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The beast of space, the tail of the prospectors
of the starways, of dangers, by F.E. Hard Art.
He staggered back from the lapping pool, the gas,
the weight of the girl's body, the dog.
Here at the dark cave, along which Nat Starrett had been creeping,
brought in into what his powerful search light revealed
to be a low, wide, smoothly circular room.
At his feet, lapped black, thick-looking waves
of an underground lake, a pool of viscous substance
that gave off a penetrating, poignant odor of acid,
Swedish and intoxicating, unlike any acid he knew.
The smell rolled up in a sickening sultry cloud
that penetrated his helmet, made him cough and choke.
Near its center, projected from the sticky stuff,
what appeared to be the nose of a spaceship.
He looked down, near his feet, at the edge of the pool
were thick, slowly moving tongues of the liquid,
appeared to reach up towards him, as if intent
on pulling him into the depths.
As each hungry wave fell back, it left a slimy,
snake-like trail behind.
Now came a wave of strange music.
Music such as he had never heard before.
Faintly, it had begun some time back.
So faintly, he was barely aware of it.
Now, it swelled into a smooth, impelling whale,
lulling him into drowsiness.
He did not wonder why he could hear it
through the soundproof space helmet he wore.
He ceased to wonder about anything.
There was only the strange sweetness of acid
and the throbbing music.
Abruptly, the spell was broken by something
shrilling in his brain, sending little chills, raising up
and down his spine.
Digger, a small, oddly canine-like creature
with telepathic powers, a space-dweller which men found
when they first came to the asteroids.
The relationship between space-hounds
and men was much the same between men and dog
in the old Earthbound days.
Appropriate name for the beast?
Digger.
With those large, incredibly hard claws designed
for rooting in the metal makeup of the asteroids
for vital elements, the space-hound could easily
have shredded the man's space suit and helmet
could, at any time, tear huge chunks out of men's fine ships.
The half-conscious man jerked his thin former wrecked,
his mouth, which had gaped loosely,
closed with a snap into firm lines.
She isn't in this hellhole, Digger.
You wouldn't expect her to be where we could find her easily.
Scooping the small beast up under his good arm,
he quickly climbed the steep, slimy slope of the cave.
The other arm in his suit, hung empty.
That empty arm in the space suit told the story
of an Earthman become voluntary exile,
choosing the desolation of space to the companionship
of other humans who would delusion with unwanted sympathy.
The space-hound was friendly in its own fashion.
Fortunately, such complex things as sympathy
were apparently outside its abilities.
The two could interchange impressions of danger, comfort,
pleasure, discomfort, fear, and appreciation
of each other's company, but little more.
Whether or not the creature could understand his thoughts,
he could not tell.
As he went on, he reviewed mentally
the events leading up to his landing here.
The sudden appearance on his teleview screen of the face
and slim shoulders of a girl.
Her attractiveness, plainly distinguishable,
through her helmet, for a moment he forgot he disliked women.
The call for help cut short,
but not before he had learned that apparently
she was being held prisoner on asteroid Moira.
He knew he'd have to do what he could,
even if it meant unwanted company for an indefinite length
of time.
The spell was gone soon after her face vanished.
He remembered former experiences with attractive looking girls.
Damn traditions.
A change in his course in a landing on asteroid Moira.
Here, he'd found a honeycomb of caves,
all leading from one large main tunnel.
The cavern walls had been of translucent quartz-like substance,
ranging in color from yellowish brown to violet gray.
It looked vaguely familiar, yet he could not place it.
There was not time to examine it more carefully.
The room in which he'd found the evil hungry lake
had been the first one to his right.
Now he crossed the opening in the opposite wall.
The mouth of this cave was much larger,
wider than the other.
He stood in the opening slowly, swung the beam of his torch
around the smooth walls, still holding digger,
who, by now, was indicating that he'd
like to be set down.
Not released him, unthinkingly, his mind fully taken up
with what the light revealed.
Spaceships.
The room was packed with them.
All sizes.
Old and new.
A veritable Sargasso.
At first, he thought they might be craft belonging
to nameless inhabitants of this world,
but, as he approached them, he recognized
terrestrial identifications.
The first was a scout ship of American spaceways.
Nat recognized the name, series,
remembered a telecast account of its disappearance in space.
There was a neat little reward for information
as to its whereabouts.
Nat's lips curled in derision.
It wouldn't equal the expense of his journey out here.
There was a deep groove in the smooth material of the floor
where the ship had been dragged through the doorway
into the room.
What machines could have done this work
without leaving their own traces?
He went to the other ships.
