Salvage in Space by Jack Williamson

Youth Mental Health is a complex challenge that requires comprehensive solutions.

We must strengthen after-school programs.

We must make digital literacy tools available in our schools.

We must work with mental health professionals to support children.

And we must empower mentors, educators, and parents to keep kids happy.

Learn more about our commitment to finding lasting solutions

at EmpowerOurFutureCoalition.com slash Solutions.

Paid for by the Coalition to Empower Our Future.

When you manage procurement for multiple facilities, every order matters.

But when it's for a hospital system, they matter even more.

Granger gets it and knows there's no time for managing multiple suppliers

and no room for shipping delays.

That's why Granger offers millions of products in fast, dependable delivery.

So you can keep your facility stocked, safe, and running smoothly.

Call 1-800-GRanger-click-granger.com or just stop by.

Granger for the ones who get it done.

Over 90 of the top 100 US accounting firms trust Bill to handle bill pay processes.

Why? Because our tools are built on over a trillion dollars of secure payments.

We're not just moving money.

We're powering financial workflows for half a million customers.

That's a level of expertise you just can't fake.

Ready to talk with an expert?

Visit bill.com slash proven to get started and grab a $250 gift card as a thank you.

Terms and conditions apply.

See offer page for details.

A lone meteor minor risks everything to board a drifting interplanetary liner

only to find blood on the deck and something unseen stalking the corridors.

To claim the fortune within he must decide whether he can face the invisible terror

that destroyed an entire crew.

Salvage in space by Jack Williamson.

That's next on the Lost Sci-Fi podcast.

This is the fifth story written by Jack Williamson on the podcast.

And there are many more of his stories in the public domain that you will hear in the future.

Let's go back in time 93 years and open the March 1933 issue of astounding stories

of super science to page six.

Salvage in space by Jack Williamson.

His planet was the smallest in the solar system

and the loneliest that Alan was thinking as he straightened weirdly in the huge bulging inflated

fabric of his osprey space armor.

Walking awkwardly in the magnetic boots that held into the black mass of meteoric iron,

he mounted a projection and stood motionless,

staring moodly away through the vision panels of his bulky helmet into the dark mystery of the void.

His welding arc dangled at his belt, the electrode still glowing red.

He had just finished securing to this slowly accumulated mass of iron, his most recent fine,

a meteorite the size of his head, five perilous weeks he had labored to collect this rugged lump

of metal, a jagged mass, some ten feet in diameter, composed of hundreds of fragments that he had

captured and welded together. His luck had not been good. His findings had been heart-breakingly

small. The spectro-flash analysis had revealed that the content of the precious metals

was disappointingly minute. On the other side of this tiny sphere of hard-one treasure,

his milling automatic rocket was sputtering, spurts of hot blue flame jetting from its exhaust.

A simple mechanism bolted to the first sizable fragment he had captured. It drove the iron ball

through space like a ship. Through the magnetic soles of his insulated boots,

that could feel the vibration of the iron mass beneath the rocket's regular thrust.

The magazine of Uranite fuel capsules was nearly empty now. He reflected. He would soon have to turn

back toward Mars. Turn back. But how could he, with so slender a reward for his efforts?

Meteor mining is expensive. There was his bill at Millen and Helian Mars for Uranite and supplies.

And the unpaid last installment on his osprey suit. How could he outfit himself again if he returned

with no more metal than this? There were men who averaged a thousand tons of iron a month.

Why couldn't fortune smile on him? He knew men who had made fabulous strikes,

who had captured whole planetoids of rich metal. And he knew weary, white-haired men

who had brave the perils of vacuum and absolute cold and bullet-swip meteors for hard years,

who still hoped. But sometime fortune had to smile, and then the picture came to him.

A tower of white metal among the low red hills near Helian. A slim, graceful tower of

Argent, rising in a fragrant garden of flowering Martian shrubs, purple and saffron.

And a girl waiting at the silver door, a trim slender girl in white, with blue eyes and hair

richly brown. That had seen the white tower many times on his holiday tramps through the hills

about Helian. He had even dared to ask if it could be bought to find that its price was an amount,

that he might not amass in many years at his perilous profession. But the girl in white was

yet only a glorious dream. The strangeness of inner planetary space and the somber mystery of it

pressed upon him like an illimitable and deserted ocean. The sun was a tiny white desk on his right,

hanging between rosy coronal wings. His native earth, a bright greenish point suspended in the

dark gulf below it. Mars, nearer, smaller, a little ochre speck above the shrunken sun.

Above him, below him, in all directions was vastness, blackness, emptiness.

Ebon infinity sprinkled with far cold stars. That was alone, utterly alone.

No man was visible in all the suburnal vastness of space. And no work of man saved the few tools of

his daring trade, and the glittering little rocket bolted to the black iron behind him.

It was terrible to think that the nearest human being must be tens of millions of miles away.

On his first trips, the loneliness had been terrible, unendurable. Now he was becoming a

custom to it. At least he no longer feared that he was going mad, but sometimes.

Bad shook himself and spoke aloud. His voice ringing hollow in his huge metal helmet.

Brace up, old top. In good company, when you're by yourself, his dad used to say,

be back in hellian and a week or so anyhow. Look up Dan and Chuck and the rest of the crowd again

at Comments Place. What price a friendly boxing match with Mason, or an evening at the Teleview

Theatre. Fresh air instead of this stale synthetic stuff. Real food in place of these

tasteless concentrates. Hot bath instead of greasing yourself.

Too dull out here. Life, he broke off. Said his jaw. No use thinking about such things.

