Clutter Amazing Stories Volume 121

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-3-98744-714-3
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 134 Seiten

Reihe: Classics To Go

Amazing Stories Volume 121 is a great collection of action short stories from The Golden Age of Science Fiction. Featured here are six short stories by different authors: Armour, Armour, Dear Planet!, by Mark Clutter, Day of Wrath by Bjarne Kirchhoff, Last Run On Venus by James McKimmey, The Burnt Planet by William J. Brittain, Coming of the Gods by Chester Whitehorn, and Alpha Say, Beta Do by Alfred E. Maxell.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Clutter, Mark

Leseproben

Amour, Amour, Dear Planet!
Mark Clutter
A new and sinless world the anti-pleasure
Mohcans sought. But they depended on their hostage,
Spacecaptain Jan Obrien, to find it for them ...
and he was an amorous imp from way back. Spacecaptain Jan Obrien was plain drunk and in no condition to handle an aircar. Which fact perhaps can be understood for a man who has not tasted the liquor of Terra in ten years and who comes home to his native planet to find it wrecked by the worst of its wars. Obrien was in no condition, but nevertheless he was handling an aircar, whizzing down a Rocky Mountain canyon at a couple of hundred miles per hour. The time was barely dawn and the visibility was terrible. "Slow down, Jan, slow down, slow down!" the sleek young tart in the transparent evening gown kept whimpering. She was not as drunk as Jan. Disgusted with the Chicago nightclub in which he had started his homecoming 12 hours before, Jan had hustled her into the aircar and started out vaguely for Portland or L.A. or both. A solid cliff suddenly loomed out of the mist ahead. The girl covered her eyes and screamed shrilly. The quick-thinking habits of 20 years were not completely drowned in liquor. Jan yanked at the controls, and the aircar shrieked in protest as it changed its direction to the vertical. Jan and the girl were hurled so violently into the transparent elastic protector curtain that they were stunned. When Jan came to, they were approximately two miles above Pike's Peak. The sunlight was dazzling. "Hey, baby, we're still airborne," Jan cried, jabbing his elbow into the girl's ribs. She looked down at the mountain and groaned. "It takes more than an old cliff to do a spacecaptain in," Jan yelled. "Look baby, did you know we could do this?" Jan cut the power and let the aircar descend in a series of erratically fluttering loops. The mountain rushed up at them. The girl covered her eyes and sobbed, "Don't, please don't!" The mountain top was covered with a multitude of people dressed in white. They faced a great golden crescent that gleamed like fire in the rising sun. Jan was so fascinated by the spectacle that his coordination failed him. He was conscious of the white-robed people fleeing in terror as he fought to regain control of the aircar. They crashed. Their speed had been only about 50 miles per hour and the protectors saved them from injury. They scrambled out to survey the damage. "Well, it won't fly again soon," Jan said. He breathed deeply of the thin air. "What a hell of a place to crash," the girl said. "Those are Mohcans holding their spring equinox festival. They'll probably stone me." She looked down at her transparent gown. The white-robed people had resumed their places and were singing a hymn as though nothing had happened. It was slow, sad, august, a mighty organ sound of human voices. The girl's face was chalk white. "Let's run for it," she begged. "They're dangerous. They're dangerous as hell. Please believe me." She turned and started to run down the path that had once been the cogroad, stumbling in her high-heeled shoes. Jan ran after her, weaving as though the mountain were a deck on the high seas. He grabbed her by the arm. "Hey, baby, they don't sound dangerous," he said. "They're just singing a kind of hymn as though nothing happened. The only rise we got out of them was the way they scattered when we started to crash." "Come on, come on," she cried. "I know about these people. They'll be after us when the hymn stops." "Okay, but you're talking foolish," he said. They started walking down the mountain. "Hell, those people won't do us any harm. They're too busy singing." He pulled out a pack of cigarets and lit one. "You're space-crazy," she said. "Didn't you ever hear of the massacre of scientists at Harvard, or what they did to the chorus girls in 'Sex Happy'?" Tugging at his arm to get him to hurry, she told him about the Mohcans. The sect appeared toward the end of the war. Historically they were a blend of Christian, Mohammedan, Communist, and Hindu. Their prophet and leader, until his martyrdom, was Smith Akandi, an English-Hindu half-caste who was reared in Moscow. Their creed was anti-science and anti-pleasure. Thousands of them were executed during the war, but hundreds of thousands were converted. "Half way I am for them," the girl said. "Just look at me." She tore a bit of her gown contemptuously. "I've