All were small, mostly single, or two passenger craft.
The last entry in the logs of many
was to the effect that they were about to land
on the asteroid Moira.
To rescue a girl held captive there.
None had crashed.
All ships were in perfect order, but all were deserted.
Two doors were gone from the interior of one of the vessels.
They might have been removed for any of 100 reasons,
but why here?
Nat's glance swept the room,
came to rest on the figure of a heavy duty robot
of a familiar design.
Semi-human informed it looked like some
misshapen bent, headless giant.
He inspected it.
Mayor's robot, Inc., Earth designed for mining operations
on Mars.
Well, digger.
I can see now how these ships were brought in here.
That robot can move any one of these with ease,
but that doesn't explain where the humans have gone.
It might be space pirates using this asteroid for a base,
or it might be some alien form of life.
We're still free.
Shall we beat it?
Or stay and try to check this out?
He did not know how much of this got over to the space-hound,
but the impressions he received in answer
were those of approving their remaining where they were.
I suppose the best system is to explore the rest
of the caves in order.
Let's go.
Followed by digger, he walked quietly toward the next cave
on the left, slipped through the doorway,
and, standing with his back against the wall,
swung the light of his torch in a wide swift arc
about the room.
Halfway around, he stopped abruptly.
A slim petite figure appeared clearly in the search
light's glare.
The girl he had seen on the televisor
stood in the middle of the room, facing a telecaster.
Her back toward him.
She did not seem aware of him as he moved forward.
What could be wrong?
Surely that light would arouse her.
The figure did not turn as he approached.
So near was he now that he could seize her easily.
Still, she made no move.
Nat stepped to one side, flashed his torch in her face.
Her beautifully lashed eyes, stared straight ahead,
unblinkingly.
The expression on her lovely composed face
did not change, a robot.
He laughed bitterly, but then he was not the only one.
She was an earth product.
Nat opened her helmet and found the trademark of Spurgeon's
robots hung like a necklace about her throat.
But whoever had lured him here easily could have removed her
from one of the vessels in the front cave.
It did not seem like the work of pirates, more likely unknown
intelligent beings.
He turned to examine the televisor.
It too was an earth product.
The mechanism was of old design.
Evidently, it had been taken from the first of the ships to land here.
Outside of the telecaster and the solitary robot, there was nothing to be seen in this cave.
A sound behind him, he whirled, he roared poised for the swift stabbing action.
Nothing.
Except, small bowling ball things rolling in through a narrow door, ridiculous things
of the same yellowish quartz material as composed the cave walls.
At regular intervals, the dull, bluish light poured forth from rounded holes in their
smooth sides.
And issuing forth from within these comic globes was the same weird, compelling music
he had heard before.
They rolled up to him, brushed against his toes, a shrilling in his brain told him that
Digger was aware of them.
Back Digger, he thought as he drew away from the globes.
They poured their penetrating blue light over him, inspectingly, while the music from within
rose and fell in regular cadences, sweetly impelling and dulling to the senses as strong,
oriental incense.
But Digger was not soothed.
The space-hound lunged at one of the globes, instead of slashing its sides, he found himself
sailing through the air toward it.
Not received impressions of irritation, combined with astonishment.
Within the globes, the music rose to a furious whine, while one of the things shot forth
long tentacles from the holes in its side.
Lightning swift, they shot forth, wrapped themselves around the body of the space-hound,
constricting.
Digger writhed vainly, his claws powerless to tear at the whip like tentacles.
Not severed the tentacles at their base with the heat-beam.
He turned, strode toward the door, watching the spheres apprehensively out of the corner
of his eye, ready to jump aside, should they roll toward him suddenly.
But they followed at respectful distances, singing softly.
Before he reached the door, he found himself walking in rhythm to the music, his head swaying.
It came slowly, incendiously, before he was aware, his body no longer obeyed his will.
Muscles refused to move other than in coordination with the music.
His arm relaxed, the heat-rod sliding from his grasp.
But Digger, the space-hound, sent out a barrage of vibrations that fairly rocked his brain
out of his skull.
Simultaneously, the beast attacked the nearest globes, tearing fiercely at them, rapidly
the others rolled away, but too late torn and motionless, the music within them stilled.
Nat reached down, retrieved the heat-rod, I think we'd better look for a squeaker.
Next time they might get you, Digger.
They returned to the room of the spaceships, seeking one of the small portable radio amplifiers
used for searching out radium.
It was known as a squeaker because of the constant den it made while in use.
The noise would cease only when the radium was within a hundred feet of the mechanism.
He found one after searching a few of the smaller ships.
