island. They made no attempt to molest each other, or the humans who such a short time ago had been their deadly enemies. They drank occasionally from the little creek, but they did not eat. "You see, I couldn't be lonely," she continued. "It could even have been fun, if I hadn't known that those millions of horrible little jaws were out there in the dark, gnawing, gnawing. You can even hear them. You can hear the big trees crashing down, all day, all night." "Easy, honey--it's all over now. We're going to get out of here. We'll get Paul's body, and--" "But Art, don't you see what this means? If Paul hadn't forgotten to fill the fuel tank, it we had had a full tank, we'd have been blown to atoms when that jet exploded--it was only an accident that I escaped. But that plugged jet was no _accident_--that was deliberate. Don't you think it is strange that Dr. Theller shouldn't let you know when I have been lost for two days? And that he was the only one besides us who knew about Haight's discovery, and his coming to Washington, and that the same accident happened to Haight? And what happened to Denny? I tell you, there are all sorts of things about Dr. Theller that are beginning to add up. From the very first he's occupied only a passive role in this battle, done nothing whatever to help. He let that specimen get away the first day, and has never had another in there for analysis." "What!" exclaimed Art. "No--Elene--it can't be. You don't know what you're saying!" V "On the contrary, the young lady is quite right," came a deep bass voice from behind him. Art whirled in sudden panic, reaching for his electron gun. But what he saw froze him to immobility. A tall, gaunt figure, its ebony skin decked with a harness of white plastic, in which were set countless glossy black stones. The head narrow and acquiline to the extreme, with huge, haunting black eyes. A Martian! And one of the Greater Ring of scientists who governed the red planet, judging by the trappings. "You do not recognize me," chuckled the deep voice. "Why, I remember you well. You came to Mars with Dr. Theller, let me see, June last year, and November the year before, I believe it would be, according to your calendar. They say we all look alike to Earthmen--but surely you know Klalmar-lan. I was on the Committee both times." "Of course I do," beamed Art, holding out his hand. "You had me a bit rattled there for a minute. But you can't imagine how glad we are to see you. Elene, meet Klalmar-lan. This is Miss Moor, my fiancee." "Klalmar-lan," said Elene, "as Art has already told you, we are immensely relieved to see you. We hope that you can help us rid our planet of this scourge. Unless you do, the human race and every form of animal life on Earth is doomed." "I have the means of accomplishing that," he answered gravely. "For how else do you suppose this tiny refuge has remained here, other than through my doing?" They stood in amazement
{'title': 'Vandals of the Void by Robert Wilson', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}