Part 1

Steel Giants Of Chaos

By JAMES R. ADAMS

Earth owed the Wronged Ones a world, and Gene Drummond alone could repay that debt. Only he knew that payment would save two races from extinction--and he was a helpless prisoner of the ones he wanted to aid.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Gene Drummond felt a tingle of anticipation course through his being as he stepped through the open airlock of his small scout ship and for the first time in more than a year felt the soft soil of Mother Earth under his booted feet. He stood for a moment, hungrily drinking in the noise and clamor of New York Spaceport. Around and about him the shouts and curses of bustling, grease-soaked mechanics and husky stevedores acted as a balm to his taut nerves. To return to this, after fourteen grueling months of biological research on Venus, was little short of heaven itself. The fact that he had been forced, because of the fatally-poisoned atmosphere of the young world, to conduct his investigation in brief sallies from the stuffy confines of his ship served only to heighten this ecstatic conception of his return. The profoundness of the moment passing, he breathed deeply of the warm, sweet air and turned to face the fat little mechanic hurrying across the field.

Puffing noisily for breath, the man skidded to a halt and bent a toothy grin upon the wiry biologist-explorer. "Bin gone a spell, ain'tcha, Mr. Drummond?" the fellow wheezed good-naturedly. "Have a nice trip?"

Gene winced at the mechanic's naïvete, then smiled in spite of himself. "You might call it that," he said thoughtfully. "But _I_ wouldn't! Venus isn't exactly paradise, Fatboy; take it from me, I know. All the moons of Saturn couldn't persuade me to go through another year of privation on that forsaken hunk of cosmic dust. It's a beautiful world, yes, but one whiff of its poison air and you pretty damn quick lose interest in landscapes and natural wonders."

"Just the same, I sure wouldn't miss a chance to take it in," Fatboy opined dreamily. "'Tain't every guy that gets to plant his feet on a restricted planet. You're pretty dang lucky, if you ask me."

Gene shrugged wearily. "Maybe so. Every man is entitled to his own opinion, they tell me. Personally, I'll stick by the motto, 'See Terra Firma first.'"

Gene's tall form suddenly went slack and his eyelids drooped heavily. "Look, Fatboy, I'm practically asleep on my feet. My next stop is home, where I won't lose any time in renewing an acquaintance with a real bed. Take care of the buggy, will you? Give it a complete overhauling and when you're done with that, put her in storage and forget about her. Yours truly is taking a long vacation from strange worlds and stuffy rocket cabins."

Fatboy nodded absently and turned to enter the ship. Snapping his fingers, as if suddenly remembering something, he wheeled about and called after Gene, who was striding off across the field: "Hey, Mr. Drummond! Wait up a minute and lemme tell you what's happened here while you was gone. It'll make your hair stand straight up and do a jig!"

"Sorry, Fatboy," Gene shouted back. "I'll shoot the bull with you some other time. Right now I have important business with the Sandman!" The tired explorer hurried off before Fatboy could collar him and regale him with the latest thriller of the multitude of endless, blood-curdling yarns that constantly made the rounds of a spaceport. He needed sleep, and that was what he meant to get.

Pausing briefly at a mail-tube, he sent the thick envelope containing a complete report of his findings on Venus speeding on its way to Science Center, whereat the document would be given a thorough and analytical reading by the greatest minds of the system. That account would shatter the hopes of many, even his own, but it was Gene's duty to report conditions as they were, not as he wanted them to be. His job was done; Venus was the Center's baby now.

Rather than wait for a tube-train, he decided to walk the distance to his apartment, which was but two or three blocks from the spaceport. As he plodded tiredly along, strange happenings gradually made themselves known to his dulled senses. Although he was about to drop, Gene stopped to watch with a tense interest the impromptu ball game taking place on the walk before him.