With the portable radio strapped to his back, powers switched on, he started again down
the main tunnel.
The globes set up their seductive rhythms as before, but he could not hear them above
the discord of his squeaker.
Failing to lure him, as before, they sought to force him in the direction they desired
him to go by darting at him suddenly, lashing him with their tentacles.
But it was a simple thing to elude him, still remain the question, why could they want
to lure him into that stinking pool of acid?
He flashed a beam of heat at the nearest of the annoying globes.
After the released energy, it glowed, yet did not melt.
But the tentacles sheared off and the blue light faded.
The flow of music changed to shrill wines as of pain as its rolling ceased.
The others drew back.
He turned down another tunnel.
They stopped at the caves beyond the one where he had found the robot girl.
It was sealed by a locked door, one of the air locked doors from the space vessel, firmly
cemented into the natural opening of the cave.
That bent forward, listening, his helmeted head pressed against the door.
No sound.
He was suddenly aware of the dead silence that pressed in on him from all the sides, now
that the globes no longer sang and his squeaker had been turned off.
The powerful energy of his heat beam sputtered as it melted the lock into incandescent droplets
which sizzled as they trickled down the cold metal of the door.
The greasy quartz-like material at the side of the door glowed in the heat from his rod,
but no visible effect upon it could be seen.
What was that material?
He knew.
Yes, he knew.
But he could not place a mental finger on it.
He thrust the shoulder of his good arm against the heavy door, swung it inwards, stepped
inside.
The light of his torch pierced the silence, picked out a human skeleton in one quarter.
He hurried toward it.
No.
It was not entirely a skeleton as yet.
The flesh and bone had been eaten away from the lower part of the body to half way up
the hips, as though from some strong acid.
The rest of the large, sturdy frame lay sunken under the remains of a space suit which
was tied clumsily around the middle to retain all the air possible in the upper half of
it.
Evidently, some acid had eaten away the lower half of the man's body after he had suffocated.
The face was that of a Norwegian.
By one outstretched hand, a small notebook lay open with the leather back upward.
The corners of several pages were turned under carelessly, not swung the torch around
the room.
It was bare.
The notebook quickly he picked it up.
The page on which the writing began was dated on May 10, 2040, about two months ago.
Elmar Swenson My daughter, Helena, aged 19, and I were
lured into the moth of this hellish monster by a robot calling for help in our television
screen.
This thing, known to man as asteroid Moira, is, in actuality, one of the gigantic mineral
creatures which inhabited a planet before it exploded, forming the asteroids.
Somehow it survived the catastrophe, and, forming a hard crustaceous shell about itself,
has continued to live here in space as an asteroid.
It is apparently highly intelligent and has acquired an appetite for human flesh.
The singing spheres act as its sensory organs, separated from the body and given locomotion.
It uses these to lure victims into its stomach in the first cave.
I escaped its lure at first because of the squeaker I carried with me.
We set up these two doors as a protection from these beasts while we stayed here to examine
it.
But the monster got me when I fell and the squeaker was broken.
My daughter rescued me after the acid of the pool had begun eating away my flesh.
My Helena is locked in the room opposite this one.
She has food and water to last until July 8th.
Someone seeps in there somehow.
The beast wants to keep her alive until it can get her out of the room to devour her.
Here the writing became more cramped and difficult to read.
I have put the key in my mouth to prevent the spheres from opening the door should they
force their way into this room.
Someone must come to save my Helena.
I can't breathe.
The writing ended in the long scrawl angling off the page.
The pencil lay some distance from the body.
July 8th.
But that had been almost a week ago.
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He unscrewed the man's helmet, tried to pry the jaws open.
They would not move.
The airless void surrounding the tiny planetoid had frozen the body.
While now it was as solid as the quartz cave walls.
There was but one thing to do.
The other door must be melted down.
He leaped halfway across the room toward the door in the opposite wall.
Could it be possible that he was in time?
Anxiously, he flung a bolt of energy from his heat rod toward the lock, holding a flashlight
under the other stump of an arm.
The molten metal flowed to the door like a rivulet of lava.
The door, hanging off balance, screeched open, air swooshed past him in a sudden escape
from the room.
He squeezed himself through, peered carefully about to see a slim space suit start to crumple
floorward in a corner.
The girl was alive.
He started toward her.
The slim figure pulled itself erect again.
He saw a drawn emaciated face behind the helmet.
With a fury that unnerved him, she whipped out a heat rod, shot a searing bolt in his
direction.
He felt the fierce heat of it as it whizzed past his shoulder.
In his brain, digger's thoughts of an attack came to him.