given a good time to soldiers, sailors, and spacemen, and a fat lot of happiness it's given me. Jan darling, would you like to settle down with me in a little radioactive suburb and beget a three-headed monster?" Jan laughed. "Baby, in all the worlds I have never begotten even a two-headed monster. At least, not to my knowledge. But why are they so bitter at science?" "Why not, stupid? You saw what science did to Chicago." "Oh, that?" Jan said. "You're taking too limited a view. Chicago is only a speck on a speck out there among the suns and the planets." "To hell with that talk. I saw my parents burned alive." "I'm sorry." They passed the timberline and entered a forest. "You've convinced me," Jan said. "They're dangerous. Damn these regulations that say a man can't wear his blasters on Terra. If they're looking for us, they'll catch us. We'd better hide out until night." They found a sun-warmed, grassy spot hidden among three boulders. Jan held her in his arms until she quit shivering from fear and the still chilly mountain air. Then he went to sleep. He was awakened by a kick in the ribs. He jumped to his feet, clawing desperately for the blasters he didn't have. "You're covered, space-devil!" He was ringed by some twenty white-robed men armed with weapons ranging from daggers to blasters. Their faces were bearded and their eyes were hot with fanaticism. Their leader was a seven-foot African with a gold ring in his nose. "Give clothes to the obscene one," the African said. One of the men threw a white robe around the girl. She wrapped it around her and sat cowering in fright. "Come with us now, space-devil," the black giant said. "The prophet wants to see you. We won't kill you if you cooperate." Another Mohcan kicked the girl. "Get up!" "Leave her alone!" Jan shouted. The African slapped him across the face with the barrel of his blaster. "She'll get what the chorus girls got," the African said, speaking very slowly. "She'll get what they got if you don't obey. And you will be killed. Now march!" They climbed the Peak again at a rapid pace. A heel came off the girl's shoe. Two burly Mohcans seized her arms and half-carried, half-dragged her to the top. Jan found it hard to keep pace with them. Whenever he slowed down, the African prodded him with the blaster. The multitude was still singing. Their eyes were vacant with self-hypnosis as they swayed to the slow, sobbing chant. The girl was turned over to a party of women. The African marched Jan to a place apart from the crowd where a man with a long yellow beard sat crosslegged on a rock. "This is the Prophet," the African said. "Sit on the ground and wait for him to speak. I will leave you now but I have you covered." He withdrew about twenty yards and squatted on his heels, his blaster across his knees. Jan sat down and waited. The prophet sat abnormally still, his legs crossed like a yogi. He was staring upward, almost directly into the sun. He was a lean, youngish man with a beaked nose that give him a cruel, hawk-like look. The beard, yellow as young cornsilk, fluttered slightly in the breeze. Otherwise, there was no movement. Jan could not even see him breathe. After a long time, during which Jan felt his face numbly aching from the African's blow, the Prophet suddenly fixed his eyes on him with the same unwavering stare he had devoted to the sky. "Peace be with you." "Nuts," Jan replied. The Prophet took no notice of the remark. "Allah has seen fit to grant me wisdom," he said. "In a dream he has revealed to me the purpose of science." "How very interesting." "Science exists so that a handful of the elect can escape from this doomed planet. It was Allah's will that you should come to us this morning." "The hell you say." "I perceive by your uniform that you are a spacecaptain. How many men can your ship carry?" Jan did not answer. "It would perhaps be better for you to cooperate." The Prophet glanced meaningfully toward the African. "It's no secret. About 100 passengers and a crew of 50." "About standard size. I suppose about half of your men are on duty." "Yeah." "And that is enough to man the ship on a peaceful mission?" "I have no intention of manning the ship right away." "I will decide that. We blast off as soon as we can get to Chicago." "You'll get mighty hungry in space. The ship isn't provisioned." "We have an airtruck loaded with standard rations. There is no use discussing the matter. You and your men will cooperate or die. Brother Samuel, take charge of the prisoner." The Prophet arose and walked slowly to the platform beside the Crescent. The singing stopped. "The time for departure has come. The chosen ones will come forward. Sister Jessie, will you 'phone the hangar?" Brother Samuel marched Jan over to the chosen group. Jan looked at the hundred men and women and decided that it would be hard to find a better band of pioneers. They were stalwart, healthy, very serious young people. The multitude began a great throbbing hymn of farewell. It continued until two huge airtrucks, one for passengers and one loaded...