Part 3

Several hours later he was circling Pluto, searching grimly for the landmarks. A coating of frozen air covered everything--Pluto's last snow. Luck was with him, for he had only half-circled the globe when he saw what he wanted. There was no mistaking the scene. His pulse leaped as he dived inexpertly down.

Down past the snow sheathed peaks, into a great snow filled valley. He leveled off over the plain and brought his vessel to the surface in the thin solar illumination. He didn't know that landing on an airless planet was a feat for an expert pilot; neither did he realize that he was landing with blazing rocket jets on frozen air. But the luck of beginners was with him. He plowed a mile through the icy crust and jolted to a stop.

In his wake vast masses of freshly vaporized air clouded the valley and started to freeze again. Barnard's eyebrows lifted when he looked out.

"A snowstorm," he marveled.

He glared at the mountain wall a hundred yards distant. There was a structure there, of human origin. A squat building from around which the snow had been cleared.

George Melvin's space suit was too short for him, but he worked into it. Over the boots he fitted snow shoes. There was no sign of life from the shack, so he went out the lock and started trudging the hundred yards.

Inside the space suit, his footsteps were distant crunchings--eerie misfits in this noiseless dead world! Still there was no indication of life from the building ahead. He noted that it was flush against the cliff wall. Was there a cave behind?

A sudden craving for _neoin_ filled him. He cursed and went forward more grimly. If this was the source of the drug, he must destroy it.

The door was unlocked. He hesitated, then stepped inside cautiously. He glanced back once. The snow was still falling.

His light revealed a small room. It was bare, except for a few tins of food and some motor parts. He frowned, wondering. Had he stumbled onto an innocent government post?

There was a door leading back. Then his guess was right--this was a cave. He tried the door. It opened smoothly; and he followed his light in.

There was a corridor. He paused for a moment, an instinctive fear bringing cold goose pimples. Something was here--something terribly alien, and terribly deadly. He waited, his heart pounding viciously.

But nothing happened. Slowly he moved forward. On his right was a door. He reached to open it, but a strange reluctance made him leave it for the time being and continue on. The corridor ended in stairs, going down.

He started down, his knees weak. Before he reached the bottom, he saw what was below, the floor of the great underground room was covered with a gray powder.

_Neoin!_

VII

Knee deep in it, he stared at the tons of the deathly drug piled around him. This was it! The cache from which misery and nightmare death was dispensed to the human race! But what was its origin?

One huge heap of the gray dust rose half way to the twenty-foot ceiling of the crypt. His eyes caught the tiny disturbance at the peak of the pile, and followed a thin stream of the falling dust to the ceiling.

The _neoin_ came from above, then. And the door he had passed in the corridor above must lead to the place where the drug was formed. He plodded back up the stairs.

Before the door he stopped, that chill fear again speeding his pulse. A racial fear of something not human, not of Earth, palsied him. He wanted a dose of _neoin_--

His curse broke the spell and he flung the door open. He was inside, poking his flash into the distant corners of the huge cave. It must be two hundred yards to the far wall. The roof was fifty feet above. On the sloping floor was a film of _neoin_ dust.

In a corner was a rocket motor, turning senselessly. It served no apparent purpose. But he backed away.

"Nothing here," he murmured. Still the feel of alien life persisted. Suddenly in an unreasoning panic, he whirled for the door.

And felt himself hurled back.

Cold, slimy fingers seemed to be feeling inside his brain. He struck out at empty space, his involuntary scream pounding in his ears. The questing feeler went deeper into him and he staggered helplessly back until he rested against the cave wall.

A chaotic jumble of thoughts whirled in his semi-consciousness. He felt that he was George Melvin, who had stowed aboard a ship belonging to a hard faced police officer.

Ron Barnard fought back with a defiant blast of his will and for a moment the creeping things stopped. He was suddenly sober, for he knew that this was where George Melvin had lost his mind. These creatures--whatever they were--possessed all of George's thoughts.

And those thoughts included Lansfer. Lansfer was the man behind the _neoin_ organization.

The things were back. He stiffened his knees, made himself rigid against the wall. Sharp pain lanced through his temples as the weird struggle continued. Desperately he fought the hungry tentacles that wiggled into his thought centers.

One after another, he forced back the alien thrusts. But each time, the creatures took something with them ... some part of him.

He was losing. Soon he would be another George Melvin ... a drooling idiot. Already he was slipping. The feelers pushed themselves inexorably in. He noticed vaguely that his light was gone--somehow he knew that they had drained the juice from his battery. In the dark he stood swaying, waiting for the end.

Suddenly he was aware that it was light. He gazed dully toward its source, saw that a silver-helmeted figure was approaching. Lansfer. The officer's hard face relaxed a little in a short chuckle.

"So you've found my secret, Ron Barnard. And you're wishing you hadn't--if you still have the wits to wish."

His eyes behind the faceplate were mocking. "My little friends were hungry. They aren't of this solar system, Barnard--they're true energy creatures, barely visible if you have good eyes. I was attacked by them while alone in a patrol ship--fortunate for me that I found out in time that silver renders them inert."

Barnard's slow moving mind noted the silver covering over Lansfer's helmet. He found himself on his knees, clutching unintelligently at the _neoin_ dust on the floor. The struggle in his mind had died out, as if the creatures had retreated unwillingly before the silver.