He flung an arm around the space-hound, dragged it back as he withdrew toward the door.
The girl continued to fire bolt after bolt straight ahead, her eyes wide and staring.
They made the door, waited outside while the firing within continued.
Even at last it was still within.
He peered around the corner of the room.
She lay in a crumpled heap in the corner.
Quietly he re-entered, picked her up awkwardly.
Through the thin, resistant folds of the space suit, he could feel the warmth of her.
But could not tell whether the heart still beat her not.
They would have to take her to one of the ships.
Her limp form was held tightly under his good arm as Nat hurried down the main tunnel.
He apparently realized that the seriousness of the situation, for he received impressions
of must hurry from the beast and another creature.
Looking much like him, surrounded by small creatures of the same type, trapped in a crevice.
Aren't you a bit premature, old fellow?
He chided.
Halfway there, the globes met them again.
The things were not singing, from their many eyes poured a fierce, angry blue light.
They rolled with a determination that frightened him.
Yet he strode on until they were barely a foot away.
Jump digger.
The sphere stopped short, reversed their directions toward the little group at a furious rate.
Flinging out long whip-like tentacles.
One wrapped itself around Nat's ankle, drew him down.
He shifted the limp form over to his shoulder, slipped out his heat rod.
Despite the tentacle was severed, but now others took their place.
He continued firing at them, making each bolt tell, but their numbers were too great.
Digger sprang into action, renting the globes with those claws that were capable of tearing
the holes of spaceships.
But tentacles lashed around him from the rear, snake about, so that he was helpless.
The girl was slipping off Nat's shoulder.
He could not raise the stump of an arm to balance her.
It was stiff and useless.
He stopped firing long enough to make the shift, even as the spheres attacked again.
The bolts had put out the lights in fully half of the marauders, but the others came
on unafraid.
Nat straddled digger's writhing body, held the space-hound motionless between his legs.
At short range, he seared off the imprisoning tentacles, knowing that it would take far
more than a heat bolt to damage the well-knight and pregnant creature.
He swooped the dog up under his good arm and fled from the madly pursuing spheres, thinking
nameless deities that the gravity here permitted such herculean feats.
The spheres rolled faster.
He soon found that he could jump so long as he was above them, all was well.
But by the time the weak gravity permitted him to land, they were waiting for him.
He tried zigzagging, good, it worked.
He eluded them up to the mouth of the cave, then jumped for the door of his ship's outer
airlock.
Nat placed the girl in his bunk, removed the cumbersome spacesuit.
Her eyes blinked faintly, then sprang open, but they did not see him.
They were staring straight ahead.
Her mouth opened and shut weakly as though she were speaking, but no sound issued from
it.
Not her water, but when he returned she had fallen asleep.
He returned to the kitchen to prepare some food.
You're still running around in that pillowcase, here marked to digger, as he extracted the
space-hound from it.
Attend me now.
We know why and how these people disappeared.
It would take the space patrol ship at least a month to arrive here.
I don't intend to perch on the back of this devil as long as that.
And if we leave, old thing, it'll just lure other chivalrous fools to vary in pleasant
ends.
And we've got to get this kid back to civilization.
She needs a doctor's care, preferably a doctor with two arms.
Diggers vibrations were one of general approval.
We could poison it, he went on, only I'm not a chemist.
Even if I knew the compounds contained in that wreaking stomach, I wouldn't know what
would destroy them.
I wouldn't blow it up, but we haven't enough explosive.
No, we'll have to get down into the things inside to him.
In fact, he paused suddenly, mouth open.
Congratulate me, digger.
I have it.
The smell of burning vegetables cut short his saluliqui.
He fed the starve, half-blind girl, then let her sleeping, exhaustedly as he squirmed
into his suit.
No sooner had he entered the mouth of the cave than a half dozen of the singing sensory
organs rolled quickly, yet not angrily toward him.
The beast was apparently optimistic, for the globe sang in their most soothing seductive
tones.
They tried to herd him into the first cave on the right, but he had remembered the squeaker.
They could not distract him.
Effortlessly, he leaped over them toward the mouth of the cave on the left.
That was where the spaceships lay, pointing in all directions like a carelessly dropped
handful of rice.
All the ships were in running order.
Good.
Had there been one vessel he could not move, then all was lost.
The fuel in several ran low, but after a few moments of punching levers and pulling
chokes, the underrock it's thundered in the big room.
Taking care not to injure the motor compartments of the other ships, using only the most minute
explosion quantities.
He jockeyed each ship around until all their noses pointed in one direction.
The exhaust pointed out through the wide doorway.