Only made it worse. Besides, how did he know that a worrying meteor wasn't going to flash him

out before he got back? He drew his right arm out of the bulging sleeve of the suit

into its ample interior. Found a cigarette in an inside pocket and lighted it.

The smoke swirled about in the helmet, drawn swiftly into the air filters.

Darn clever these suits. He murmured. Food, smoke, water generator. All were you can

reach them. And darned expensive too. I'd better be looking for pay metal.

He clambered to a better position, stood peering out into space, searching for the tiny gleam

of sunlight on a meteoric fragment that might be worth capturing for its content of precious metals.

For an hour he scanned the black Starsdroom Gulf as the sputtering rocket continued to drive him

forward. There she glows, he cried suddenly in grin. Before him was a tiny glowing fleck

that moved among the unchanging stars. He stared at it intensely, breathing faster in the helmet.

Always he thrilled to see such a moving gleam. What treasure had promised? At first sight

it was impossible to determine size or distance or rate of motion. It might be ten thousand tons

of rich metal, a fortune. It would more probably prove to be a tiny stony mass, not worth capturing.

It might even be large and valuable, but moving so rapidly that he could not overtake it with the

power of the diminutive millen rocket. He studied the tiny spec intently, with practiced eye,

as the minutes passed. An untrained eye would never have seen it at all, among the flaming hosts

of stars. Skillfully he judged from its apparent rate of motion, and its slow increase in brilliance,

its size and distance from him must be, must be fair size, he spoke aloud at length.

A hundred tons, I'll bet my helmet, but scooting along pretty fast, stretched the little

little rocket to run it down. He clambered back to the rocket, changed the angle of the flaming

exhaust to drive him directly across the path of the object ahead, filled the magazine again with

the little pellets of urinite, which were fed automatically into the combustion chamber, and

increased the firing rate. The trailing blue flame reached farther backward from the incandescent

orifice of the exhaust. The vibration of the metal sphere increased, that left the sputtering

rocket and went back where he could see the object before him. It was nearer now, rushing obliquely

across his path. Would he be in time to capture it as it passed, or would it hurtle by ahead of him,

and vanish in the limitless darkness of space before his feeble rocket could check the momentum of

his ball of metal? He peered at it, as it drew closer. Its surface seemed oddly bright,

silvery, not the dull black of meteoric iron, and it was larger, more distant than he had thought

at first. In form, too, it seemed curiously regular, ellipsoid. It was no jagged mass of metal.

His hope sank, rose again immediately. Even if it were not the mass of rich metal for which he

had prayed, it might be something as valuable, and more interesting. He returned to the rocket,

adjusted the angle of the nozzle again, and advanced the firing time slightly, even at the risk of

a ruinous explosion. When he returned to where he could see the hurtling object before him,

he saw that it was a ship, a tapering silver green rocket flyer. Once more, his dreams were dashed,

the officers of inner planetary liners lose no love upon the meteor miners,

claiming that their collected masses of metal, almost helpless, always underpowered our menaces

to navigation. That could expect nothing from the ship, save a heliographed warning to keep

clear. But how came a rocket flyer here in the perilous swarms of the meteor belt?

Many of Essel had been destroyed by collision with an asteroid, in the days before

charted lanes were cleared of drifting metal. The lanes more frequently used between Earth,

Mars, Venus, and Mercury were, of course, far inside the orbits of the asteroids,

and the few ships running to Jupiter's moons avoided them by crossing millions of miles above

their plane. Could it be that legendary green ship? Said once to have mysteriously appeared,

sliced up and drawn within her hull several of the primitive ships of that day,

and then disappeared forever after in the remote waste of space?

Observed, of course. He dismissed the idle fancy, and examined the ship still more closely.

Then he saw that it was turning and over and very slowly. That meant that its gyros were stopped,

that it was helpless, drifting, disabled, powerless to avoid hurtling meteoric stones.

Had it blundered unawares into the belt of swarms? Men struck before the danger was realized?

Was it a derelict, with all dead upon it?

Either the ship's machinery was completely wrecked, bad knew, or there was no one on watch.

For the controls of a modern rocket-flyer are so simple and so nearly automatic,

that a single man at the bridge can keep a vessel upon her course.

It might be, he thought, that a meteorite had ripped open the hull, allowing the air to escape so

quickly that the entire crew had been asphyxiated before any repairs could be made.

But that seemed unlikely. Since the ship must have been divided into several compartments

by airtight bulkheads. Could the vessel have been deserted for some reason?

The crew might have mutinyed and left her in the lifetools. She might have been robbed by pirates

and set a drift, but with the space lanes policed as they were, piracy and successful mutiny were rare.

That saw that the flyer's navigation lights were out. He found the heliograph signal mirror at his

side, sighted it upon the ship and worked the mirror rapidly. He waited, repeated the call.

There was no response. The vessel was plainly a derelict. Could he board her and take her to Mars?

By law it was his duty to attempt to aid any helpless ship, or at least try to save any

endangered lives upon her. And the salvage award, if the ship should be deserted and he could

bring her safe to port, would be half her value. No mean prize that half the value of ship and cargo,

more than he was apt to earn in years of mining the meteor belt. With new anxiety he measured the

relative motion of the gleaming ship. It was going to pass ahead of him and very soon.

No more time for speculation. It was still uncertain whether it would come near enough so that

he could get a line to it. Rapidly he unslung from his belt the apparatus he used to capture

meteors. A powerful electromagnet with a thin strong wire fasten to it to be hurled from a helix

gun. He set the drum on which the wire was wound upon the metal at his feet,

fastened it with his magnetic anchor, wondering if it would stand the terrific strain on the wire

tightened. Raising the helix to his shoulder he trained it upon a point well ahead of the rushing

flyer and stood waiting for the exact moment to press the lever. The slender spindle of the ship

was only a mile away now, bright in the sunlight. He could see no break in her polished hull,

save for the dark rows of circular ports. She was not by any means completely wrecked.

