The Beast of Space Read online

Lightning-swift they shot forth, wrapped themselves about thebody of the spacehound, constricting. Digger writhed vainly, his clawspowerless to tear at the whip-like tentacles. Nat severed the tentaclesat their base with the heat-beam.

  He turned, strode toward the door watching the spheres apprehensivelyout of the corner of his eye, ready to jump aside should they rolltoward him suddenly. But they followed at respectful distances, singingsoftly.

  Before he reached the door, he found himself walking in rhythm to themusic, his head swaying. It came slowly, insidiously; before he wasaware, his body no longer obeyed his will. Muscles refused to moveother than in coordination with the music. His arm relaxed, theheat-rod sliding from his grasp.

  * * * * *

  But Digger! The spacehound sent out a barrage of vibrations that fairlyrocked his brain out of his skull. Simultaneously, the beast attackedthe nearest globes, tearing fiercely at them. Rapidly the others rolledaway, but two lay torn and motionless, the music within them stilled.

  Nat reached down, retrieved the heat-rod. "I think we'd better look fora '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 knownas a "squeaker" because of the constant din it made while in use; thenoise would cease only when radium was within a hundred feet of themechanism. He found one after searching a few of the smaller ships.

  With the portable radio strapped to his back, power switched on, hestarted again down the main tunnel. The globes set up their seductiverhythms as before, but he could not hear them above the discord of hissqueaker. Failing to lure him as before, they sought to force him inthe direction they desired him to go by darting at him suddenly,lashing him with their tentacles. But it was a simple thing to eludethem. Still remained the question: why could they want to lure him intothat stinking pool of acid?

  He flashed a beam of heat at the nearest of the annoying globes. Underthe released energy it glowed, yet did not melt. But the tentaclessheared off and the blue lights faded. The flow of music changed toshrill whines as of pain and its rolling ceased. The others drew back;he turned down another tunnel.

  They stopped at the cave beyond the one where he had found therobot-girl. It was sealed by a locked door, one of the airlock-doorsfrom that space vessel, firmly cemented into the natural opening of thecave.

  Nat bent forward, listening, his helmeted head pressed against thedoor. No sound. He was suddenly aware of the dead silence that pressedin on him from all sides now that the globes no longer sang and his"squeaker" had been turned off. The powerful energy of his heat-beamsputtered as it melted the lock into incandescent droplets whichsizzled 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 fromhis rod, but no visible effect upon it could be seen. What was thatmaterial? He knew, yes, he knew--but he could not place a mental fingeron it.

  He thrust the shoulder of his good arm against the heavy door, swung itinwards, stepped inside. The light of his torch pierced the silence,picked out a human skeleton in one corner. He hurried toward it--no, itwas not entirely a skeleton as yet. The flesh and bone had been eatenaway from the lower part of the body to halfway up the hips, as thoughfrom some strong acid. The rest of the large, sturdy frame lay sunkenunder the remains of a spacesuit which was tied clumsily around themiddle 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 bodyafter he had suffocated. The face was that of a Norwegian.

  By one outstretched hand a small notebook lay open with the leather backupward. The corners of several pages were turned under carelessly--Natswung the torch around the room. It was bare. The notebook--quickly hepicked it up. The page on which the writing began was dated May 10,2040. About two months ago.

  "Helmar Swenson. My daughter, Helena, aged nineteen, and I were luredinto the maw of this hellish monster by a robot calling for help in ourtelevision screen. This thing, known to man as Asteroid Moira, is, inactuality, one of the gigantic mineral creatures which inhabited aplanet before it exploded, forming the asteroids. Somehow it survivedthe 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 forhuman flesh. The singing spheres act as its sensory organs, separatedfrom the body and given locomotion. It uses these to lure victims intoits stomach in the first cave. I escaped its lure at first becauseof the 'squeaker' I carried with me. We set up these two doors as aprotection from the beast while we stayed here to examine it. But themonster got me when I fell and the 'squeaker' was broken. My daughterrescued 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 andwater to last until July 8th. Oxygen seeps in there somehow--the beastwants to keep her alive until it can get her out of the room to devourher."

  Here the writing became more cramped and difficult to read.

  "I have put the key in my mouth to prevent the spheres from opening thedoor should they force their way into this room. Some one must come tosave my Helena. I can't breathe--"

  The writing ended in a long scrawl angling off the page. The pencil laysome distance from the body.

  July 8th! But that had been almost a week ago!

  * * * * *

  He unscrewed the man's helmet, tried to pry the jaws open. They wouldnot move; the airless void surrounding the tiny planetoid had frozenthe body until now it was as solid as the quartz cave-walls. There wasbut 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 ofenergy from his heat rod toward the lock, holding a flashlight underthe other stump of an arm. The molten metal flowed to the floor like arivulet of lava.

  The door, hanging off balance, screeched open; air swooshed past him inits sudden escape from the room. He squeezed himself through, peeredcarefully about to see a slim spacesuit start to crumple floorward ina corner. The girl was alive!

  He started toward her; the slim figure pulled itself erect again. Hesaw a drawn, emaciated face behind the helmet. Then, with a fury thatunnerved him, she whipped out a heat rod, shot a searing bolt in hisdirection. He felt the fierce heat of it as it whizzed past hisshoulder; in his brain Digger's thoughts of attack came to him, heflung an arm around the spacehound, dragged it back as he withdrewtoward the door. The girl continued to fire bolt after bolt straightahead, her eyes wide and staring.

  They made the door, waited outside while the firing within continued.When at last it was still within, he peered around the corner of theroom. She lay in a crumpled heap in the corner; quietly he re-entered,picked her up awkwardly. Through the thin, resistant folds of thespacesuit, he could feel the warmth of her, but could not tell whetherthe heart still beat or not. They would have to take her to one of theships.

  Her limp form was held tightly under his good arm as Nat hurried downthe main tunnel. Digger apparently realized the seriousness of thesituation, for he received impressions of "must hurry" from the beastand another creature, looking much like him, surrounded by smallcreatures of the same type, trapped in a crevice. "Aren't you a bitpremature, 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 rolledwith a determination that frightened him. Yet he strode on, until theywere barely a foot away.

  "Jump, Digger!"

  The spheres stopped short, reversed their direction toward the littlegroup at a furious rate, flinging out long, whip-like tentacles. Onewrapped itself around Nat's ankle, drew him down. He shifted the limpform over to his shoulder, slipped out his heat-rod. Quickly thetentacle was severed.
But now others took their place; he continuedfiring at them, making each bolt tell, but the numbers were too great.

  Digger sprang into action, rending the globes with those claws thatwere capable of tearing the hulls of spaceships. But tentacles lashedaround him from the rear, snaked about him so that he was helpless.

  The girl was slipping off Nat's shoulder. He could not raise the stumpof an arm to balance her; it was stiff and useless. He stopped firinglong enough to make the shift, even as the spheres attacked again. Thebolts had put out the lights in fully half of the marauders but theothers came on unafraid.

  Nat straddled Digger's writhing body, held the spacehound motionlessbetween his legs. At short range, he seared off the imprisoningtentacles, knowing that it would take far more than a heat-bolt todamage the well-nigh impregnable creature. He swooped the dog up underhis good arm and fled from the madly-pursuing spheres, thankingnameless deities