A pint-sized batter stepped up to the plate and prepared to knock himself a home-run. The gamins ranged in the outfield hooted and leered, trying to shake the nerve of the midget Babe Ruth, but the boy stood his ground. Gesturing threateningly with the light metal bat, he spat contemptuously at a fat cockroach scurrying frantically from the field of action and grimly faced his hecklers. "Play ball!" he bawled.

The pitcher took him at his word, and after executing the tedious rite of winding up, whipped the ball across the plate at no mean speed. The boy in the batter's box brought his club down fast to connect solidly with the sphere in as pretty a swing as Gene ever hoped to witness, among sandlotters at least.

Gene expected to see the ball go whizzing off down the street, but the next instant his expectations were abruptly dashed, in a manner that left the biologist wide-eyed and stunned.

The flashing metal bat met the hard-thrown ball in a resounding impact, _and instantly exploded into a thousand tiny fragments_!

* * * * *

Gene watched incredulously as the gleaming particles rained to the walk, preceded by a tattered ball that had lost almost all momentum. A flying piece of metal ripped across the back of his hand, tearing away an inch or so of skin, but he was oblivious to all but the scene before him.

The boy at the plate snorted disgustedly and glared down at the remains of his bat. "That's the fourth bat in six days," he said bitterly. "I'm quittin' right now. That woulda been a homer, sure's there's rings around Saturn, and then the bat has to go and fall apart on me. I got cheated. Nope, I just ain't playin' anymore."

Gene watched the group of urchins disperse, then slowly moved away down the street, his thoughts centered on the strange occurrence he had just witnessed.

That bat--it had been made of a very durable metal, metal that wasn't given to falling apart upon receiving a hard blow. What had caused it to suddenly lose its stability and disintegrate into a heap of shards and powder? Something had very definitely gone haywire here on Earth during his absence. As Gene walked, he found further evidence to bear out this conclusion.

A rather fat individual came waddling along the walk, making a grand show of bearing his weight with dignity. His stately reserve turned suddenly to consternation as the large metal buckle of his belt burst violently into powder. The fellow gave an alarmed shout and fled clumsily through the door of an office building, clutching frantically at his trousers to keep them from completing his embarrassment.

Gene had now entirely forgotten his need for sleep. He had to know the answer to this perplexing circumstance. One place would know, if the answer had yet been found, and that was Science Center. He hurried toward the nearest tube-train terminal, intent on having the mystery made clear to his mind.

At the terminal he found a message waiting for him. It was from Elliott Mason, World President, directing Gene to appear before the dignitary at the earliest possible moment. Apparently the message had missed him at the spaceport and had been relayed to the tube terminals along his homeward route. That would indicate utmost urgency, so Gene lost no time in boarding a train destined for Government Center.

He found the Presidential Mansion in a turmoil. Garrulous diplomats were everywhere in evidence, and not a few scientists from Science Center hastened through the halls, bent on mysterious missions.

Gene was immediately admitted to the presence of the president. Mason sat behind his ornate desk, poring over a thick sheaf of papers. Worry and anxiety creased his brow, but even so, he flashed a quick smile as he looked up at the biologist-explorer.

"It's good to see you again, Drummond," Mason began. "Much has happened here while you were on Venus. Perhaps you are not yet aware of it, but a world calamity has befallen us, and as yet we have made no headway whatsoever against it. But before I tell you of our plight, I would like to know of your findings on Venus."

"I'm afraid it's hopeless, sir," Gene sighed. "As you know, we cannot colonize Venus, since our respiratory systems could not long stand up under its poisonous atmosphere.

"As for the native Venusians, they are already man's equal, physically, having a rate of evolution considerably faster than ours. But mentally, they are not much more than equal to a chicken. For some strange reason, their mental development does not keep pace with that of their bodies. Consequently, it will be many years, possibly centuries, before the Venusians are capable of rational thought.

"Thus you can see there is no hope of interplanetary commerce with them. By the time they reach a point of sufficient intelligence to realize the desirability of trade between worlds, our depleted metal resources will be gone, and man will likely be on his way down the evolutionary scale. Science Center has my full report. If I have been hazy on any point, they will give you the complete facts."