"I brought them to this cave," Lansfer went on. "You see the rocket motor in the corner--they live on energy and for the cost of a little fuel I get _neoin_ by the ton! _Neoin_ is the waste product of their life cycle! Matter from energy--with living machines!"

The officer motioned toward the door. His stubby gun was in his hand. "You'll come back here, Barnard. A human mind is a rare treat for my helpers. But get out now and let your girl friend see what's happened to you. The two of you forced my hand. Now I'll have to get rid of Remish and Grady. It's time for action--my days as a policeman are over."

His eyes were hungry. "I have gold here, Barnard. And platinum and radium. _Neoin_ has made me rich. The next step is power--I have enough to buy Mars and Venus, and next I'll bring _neoin_ to Earth. In a few years I'll be running the solar system. Wouldn't you like to print that?"

Dully, Barnard preceded him out. His brain was slow responding, as if he were drugged. Permanently drugged. But his will seemed left, as if the energy creatures had been eating away the pillars of his driving force when they could not beat it down directly.

"Silver in the door," said Lansfer, closing it behind him. "They can't escape. Keep moving."

Back in the shack, Lansfer motioned him to a corner and peered out. More snow was falling and three space suited figures were coming through it. Lansfer touched a switch and machinery began to throb. The room filled swiftly with air and warmth, and Lansfer removed his helmet and struggled out of his space suit. Gun in hand, he stood facing the double doors.

Barnard's gloved fingers were clenched. He gazed dully at his right palm, saw it filled with _neoin_ he had unwittingly scooped up when he had clawed wildly in the cave of the energy creatures. He felt the craving coming back as he stared at it.

Gail came through the lock, followed closely by Remish and Grady. They stopped when they saw the gun in Lansfer's hand.

"What happens, chief?" demanded Remish. His hand was near his own holster. "And what is this place?"

"First, drop your guns," Lansfer instructed. "Then take off your space gear."

The two patrolmen unbuckled their belts. Gail stared at Barnard.

"Ron--they've done it to you!" There was a sob in her voice. "I should never have got you into this--"

Barnard's eyes focussed stupidly on the girl. His thoughts came slowly. But the energy creatures had not finished their work--he was marshaling the mind power he had left, and a sullen anger was growing in him. With the slyness that often belongs to simple minded people, his gaze went to the handful of _neoin_, then to Lansfer, measuring the distance. Eight ... ten feet. He pretended to stagger, came a little closer.

Lansfer chuckled contemptfully.

Gail was at his side. He reached out as if to push her away, and the same motion his hand shot out, releasing the _neoin_ squarely into Lansfer's face.

* * * * *

In that split second, Lansfer's eyes widened in horror. His hands streaked to his face to keep the gray death from his lips and nostrils. Remish was across the room, batting the gun from his hands.

While Lansfer still dashed the _neoin_ away from him, Remish and Grady had guns trained on him.

"Now," said Grady, grimly, "what's this all about, Barnard?"

Barnard told them haltingly. He still had sense enough to realize that his I.Q. was down about fifty per cent. His career as the top reporter of the system was done ... all he had left was a grim determination.

He picked up the silver helmet, fitted it over his head.

"Ron--?" Gail's eyes were shocked. "What are you going to do?"

He turned silently, and they followed him to the door of the cave. He turned to Remish.

"I'm going back in there," he said.

"No!" Gail clutched at his arms. "Don't, Ron--you'll be George all over again, and I couldn't stand that--"

He bent down and kissed her, then pushed her gently aside. He looked at Remish.

The policeman hesitated.

"You owe me this much," said Barnard.

"You're putting me on a spot," Remish growled. "But go ahead, if you must."

As Barnard started to close the door behind him, he was thrown to the floor by Lansfer's sudden rush. The hard faced policeman threw a bolt over the door, then dived on Barnard, clutching for the helmet.

The reporter fought back instinctively. His feet went into Lansfer as the other dived on him. He rose as far as his knees and delivered short solid punches to the body as Lansfer clawed desperately for the silver band.

Suddenly Lansfer stiffened with an expression of utter horror and fell away.

For a minute Barnard watched, building up his own strength. Then he tore the helmet from his head, hurled it far from him.

"Come on, you devils," he growled. "I want my mind back."

When Barnard dragged Lansfer out of the cave, his eyes were bright, and a happy grin was on his face. The first thing he saw was Gail, utterly miserable against a wall of the corridor. The first thing he did was kiss her amazed face.

"You're the boss now," he told the equally amazed Remish. "If you'll take a suggestion, let's find Lansfer's hoard and throw all the silver coins into that cave. That should put an end to the energy creatures."

Remish looked distastefully at the drooling thing that had been Lansfer and holstered his gun. He nodded.

"And we'll bring the rest of his treasure back to civilization. We can use it to rehabilitate _neoin_ addicts."

He looked hopefully at Barnard. "When you print this, you won't be too hard on the Space Police? We could use some favorable publicity--"

Barnard was whispering to Gail. Both were grinning widely. Barnard turned his grin to Remish.

"We love the Space Police," he assured the officer. "Now, as the highest official on this planet, you have the power to marry people. If you'll hurry up, we'll be starting back to Earth on our honeymoon."

He was suddenly thoughtful. "And maybe to do a column or two for the System News Service!"

End of Project Gutenberg's Mind-Stealers of Pluto, by Joseph Farrell