He read the black letters of her name, red dragon. The name of her home port below was in smaller

letters, but in a moment he made them out. San Francisco. The ship then came from the earth,

from the very city where Thad was born. The gleaming hull was near now, only a few hundred yards

away, passing, aiming well ahead of her to allow for her motion. Thad pressed the key that hurled

the magnet from the helix. It flung away from him. The wire screaming from the reel behind it.

Thad's mass of metal swung on past the ship as he returned to the rocket and stopped its

clattering explosions. He watched the tiny black speck of the magnet. It vanished from sight in

the darkness of space, appeared again against the white, burnished hull of the rocket ship.

For a painful instant he thought he had missed. Then he saw that the magnet was fast to the

side of the flyer near the stern. The line tightened. Soon the strain would come upon it as it

checked the momentum of the massive iron. He set the friction break. Thad flung himself flat,

grasped the wire above the reel. Even if the massive iron tore itself free, he could hold to the

wire and himself reached the ship. He flung past the deserted vessel. Behind it his lump of iron swung

like a pebble in a sling. A cloud of smoke burst from the burned lining of the friction break in

the reel. Then the wire was all out. There was a sudden jerk. And the hard-gathered sphere of metal

was gone, snapped off into space. Thad clung desperately to the wire. Muscles cracking, tortured

arms almost drawn from their sockets. Fear flashed over his mind. What if the wire broke and left

him floating helpless in space? It held, though, to his relief. He was trailing behind the ship.

Eagerly, he seized the handle of the reel. Began to wind up the mile of thin wire.

Half an hour later, Thad suited figure bumped gently against the shining hull of the rocket.

He got to his feet and gazed backward into the starry gulf, where his sphere of iron and long

since vanished. Somebody's going to find himself a nice chunk of metal, all welded together

and equipped for rocket navigation. He murmured. As for me, well, I've simply got to run this

tub to Mars. He walked over the smooth, refulgent hull, held to it by magnetic soles.

Nowhere was it broken, though he found scars where small meteoric particles had scratched the

brilliant polish. So no meteor had wrecked the ship. What then was the matter?

Soon he would know. The red dragon was not large. A hundred and thirty feet long, Thad estimated

with a beam of twenty-five feet, but her trim lines bespoke design recent and good.

The double ring of black projecting rockets at the stern told of unusual speed. A pretty piece

of salvage, he reflected, if he could land on Mars. Half the value of such a ship, unharmed and

safe in port, would be a larger sum than he dared put in figures. And he must take her in,

now that he had lost his own rocket. He found the lifetops, six of them, slender, silvery cylinders,

lying secure in their niches, three along each side of the flyer. None was missing,

so the crew had not willingly deserted the ship. He approached the main airlock at the center of

the hull behind the projecting dome of the bridge. It was closed. A glance at the dials told him

there was full air pressure within it. It had, then, last been used to enter the rocket,

not to leave it. Thad opened the exhaust valve, let the air hiss from the chamber of the lock.

The huge door swung open in response to his hand upon the wheel, and he entered the cylindrical chamber.

In a moment the door was closed behind him. Air was hissing into the lock again. He started to

open the face plate of his helmet, longing for a breath of air that did not smell of

sweat and stale tobacco smoke, as that in his pseudo was dead, despite the best chemical purifiers.

Then he hesitated. Perhaps some deadly gas from the combustion chambers. Thad opened the inner

valve, and came upon the upper deck of the vessel. A floor ran the full length of the ship,

broken with hatches and companionways, that gave to the rocket rooms cargo holds and quarters

for crew and passengers below. There was an enclosed ladder that led to bridge and navigating

room in the dome above. The hull formed an arched roof over it. The deck was deserted,

lit only by three dim blue globes hanging from the curved roof. All seemed in order. The

firefighting equipment hanging on the walls, and the huge metal patches and welding equipment for

repairing breaks in the hull. Everything was clean, bright with polish or new paint, and all was

very still. The silence held a vague brooding threat that frightened that. Made him wish for a moment

that he was back upon his rugged ball of metal. But he banished his fear and strode down the deck.

Midway of it he found a dark stain upon the clean metal, the black of long dried blood.

A few tattered scraps of cloth beside it, no more than bloody rags, and a heavy meat clover

half-hidden beneath a bit of darkened fabric, new record of tragedy. Thad strove to read it,

had a man fought here and been killed? It must have been a struggle of peculiar violence

to judge by the dark splattered stains, and the indescribable condition of the remnants of clothing.

But what had he fought? Another man or something? And what had become a victor and vanquist?

He walked on down the deck. The torturing silence was broken by the abrupt

pattern of quick little footsteps behind him. He turned quickly, nervously, with a hand going

instinctively to his welding arc, which he knew would make a fairly effective weapon.

Are you noticing your car insurance rate creep up even without tickets or claims?

You're not alone. That's why there's Jerry, your proactive insurance assistant.

Jerry handles the legwork by comparing quotes side by side from over 50 top insurers,

so you can confidently hit by no spam calls, no hidden fees. Jerry even tracks rates and alerts you

when it's best to shop. Drivers who save with Jerry could save over $1,300 a year. Don't settle

for higher rates. Download the Jerry app or visit jerry.ai slash a cast today.

Granger.com or just up by Granger for the ones who get it done.