Mason sighed heavily and lowered his head a moment. "This new scourge with which we have become afflicted also concerns metal," he spoke in a low tone. "To give you the entire facts would require a long and detailed explanation, for which there is not time.

"However, the gist of it is that all our metals, including raw ores, are slowly losing their molecular coherence. Sections of every continent have come under the influence of the deadly visitation. Already two of New York's largest structures have collapsed when their girder frameworks suddenly turned to powder. Many lives have been lost; tube-train and all other modes of transportation have become extremely risky.

"The condition, which first appeared a month or so ago, is slowly spreading to finally encompass all Earth. Science Center has discovered the phenomenon is not a natural one, but is rather an inexplicable ray emanating from somewhere in space.

"Earth is in great danger, Drummond, and someone must volunteer to eliminate that danger. Knowing our system as you do, I believe you are the man best qualified to track down the ray to its source and destroy it, if at all possible.

"Accordingly, I have had prepared a brochure, embodying all the facts you will need. Science Center has devised a special tracer mechanism, which when directed upon the ray, will clearly reveal its path through the void, and which will be installed in your ship upon your acceptance of the task. I--"

Gene held up a respectful hand. "I believe I have heard enough, sir. You were going to say the decision is entirely mine and that refusal would not be held against me. No need. I accept!"

Mason stood up and extended a warm hand. "Your courage will not go unnoticed, boy. The thanks of all Earth will go with you into the void."

II

Gene nodded sleepily as his ship, _New Frontiers_, drove forward through space. The outermost planets were now far behind in the all-surrounding blackness, and a vague doubt was beginning to worry his mind.

Suppose the malignant ray did not originate in this system? Science Center had naturally assumed that the radiation came from some uncharted asteroid or rogue world within the system. But if it didn't, then what? Should he return to Earth and report failure? Gene dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his head.

Yet, as the great, staring orb that was Pluto slipped away behind him, the doubt grew stronger and made of itself a steady clamor that would not pass unheeded.

His ship still followed the swath of the ray; a never-ending, invisible beam that would seem to sprout from the very emptiness of space itself.

Mason had warned Gene that he might face untold danger at the ray's source, but the explorer could not see how that danger could come from any living thing. Here in the farthermost reaches of the system, far from the warmth of the sun, what strange organic creature could find sustenance?

He stifled a yawn, fighting doggedly to keep his heavy lids from closing in slumber. Sleep was out of the question. He could take no chance of losing the unseen trail of that devilish radiation, so that meant he had to go it without the help of the automatic controls.

In spite of Gene's efforts to remain awake, his brown-thatched head slowly lowered against his chest. Tortured eyes no longer registered the monotonous gray of the ship's cabin as leaden lids closed over them. He was asleep.

Instants later, the insistent clang of a warning bell penetrated through his torpor, whipping away the blanket of sleep and bringing the drowsing biologist at once to alert wakefulness.

He reached out frantically, his fingers flying unerringly over the myriad controls, jabbing viciously at the studs regulating the batteries of rocket tubes.

_Something was pulling, tugging, at the small ship, drawing it down, held in a relentless clutch that grew stronger with each passing moment!_

The ship surged with power; steel crossbeams groaned and screeched, threatening to buckle under the strain placed on them. And still it rushed downward!

He cursed wildly and punched hard at the stud controlling the forward tubes. The craft lurched drunkenly under this new force, then continued its downward flight, moving not quite so fast now.

For the first time since awakening, he glanced at the Vizio-screen, and what he saw rooted him to the spot, eyes dilated with astonishment. The _New Frontiers_ was hurtling down on a planet, dark and foreboding; a world where no world should be! It loomed in the screen like a great black eight-ball--and he was definitely behind it! Now he was entering an atmosphere, according to the instruments. He jiggled the dials, but the reading did not change. What wouldn't the astronomers of Earth give to know about this!