It was well that the beast had formed curved corners in the room, otherwise the scheme
would not have worked.
The exhaust which did not point toward the door directly were toward the curved walls,
which would deflect the forceful gases expelled doorwards.
When he emerged from the ship, the spheres attacked.
He seared off their tentacles throughout what seemed to be eternities.
His body was becoming a mass of bruises from the lash of their tentacles.
He burned his way through the swarm unto ship after ship.
As he stepped from the last vessel, there was a rumbling beneath his feet.
Did the monster understand his intent?
Was it stirring in its shell?
Most of the globes had disappeared.
How a nauseating sweet odor penetrated the screen in his headpiece, which permitted him
to smell without allowing the oxygen to escape.
He hurried around to the rear of the ship, and apprehensive sickening feeling in the pit
of his stomach.
A thick jelly-like wave of liquid was rolling over the floor, the wreaking deadly juices
from the beast's stomach.
If the liquid touched him, it would eat through the heavy fabric, exploding the air pressure
from around his body.
How is he to escape from the cave?
The answer came to him suddenly.
Quickly he darted back toward the nearest vessel.
Two of the screaming spheres blocked his way.
He sent bolt after searing bolt into them.
More of a charge than he had given any of the others.
The lights and the globes went out, their voices ceased, and they burst into the slowly
mounting incandescence.
Yet they were not consumed by their fire, only glowed in intense white light like that
of a lighthouse.
Lighthouse, the word flashed through his mind, clearly, strongly.
They glowed like the zirconia lights of a lighthouse.
Why hadn't he recognized the greasy quartz-like material before?
It was zirconia, a compound of zirconium, of course.
A silicate-based creature could easily have formed a shell of it about itself.
zirconia, one of the compounds he had intended prospecting for on the moons of Saturn, worth
over a hundred dollars per pound.
Because of its resistance to heat, it was used to line the tubes of rockets.
Tara's supply had long been used up.
Here was a fortune all around him, but that fortune was about to be destroyed.
He along with it, if he did not hurry.
If he could only reach the timing mechanism to yank from the wires connecting it to the
other ships, it was at the other end of the line.
He started in that direction, but a surge of fatal thick acid rolled before him, reaching
for him with a hungry, questing tongue.
When it was almost touching his toes, he leaped.
As he floated toward the floor, he placed a chair beneath him so that his feet landed
on the seat.
The legs of the chair sank slowly into the liquid.
Again, he leaped.
His moment retarded by the fluid, which now reached halfway up the chair legs, sucked
and clung there.
The sweetly evil smelling stuff was rising rapidly, but the next leap carried him into
the main cave, abandoning the chair he leaped once more, out through the cave's mouth, pursued
by the waving tentacles of the sensory spheres.
He had lost precious minutes alluding that deadly acid.
It would take at least five minutes to get his ship away from the asteroid.
He must hurry before all those rocket motors were thrown into action, or it would be too
late.
Leap and leap again, it seemed ages, but he reached the ship, both of the door shut.
Thumps against the door as pursuing globes ran up against it.
A thought came to him.
Swiftly he opened the door, permitted a few of them to enter, then slammed it shut.
With the heat gun, he sheared off their tentacles, he could sell the zirconia in the entities.
Then he turned to the controls, and the ship zoomed up and out.
Nat had barely raised his ship from the asteroid Moira when he saw the small planetoid
lurch suddenly, bounding off its orbit at almost a right angle.
The sudden combined driving force of all the rockets within the cave had sent it hurtling
away like a rocket itself.
The asteroid housing the monster was heading into the floor of a group of asteroids.
There, the 57 odd solid bodies of that group would grind, crack, and render that dangerous
beast into harmless dead fragments.
A good job!
Said a weak but softly friendly voice behind him.
He whirled.
The girl stood in the doorway of the pilot room, supporting herself against the doorframe,
digger rubbed thoughtfully against her legs.
She'll just follow that asteroid miss, he said, and see if we can't pick up some odd
fragment of zirconia when it smashes against in the grindstone there, then we'll light
out for terror.
She smiled.
Earth to him seemed like a very good place to go as soon as possible.
End of the Beast of Space.
A Tale of the Prospectors of the Starways of Dangerous by F.E. Hard Art.
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This is Mike Voilo of Lexicon Valley, and I'm Bob Garfield.
Are you one of those people who sometimes uses words?
Do you communicate or acquire information with, you know, language?
Hey, us too!
So join us on Lexicon Valley to true over the history, culture, and many mysteries of
English.
Plus, some ice cracks.
Find us on one of those apps where people listen to podcasts.