It was merely a dog, a little dog, yellow, nondescript, pathetically delighted.

With a sharp eager bark that leaped up at that, pawing at his armor and licking it,

standing on its hind legs and reaching toward the visor of his helmet.

It was very thin, as if from long starvation. Both ears were ragged and bloody,

and there was a long unhealed scratch across the shoulder, somewhat inflamed, but not a serious wound.

The bright eager eyes were a light with joy, but that thought he saw fear in them,

and even through the stiff fabric of the osprey suit, he felt that the dog was trembling.

Suddenly, with a low wine, it shrank close to his side, and another sound reached that

ears. A cry, weird and harrowing beyond telling. A scream so thin and so high that it roughened his

skin, so keenly shrill that it tortured his nerves, a sound of that peculiar frequency that is

more agonizing than any bodily pain. When silence came again, that was standing with his back

against the wall, the welding arc in his hand. His face was cold with sweat, and a queer chill

prickled up and down his spine. The yellow dog crouched whimpering against his legs,

ominous threatening stillness filled the ship again. Disturbed only by the whimpers and frightened

growls of the dog. Trying to calm his overwrought nerves, that listened, strained his ears.

He could hear nothing, and he had no idea from which direction the terrifying sound had come.

A strange cry. That knew it had been born in no human throat, nor in the throat of any animal he

knew. It had carried an alien note that overcame him with instinctive fear and horror.

What had voiced it? Was the ship haunted by some dread entity?

For many minutes that stood upon the deck, waiting, tensely grasping the welding tool.

But the nerve-shattering scream did not come again, nor any other sound.

The yellow dog seemed half to forget its fear, and leaped up at his face again, with another

short little bark. The air must be good, he thought, if the dog could live in it.

He unscrewed the face plate of his helmet and lifted it. The air that struck his face was

cool and clean. He breathed deeply, gratefully. And at first he did not notice the strange odor upon

it. A curious, unpleasant scent, earthly, almost fetid, unfamiliar. The dog kept leaning up,

whining. Hungry boy, that whisperer. He fumbled in the bulky inside pockets of his suit,

found a slab of concentrated food and tossed it out through the open panel. The dog sprang upon

it, wolfed it eagerly, and came back to a side. Thad said at once about exploring the ship.

First he ascended the ladder to the bridge, a metal dome covered it, studied with transparent

ports. Charts and instruments were in order, and the room was vacant, heavy with the fatal silence

of the ship. Thad had no expert's knowledge of the flyer's mechanism, but he had

studied interplanetary navigation to qualify for his license to carry masses of metal under

rocket power through the spacelines and into planetary atmospheres. He was sure he could manage the

ship if its mechanism were in good order, though he was uncertain of his ability to make any considerable

repairs. To his relief a scrutiny of the dials revealed nothing wrong. He started the gyromotors,

got the great wheels to spinning, and thus stopped the slow and over-end turning of the flyer.

Then he went to the rocket controls, warmed three of the tubes, and set them to firing.

The vessel answered readily to her helm. In a few minutes he had the red fleck of Mars over

the bow. Yes, I can run her alright, he announced to the dog, which had followed him up the steps,

keeping close to his feet. Don't worry, old boy. We'll be eating a juicy beef steak together in a

week at Comet's place in Helian, down by the canal. Not much style, but the eats. Now we're going to

do a little detective work and find out what made that disagreeable noise. Man, what happened to all

your fellow astronauts? Better find out before it happens to us. He shut off the rockets and climbed

down from the bridge again. When that started down the companionway to the officer's quarters,

in the central one of the five main compartments of the ship, the dog kept close to his legs,

growling, trembling, hackles lifted. Sensing the animal's terror, pitting it for the naked fear

in its eyes, that wondered what dramas of horror it might have seen. The cabins of the navigator,

calculator, chief technician and first officer were empty, and forbidding with the ominous

silence of the ship. They were neatly in order, and the bursts had been made since they were used,

but there was a large blood stain, black and circular, on the floor of the calculator's room.

The captain's cabin held evidence of a violent struggle. The door had been broken in.

Its fragments, with pieces of broken furniture, books, covers from the birth and three service

pistols, were scattered about in indescribable confusion, all stained with blood. Among the frightful

debris, that found several scraps of clothing of dissimilar fabrics. The guns were empty.

Attempting to reconstruct the action of the tragedy from those grim clues, he imagined that

the five officers, aware of some peril, had gathered here, fought and died. The dog refused to enter

the room. It stood at the door, looking anxiously after him, trembling and whimpering pitifully.

Several times it snipped the air and drew back, snarling. Fad thought that the unpleasant

earthy odor he had noticed upon opening the faceplate of his helmet was stronger here.

After a few minutes of searching through the wildly disordered room, he found the ship's log,

or its remains. Many pages had been torn from the book, and the remainder, soaked with blood,

formed a stiff black mass. Only one legible entry did he find. That on a page torn from the book,

which somehow had escaped destruction. Dated five months before, it gave the position of the vessel

and her bearings. She was then just outside Jupiter's orbit, earthward bound, and concluded with a

remark of sinister implications. Another man gone this morning. Sims, assistant technician.

A fine workman. Oh, Dean swears he heard something moving on the deck. Cook thinks some of the doctor's

stuffed monstrosities have come to life. Ridiculous, of course. But what is one to think?

Hondering the significance of those few lines, Thad climbed back to the deck.

Was the ship haunted by some weird death, but it seized the crew man by man mysteriously?

That was the obvious implication, and if the flyer had been still outside Jupiter's orbit when

those words were written, it must have been weeks before the end, a lurking and visible death.