What manner of world was this rushing up to meet him? He could not know. But his instruments told him that in a very short while the first Earthian feet would walk upon this mystery planet. _If_ he lived through the crash.

Wrestling mightily with the controls, he succeeded in bringing the craft out of its dive and leveled off in a long skim above the sphere's surface, now close below.

He hunched tensely over the controls, a thin film of cold sweat standing out on his brow. Hardened though he was, he could not help but feel a quickening fear of the inexplicable world he was fast approaching.

A formidable upjutting of rock suddenly reared up directly in his path, completely blacking out the screen!

He held his breath as his finger nicked out and impaled the stud operating the forward tubes. Once more fire burst from the nose of the ship, roaring out to meet the unyielding wall of rock in a titanic impact.

The _New Frontiers_ shuddered to a halt, hung a second in midair, then abruptly slid forward and down. This was it!

Gene threw his arms over his eyes as ship and mountain met violently, throwing him from his seat and smashing his helmet-protected head against the control panel. Overhead a crossbeam groaned tormentedly and gave way under the stress, while outside an avalanche of stone, dislodged from the lofty heights, smashed against the thick hull in a steady rain--setting up such a din as only the forces of nature could.

Then all was still.

* * * * *

Gene climbed unsteadily to his feet and felt tenderly of his throbbing head. It still rested atop his shoulders. A wonder he hadn't been stretched out for the count. Except for minor bruises and cuts he was no worse for the experience.

A quick look about assured him that the damage to the interior of the ship was slight. The crumpled girder would not impair the craft's flight.

Clambering outside, he found one of the stern tubes smashed beyond repair. No matter. He could replace it with one of the two spare tubes the _New Frontiers_ carried.

Altogether, the small scouter was not much worse for its experience. It would take but a few hours to install the new tube, and the battered but faithful ship would be ready to blast off to new adventures.

Gene turned curiously and took up a minute inspection of this tenth planet's terrain. Bleak and forbidding, jumbled masses of black rock stretch away to the horizon. Here and there, patches of slatish soil, naked and sterile, contended with the ever-present stone for surface space. He became aware of an insidious chill gnawing at his bones.

Cautiously lifting the air helmet he had donned before emerging from the ship, he sniffed tentatively of the dry, thin air. It seemed to have no ill effects on him. He removed the helmet and stood irresolute, wondering what next to do.

That problem was solved at once. Over the horizon came a howling, clamorous horde of man-shaped creatures, brandishing crudely fashioned spears tipped with sharpened stone, making straightway for the _New Frontiers_!

Gene's hand went to his hip and came up bearing his energy-ray. Any question of the creatures' intentions was immediately dispelled as one of them jerked to a halt and flung his spear hard at the explorer.

Gene ducked and came up blasting. A grim smile was on his lips as the rabble came on in spite of his withering fire, screeching like harpies as they closed in on him.

He found time to wonder how the beings could see, for no eyes were evident on the flat, hateful faces. Wicked fangs gleamed in the gaping mouths; set squarely between where the eyes should have been was a diminutive, almost non-existent nose. Huge, batlike ears gave the finishing touch to their grotesque appearance.

Gene felt a deep loathing for these weird denizens of a world that should not be. That abhorrence was reflected in the steady blast of his energy-ray, which cut a wide swath in the creatures' ranks.

But still they advanced, shrieking and gnashing their teeth in black hate. They flung their spears with such clumsiness that Gene found them fairly easy to side-step, but now crude stone knives were brought into play, knives that were deadly, in spite of their unwieldiness. Once the beings gained close enough to use those weapons, the biologist would meet with a quick end.

He fought silently, striving to work around the ship to the air lock, but the hideous half-men divined his purpose and swiftly moved to flank him, cutting off all escape. Gene cursed explosively and battled all the fiercer.

Then he gaped in surprise as a spear whizzed past him and sank deep in the breast of his nearest attacker. A look of fear crossed the features of the ferocious barbarians, and as one they turned to face this new enemy.