The scream he had heard. He descended into the folxel and came upon

another such silent record of frightful carnage as he had found in the captain's cabin.

Tried blood, scraps of cloth, knives and other weapons. A fearful question was beginning to

obsess him. What had become of the bodies of those who must have died in these conflicts?

He dared not think the answer.

Gripping the welding arc, Thad approached the after hatch, giving to the cargo hold.

Trepidation almost overpowered him, but he was determined to find the sinister menace of the ship

before it found him. The dog whimpered, hung back, and finally deserted him,

contributing nothing to his peace of mind. The hold proved to be dark, an indefinite black space,

oppressive with the terrible silence of the flyer. The air within it bore still more strongly the

unpleasant feeder. Thad hesitated on the steps. The hold was not inviting, but at the thought that he

must sleep unguarded while taking the flyer to Mars, his resolution returned. The uncertainty,

the constant fear would be unendurable. He climbed on down, feeling for the light button. He found

it as his feet touched the floor. Blue light flooded the hold. It was filled with monstrous things.

Colossal creatures such as nothing that ever lived upon the earth,

like nothing known in the jungles of Venus or the deserts of Mars, or anything that has been found

upon Jupiter's moons. They were monsters remotely resembling insects or crustaceans,

but as large as horses or elephants, creatures uproared upon strange limbs, armed with hideously

fang jaws, cruel talents, frightful saw tooth-snouts, and glittering scales, red and yellow and green.

They leared at him with phosphorescenize, yellow and purple. They cast grotesquely gigantic shadows

in the blue light. A cold shock of horror started along Thad's spine at sight of those incredible

nightmare things. Automatically he flung up the welding tool, flicking over the lever with his

thumb so that violent electric flame played about the electrode. Then he saw that the crowding,

hideous things were motionless, that they stood upon wooden pedestals, that many of them were

supported upon metal bars. They were dead, mounted, collected specimens of some malian life.

Grining wildly, unconscious of a weakness in the knees, he muttered. They sure will fill the

museum if everybody gets a kick out of them that I did. Little too realistic, I'd say.

Guess these are the stuffed monstrosities mentioned in the page out of the log.

No wonder the cook was afraid of them. Some of them do look hellishly alive. He started across the

hole, shrinking involuntarily from the armored enormities that seemed crouched to spring at him,

motionless eyes staring. So at the end of the long space he found the treasure.

Glittering in the blue light it looked unreal, incredible, a dazzling dream.

He stopped among the fearful things that seemed gathered as if to guard it, and stared with wide

eyes through the open faceplate of his helmet. He saw neat stacks of gold ingots, new, freshly

smelted, bars of silver-white eridium, of Argent platinum, of blue-white osmium, many of them,

thousands of pounds that knew. He trembled at thought of their value, almost beyond calculation.

Then he saw the coffer, lying beyond the pile gleaming ingots. A huge box, eight feet long,

made of some crystal that glittered with snowy whiteness, filled with sparkling iridescent gleams,

and inlayed with strange designs, apparently in vermilion enamel. With a little cry he ran toward

the chest, moving awkwardly in the loose deflated fabric of the osprey suit.

Beside the coffer on the floor of the hold was literally a mountain of flame, blazing gems

heaped as if they had been carelessly dumped from it, cut diamonds, incredibly gigantic,

monster emeralds, sapphires, rubies, and strange stones that Thad did not recognize,

and Thad gasped with horror when he looked at the designs of the vermilion inlay in the white

gleaming crystal. Weird forms, shapes of creatures somewhat like gigantic spiders, and more

unlike them, demoniac things, wickedly fangued, jaws slavering, executed with masterly skill,

that made them seem living, menacing, secretly gloating. Thad stared at them for long minutes,

fascinated almost hypnotically. Three times he approached the chest to lift the lid

and find what it held, and three times the unutterable horror of those crimson images

rushed him back, shuddering, nothing but pictures, he muttered hoarsely. A fourth time he advanced,

trembling, and seized the lid of the coffer. Heavy, massive, it was fashioned also of glistening

white crystal, and inlaid in crimson with weirdly hideous figures. Great hinges, white platinum held

it on the farther side. It was fastened with a simple heavy hasp of the precious metal,

hands quivering, Thad snapped back the hasp, lifted the lid. New treasure in the chest would not

have surprised him. He was prepared to meet dazzling wonders of gems or priceless metal,

nor would he have been astonished at some weird creature, such as one of those whose likenesses

were inlaid in the crystal. But what he saw made him drop the massive lid. A woman lay in the

chest, motionless in white. In a moment he raised the lid again, examined the still form more

closely. The woman had been young. The features were regular, good to look upon. The eyes were closed.

The white face appeared very peaceful. Saved for the extreme cadaverous pallor, there was no

mark of death. With a fancy that the body might be miraculously living, sleeping, Thad thrust an

arm out through the open panel of his suit, and touched a slender, bare white arm. It was stiff,

very cold. The still-palad face was framed in fine brown hair. The fair small hands were crossed

upon the breast over the simple white garment. The queer ache came into his heart. Something made him

think of a white tower in the red hills near Hellion, and a girl waiting in its fragrant garden of

saffron and purple. A girl like this. The body lay upon a bed of blazing jewels.

It appeared, Thad thought, as if the pile of gems upon the floor had been hastily scraped from the

coffer to make room for the quiet form. He wondered how long it had lain there. It looked as if it

might have been living but minutes before. Some preservative. His thought was broken by a sound

that rang from the open hatchway on the deck above, the furious barking and yelping of the dog.

A abruptly that was silent, and in its place came the uncanny and terrifying scream

that Thad had heard once before on this flyer of mystery. A shriek so keen and shrill

that it seemed to tear out his nerves by their roots. The voice of the haunter of the ship.

When Thad came back upon the deck, the dog was still barking nervously. He saw the animal forward,

almost at the bow. Hackles raised, tailed between its legs. It was slinking backward.

Barking sharply as if to call for aid. Apparently it was retreating from something between Thad and

itself. But Thad, searching the dimly lit deck, could see no source of alarm. Nor could the

structures upon it have shot any large object from his view. It's all right, Thad called,

intending to reassure the frightened animal, but finding his voice queerly dry.

Coming on the double old man, don't worry. The dog had reached the end of the deck.

It stopped yelping, but snarled and wind as if in terror. It began darting back and forth,

moving exactly as if something were slowly closing in upon it, trapping it in the corner.

But Thad could see nothing. Then it made a wild dash back toward Thad, darting along by the wall,

as if trying to run past an unseen enemy. Thad thought he heard quick rasping footsteps then,

that were not those of the dog, and something seemed to catch the dog in mid-air as it leaped.

It was hurled howling to the deck. For a moment it struggled furiously, as if an invisible claw

had pinned it down. Then it escaped, and fled whimpering to Thad's side. He saw a new wound across

its hips, three long parallel scratches, from which fresh blood was trickling. Regular scraping sounds

came from the end of the deck, where no moving thing was to be seen. Sounds such as might be made

by the walking of feet with unsheathed claws. Something was coming back toward Thad,

something that was invisible. Terror seized him with the knowledge. He had

nerved himself to face desperate men, or a savage animal. But an invisible being that could

creep upon him and strike unseen, it was incredible. Yet he had seen the dog knocked down,

and the bleeding wound it had received. His heart paused, then beat very quickly.

For the moment he thought only blindly of escape. He knew only an overpowering desire to hide,

to conceal himself from the invisible thing. Had it been possible, he might have tried to leave

the flyer. Beside him was one of the companion ways, amid ships, giving access to a compartment

of the vessel that he had not explored. He turned, leaped down the steps with the terrified

dog at his heels. Below he found himself in a short haul, dimly lighted. Several metal doors

opened from it. He tried one at random. It gave. He sprang through, let the dog follow, closed,

and locked it. Trying to listen, he leaned weakly against the door. The rushing of his breath,

swift and regular. The loud hammer of his thudding heart. The dog's low winds. Then unmistakable

scraping sounds outside. The scratching of claws that knew. Invisible claws. He stood there,

bracing the door with the weight of his body, holding the welding arc ready in his hand.

Several times the hinges creaked, and he felt a heavy pressure against the panels.

But at last the scratching sounds ceased. He relaxed. The monster had withdrawn, at least for a time.

When he had time to think, the invisibility of the thing was not so incredible.

The mounted creatures he had seen in the hole were evidence that the flier had visited some

unknown planet, where weird life reigned. It was not beyond reason that such a planet should be

inhabited by beings invisible to human sight. Human vision, as he knew, utilizes only a tiny fraction

of the spectrum. The creature must be largely transparent to visible light, as human flesh is

radio loosened to hard x-rays. Quite possibly it could be seen by infrared or ultraviolet light.

Evidently it was visible enough to the dog's eyes, with their different range of sensitivity.

Pushing the subject from his mind, he turned to survey the room into which he had burst.

It had apparently been occupied by a woman. A frail, blue silk dress and more intimate items of

feminine wearing apparel were hanging above the berth. Two pairs of delicate black slippers

stood neatly below it. Across from him was a dressing table, with a large mirror above it,

combs, pins, jars of cosmetic cluttered. And Thad saw upon it a little leather-bound book,

locked, stamped on the back, diary. He crossed the room and picked up the little book,

which smelled faintly of jasmine. Momentary shame overcame him, thus stealing the secrets of an

unknown girl. Necessity, however, left him no choice but to seize any chance of learning more of

this ship of mystery, and her invisible haunter. He broke the flimsy fastening. Linda Cross was

the name written on the fly leaf in a firm, clear, feminine hand. On the next page was the photograph

in color of a girl. The brown-haired girl whose body Thad had discovered in the crystal

coffer in the hold. Her eyes, he saw, had been blue. He thought she looked very lovely,

like the waiting girl in his old dream of the silver tower in the red hills by Helian.

The diary, it appeared, had not been kept very devotedly. Most of the pages were blank.

One of the first entries dated a year and a half before, told of a party that Linda had attended

in San Francisco, and of her refusal to dance with a certain man, referred to as Benny,

because he had been unpleasantly insistent about wanting to marry her. It ended. Dad said

tonight that we're going off in the dragon again, all the way to Uranus, if the new fuel works as

he expects. What a lark to explore a few new worlds of our own. Dad says one of Uranus' moons

is his largest mercury, and Benny won't be proposing again soon. Turning on Thad found other

scattered entries, some of them dealing with the preparation for the voyage, the start from San

Francisco, and a huge bunch of flowers from Benny, the long months of the trip through space,

outpassed the orbit of Mars, above the meteor belt, across Jupiter's orbit,

beyond the track of Saturn, which was the farthest point that Rocket Explorers had previously

reached, and on to Uranus, where they could not land because of the unstable surface.

Not every sale happens at the register. Before AT&T business wireless, checking out customers

on our mobile POS systems took too long. Basically, a staring contest where everyone loses.

It's crazy what people say during an awkward silence. Now transactions are done before the

silence takes hold. That means I can focus on the task at hand and make an extra sale at two.