Gene, too, turned to look at the small band of sturdy beings advancing nimbly over the rocky ground, filling the air with well-aimed spears even as they came.

His assailants made a show of standing firm under the onslaught, screeching defiantly and launching their spears haphazardly at the newcomers.

The ranks wavered and suddenly broke, then the horrible monstrosities were fleeing, chattering their hate as they went scrambling away over the boulders. Now and again one would pause and turn to hurl his spear at Gene in a last venomous attempt to do him in. Then all had disappeared in the far distance.

* * * * *

Gene breathed a sigh of relief and wiped sweat from his forehead in spite of the chill air. "What a reception!" He grinned wryly. "Saturn's Rings! The tracer surely developed a bug and took me off course. These people are nothing more than savages. I can't believe them capable of constructing an intricate ray and directing it on Earth. The whole thing is crazy, just plain, crazy!"

His rescuers hurried up, waving their spears and shouting in a strange tongue.

Gene could not understand the words, but he guessed at their meaning from the triumphal air in which they were spoken. A crude tongue, at best, but then these wild tribesmen needed no elaborate language to express their simple minds.

Now the tribesmen, clad in shaggy furs, clustered about him, feeling wonderingly of his clothes, muttering exclamations of surprise as they noted the five digits on each of his hands. Their own gnarled, hairy paws boasted but four fingers to each.

A towering, rawboned fellow pushed his way through the mob and stopped before Gene. The man--for men these people were, in spite of their crudity and animal traits--swept his eyes over the explorer in a cool glance of appraisal.

Gene did a bit of sizing-up of his own. The giant's high forehead suggested intelligence of a sort; the clear gray eyes told of courage and loyalty. Plainly, the man was a leader among his people.

Abruptly, the fellow turned and uttered a command to the foremost tribesmen. Two stepped forward and took up positions to each side of Gene. They prodded him gently in the ribs and pointed to the horizon. He took this to be a signal to start moving, and he obliged with reluctance, for his overpowering need of sleep now threatened to drop him at each step. How long they walked, the biologist did not know. His guides were practically dragging him by the time the party came into a city of caves, hewn in the jagged wall of a desolate valley. He was led to one of these caverns, mid the shouted questions of the quick-gathered townsfolk and the catcalls of unkempt children.

Blessed sleep rushed up to meet him as the two tribesmen deposited him on a pallet of dirty furs and withdrew from the chamber. The world could wait; the body must rest.

* * * * *

Gene learned much of this strange planet in the next few days. A wizened, white-bearded old man came daily to instruct him in the tribe's language--a simple speech which Gene, a student of ancient tongues, found easy to master.

"Our life is harsh," the talkative patriarch told the explorer between lessons. "Game is scarce and there is little vegetation. Once we grew crops, but now the soil is sterile and bears little, but for wild vegetables and fruits in those isolated places where the ground is yet fertile. This is a world of rock, my son. No creature of flesh and bone was meant to trod here."

The man spoke truth. All about, the valley lay barren, the sandy soil smothered under by tons of rock. Gene thought it a marvel that the tribesmen were able to exist at all in such a place. They must have great courage to fight such a hopeless battle against the forces of nature.

On his fifth day in the cave city, Gene was summoned to the dwelling of Old One, the tribal chief. There, too, was the gray-eyed giant whom Gene had first met the day of his arrival.

Old One raised a withered hand to signify peace, and the biologist solemnly did likewise. The venerable man nodded approval and settled back on his fur-covered stone bench.

"It stuns my senses," he murmured. "Kac, say again this youth was spawned of a beast that walks through air."

"Truly, he was, Father," the dark-haired man said gravely. "The Beast People were besetting him and bearing him under at the time our hunting party came upon the scene. The spineless creatures fled at mere sight of our warriors, though there was a far greater number of them than our small party could boast. The beast that walked through air still rests where it fell from the sky. I fear it is dead, for no longer does it give out its breath of fire."