Sometimes I do miss the bonding time. Sometimes. AT&T business wireless, connecting changes everything.

Youth mental health is a complex challenge that requires comprehensive solutions.

We must strengthen after-school programs. We must make digital literacy tools available

in our schools. We must work with mental health professionals to support children,

and we must empower mentors, educators, and parents to keep kids happy.

Learn more about our commitment to finding lasting solutions at EmpowerOurFutureCoalition.com-slash-solutions.

Paid for by the Coalition to Empower Our Future.

The remainder of the entries that had found less frequent, shorter, bearing the mark of excitement,

landing upon Titania, the third and largest satellite of Uranus,

unearthly forests, sheltering strange and monstrous life, the hunting of weird creatures,

and mounting them for museum specimens. Then the discovery of a ruined city,

whose remains indicated that it had been built by a lost race of intelligent spider-like things.

The finding of a temple, whose walls were of precious metals, containing a crystal

chest filled with wondrous jams, the smelting of the metal into convenient ingots,

and the transfer of the treasure to the hold. The first sinister note there entered the diary.

Some of the men say we shouldn't have disturbed the temple. Think it will bring us bad luck,

rubbish, of course. But one man did vanish while they were smelting the gold.

Poor Mr. Tom James. I suppose he ventured away from the rest, and something caught him.

The few entries that followed were shorter, and showed increasing nervous tension.

They recorded the departure from Titania, made almost as soon as the treasure was loaded.

The last was made several weeks later. A dozen men had vanished from the crew,

leaving only doubts of blood to hint the manner of their going.

The last entry ran. Dad says I'm to stay in here today. Old deer. He's afraid the thing will

get me, whatever it is. It's really serious. Two men taken from their births last night,

and not a trace. Some of them think it's a curse on the treasure. One of them swears he saw

dad's stuffed specimens moving about in the hold. Some terrible thing must have slipped aboard the

flyer out of the jungle. That's what dad and the captain think. Queer they can't find it.

They've searched all over. Well, musing and regretful, that turned back for another look at the

smiling girl in the photograph. What a tragedy her death had been. Reading the diary had made him

like her. Her balance and humor. Her quiet affection for dad. The calm courage with which she

seemed to have faced the creeping lurking death. The darkened the ship with its unescapable shadow.

How had her body come to be in the coffer, he wondered, when all the others were gone?

It had shown no marks of violence. She must have died of fear.

Now her face had seemed too calm and peaceful for that. Has she chosen easy death by some poison

rather than that other dreadful fate? Had her body been put in the chest to protect it and the

poison arrested decomposition? That was still studying the picture, thoughtfully and sadly,

when the dog which had been silent suddenly growled again and retreated from the door toward the

corner of the room. The invisible monster had returned. That had hurt its claws scratching across

the door again, and he heard another dreadful sound, not the long, shrill scream that it so graded

on his nerves before. But a short, sharp coughing or barking, a series of shrill, indescribable notes

that could have been made by no beast he knew. The decision to open the door cost a huge

effort of dad's will. For hours he had waited, thinking desperately, and the thing outside the door

had waited as patiently, scratching upon it from time to time, uttering those dreadful, shrill,

coughing cries. Sooner or later he would have to face the monster. Even if he could escape from

the room and avoid it for a time, he would have to meet it in the end, and it might creep upon him

while he slept. To be sure, the issue of the combat was extremely doubtful. The monster,

apparently, had succeeded in killing every man upon the flyer. Even though some of them had been

armed, it must be large and very ferocious, but that was not without hope. He still wore his

osprey suit. The heavy fabric made a metal wires impregnated with a tough elastic composition

should afford considerable protection against the thing. The welding arc intended to fuse

refractive meteoric iron would be no mean weapon at close quarters, and the quarters would be close.

If only he could find some way to make the thing visible. Haint or something of the kind would

stick to its skin. His eye, searching the room, caught the jar of face powder on the dressing table.

Dashed that over it. It ought to stick enough to make the outline visible.

So, at last, holding the powder ready in one hand, he waited until the time when the pressure

upon the door had just relaxed, and he knew the monster was waiting outside. Swiftly, he opened the door.

Thad had partially overcome the instinctive horror that the unseen being had first aroused in him,

but it returned in a sickening wave when he heard the short shrill coughing cries, hideously

eager that greeted the opening of the door. And the quick rasping of naked claws upon the floor.

Sounds from nothingness. He flung the powder at the sound. A form of weird horror materialized

before him, still half invisible, half outlined with the white film of an hearing powder.

Gigantic and hideous claws that seemed to reach out of empty air, the side of a huge,

scaly body, a yawning, dripping jaw. For a moment, Thad could see great hooked fangs in that jaw.

Then they vanished, as if an unseen tongue had licked the powder from them,

dissolving it in fluids which made it invisible. That unearthly half-sewn shape leaped at him.

He was carried backward into the room, hurled to the floor.

Claws were rasping upon the tough fabric of his suit. His arm was seized crushingly in half visible jaws.

Desperately, he clung to the welding tool. The heated electrode was driven toward his body.

He fought to keep it away. He knew that it would burn through even the insulated fabric of his suit.

A claw ripped savagely at his side. He heard the sharp,

rending sound as the tough fabric of his suit was torn, and felt a thin pencil of pain drawn

along his body, where a claw cut his skin. Suddenly, the suit was full of the earthy feeder of the

monster's body, nauseatingly intense. Thad gasped, tried to hold his breath, and thrust upward hard

with the incandescent electrode. He felt warm blood trickling from the wound. A numbing blow struck

his arm. The welding tool was carried from his hand. Flung to the side of the room, it clattered

to the floor, and then heavy weight came upon his chest, forcing the breath from his lungs.

The monster stood upon his body and clawed at him. Thad squirmed furiously.

He kicked out with his feet, encountering a great hard body.

Feudally, he beed and thrust with his arms against the pillar-like limb. His body was being

mauled, bruised beneath the thick fabric. He heard it tear again along his right thigh, but he felt

no pain, and thought the claws had not reached the skin. It was the yellow dog that gave him the

chance to recover the weapon. The animal had been running back and forth in the opposite end of

the room, fairly howling and excitement and terror. Now, with the mad courage of desperation,

it leaped recklessly at the monster. A mighty, dimly seen claw caught it, hurled it back across

the room. It lay still, broken, whimpering. For a moment, the thing had lifted its weight from Thad's

body, and Thad slipped quickly from beneath it. Flung himself across the room, snatched up the

welding tool. In an instant, the creature was upon him again, but he met it with the incandescent

electrode. He was crouched in a corner now, or it could come at him from only one direction.

Its claw still slashed at him ferociously, but he was able to cling to the weapon and

meet each onslaught with hot metal. Gradually, its mad attacks weakened. Then one of his

blind, thrusting blows seemed to burn into a vital organ. A terrible choking, strangling sound

came from the air, and he heard the thrashing struggles of wild convulsions. At last,

all was quiet. He prodded the thing again and again with the hot electrode, and it did not move.

It was dead. The creature's body was so heavy that Thad had to return to the bridge,

and shut off the current and the gravity plates along the keel before he could move it. He dragged

it to the lock through which he had entered the fire and consigned it to space.

5 days later, Thad brought the red dragon into the atmosphere of Mars. A puzzled pilot came aboard

in response to his signals, and docked the flyer safely at Helian. Thad went down into the hole

again with the astonished port authorities who would come aboard to inspect the vessel.

Again, he passed among the grotesque and outrageous monsters in the hole,

leading the gasping officers. While they marveled at the treasure, he lifted the weirdly

embellished lid of the coffer of white crystal, and looked once more upon the still form of the girl

within it. Pity stirred him, and eight came in his throat, lend across, so quiet and cold and white,

and yet so lovely. How terrible her last days of life must have been, with doom shadowing

the vessel, and the men vanishing mysteriously one by one, terrible until she had sought the security

of death. Strangely, Thad felt no great elation at the thought that half the incalculable treasure

about him was now safely his own, as the award of salvage, if only the girl were still living.

He felt a poignantly keen desire to hear her voice. Thad found the note when they started to

lift her from the chest. A hasty scroll lay beneath her head, among littering gems. This woman

is not dead. Please have her given skilled medical attention as soon as possible.

She lies in a state of suspended animation, induced by the injection of fifty minimums of zero now.

She is my daughter, lend across, and my sole heir. I entreat the finders of this to have care given

her, and to keep in trust for her such part of the treasure on this ship, as may remain after

the payment of salvage or other claims. Sometimes she will awake. Perhaps in a year,

perhaps in a hundred. The purity of my drugs is uncertain, and the injection was made hastily,

so I do not know the exact time that musty laps. If this is found, it will be because the lurking

thing upon the ship has destroyed me and all my men. Please do not fail me. Levinton cross.

Thad bought the white tower of his dreams, slim and graceful in its Martian garden of Safran

and Purple, among the low ochre hills beside Helian. He carried the sleeping girl through the

silver door where the girl of his dreams had waited, and set the coffer in a great vaulted chamber.

Many times each day he came into the room where she lay, to look into her pallid face and feel her

cold wrist. He kept a nurse in attendance, and had a physician called daily. A long Martian year went by.

Looking in his mirror one day, Thad saw little wrinkles about his eyes. He realized that the nervous

strain and anxiety of waiting was aging him, and it might be a hundred years, he remembered,

before Linda Cross came from beneath the drug's influence. He wondered if he should grow old and

infirm while Linda lay still young and beautiful and unchanged in her sleep. If she might awake after

long years, and see in him only a feeble old man, and he knew that he would not be sorry he had

waited, even if he should die before she revived. On the next day, the nurse called him into the room

where Linda lay. He was bending over her when she opened her eyes. They were blue, glorious.

A long time she looked up at him, first in fearful wonder, then with confidence and dawning

understanding. And at last, she smiled. Next, on the Lost Sci-Fi podcast, a brilliant

mind steps beyond his own century and discovers that knowledge itself can become the most dangerous

weapon imaginable. When ambition outruns restraint, the future made a man a terrible price

to protect the present. The man from 2071 by Suele Peasley Wright.

Youth Mental Health is a complex challenge that requires comprehensive solutions. We must strengthen

after-school programs. We must make digital literacy tools available in our schools.

We must work with mental health professionals to support children, and we must empower mentors,

educators and parents to keep kids happy. Learn more about our commitment to finding lasting

solutions at EmpowerOurFutureCoalition.com slash Solutions. Paid for by the Coalition to

Empower Our Future. If you work in university maintenance,

Granger considers you an MVP, because your playbook ensures your arena is always ready for tip-off.

And Granger is your trusted partner, offering the products you need all in one place,

from HVAC and plumbing supplies to lighting and more, and all delivered with plenty of time left

on the clock. So your team always gets the win. Call 1-800-GRANGER, visit Granger.com or just

stop by Granger for the ones who get it done. Over 90 of the top 100 US accounting firms

trust Bill to simplify and secure Bill Pay. That's proven financial infrastructure built on

over a trillion dollars of secure payments. Visit bill.com slash proven for a special offer.