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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cac0af5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61842 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61842) diff --git a/old/61842-h.zip b/old/61842-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b7849c9..0000000 --- a/old/61842-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/61842-h/61842-h.htm b/old/61842-h/61842-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index e8efd52..0000000 --- a/old/61842-h/61842-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1322 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Castaway, by George Danzell. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Castaway, by George Danzell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Castaway - -Author: George Danzell - -Release Date: April 16, 2020 [EBook #61842] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTAWAY *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="351" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>THE CASTAWAY</h1> - -<h2>By GEORGE DANZELL</h2> - -<p>Who was this bearded castaway of space?<br /> -Some said he was Jonah. Others thought<br /> -him a long-lost, mad scientist. But<br /> -Lieutenant Brait knew him by a name<br /> -that was old when the world was young.</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Planet Stories Winter 1940.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>There was an ad in the classified columns of this week's <i>Spaceways -Weekly</i>. It asked for information concerning the whereabouts of one -"Paul Moran, last known to have taken off from Long Island Spaceport -for parts unlogged." Captain McNeally drew the notice to my attention. -He said, "Look at this, Brait. Wasn't Moran the chap we picked up in -the asteroids? It seems to me I remember—"</p> - -<p>"You should," I told him. "You see his name twice every shuttle, -engraved on cold steel. And you can be thankful for that. But I don't -think he'll answer this ad. I don't think they'll ever hear from him."</p> - -<p>"That," scoffed the Shipper, "is nonsense! Do you realize what this -means, Brait? This ad was inserted by the Government Patent Office. -There's a fortune waiting for Mr. Moran back on Earth, when he sees -this—"</p> - -<p>"A fortune waiting," I said softly, "when and if he ever sees it. But I -wonder, Skipper. I wonder."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We were about three thousand miles north, west and loft of Ceres -when we first sighted him. I remember that well, because I was on -the Bridge, and our Sparks, Toby Frisch, had just handed me a free -clearance report from the space commander of that planetoid.</p> - -<p>I read it and chuckled. I said, "Sparks, this bit of transcription is -a masterpiece. Nobody expects a radioman to be good-looking or have -brains, but blue space above, man, your spelling and grammar—"</p> - -<p>"Leave my relatives," said Sparks stiffly, "out of this. Is the message -O.Q. or ain't it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," I told him, "with a light sprinkling of no. Sometimes I wish we -had a good operator aboard the <i>Antigone</i>. Like one of those Donovan -brothers, for instance."</p> - -<p>"Them guys!" sniffed Sparks. "Too wise for their britches, both of 'em. -I'm a bug-pounder, not a joke-book. If it's smart cracks you want, why -don't you buy an audio?"</p> - -<p>It was at this point that Lt. Russ Bartlett, First Mate of our ship, -who had been shooting the azimuth through the perilens, turned and -waved to me excitedly.</p> - -<p>"Brait, take a look! Quick! There's a man down below! On one of the -minor asteroids!"</p> - -<p>I said, "A joke, Bartlett? You'd better check the alignment of that -perilens. That's the Man in the Moon you see."</p> - -<p>Gunner McCoy, Bartlett's staunchest friend and admirer, looked up from -the rotor port, wrinkled his leathery, space-toughed cheeks into a -frown, and squirted mekel-juice at a distant gobboon.</p> - -<p>"Mebbe you better look, Mr. Brait," he said. "If Russ says there's a -man there, then there's a man there."</p> - -<p>So I looked. And to look was to act. I cut in my intercommunicating -unit and bawled a stop hypo order to Chief Lester in the engine room -below. Bartlett was right. There was a single, bulger-clad figure -sprawled on the craggy rock of a tiny asteroid hurtling beneath us. A -man who lay there quietly, did not rise, did not wave, gave no sign of -noticing our approach even when I dropped the <i>Antigone</i> down toward -the spatial island.</p> - -<p>Bartlett, peering through the duplicate lens, said, "Dead, Brait. He -must have cracked up. He's not moving."</p> - -<p>But there was no wrecked spaceship anywhere around. I said, "We'll know -in a few minutes." And then the Skipper burst into the bridge, startled -and curious. "Something haywire, boys? Here, I'll take over."</p> - -<p>He was a good man, Cap McNeally. A hardened spacehound, canny and wise -to the ways of the void, always on deck in moments of emergency. That's -why the IPS, the Corporation for which we work, had placed him in -command of the <i>Antigone</i>, finest and fastest ship in the fleet.</p> - -<p>But I calmed his rotors. "Everything O.Q., sir," I told him. "We're -standing by to take on a space-wrecked sailor. I think."</p> - -<p>My guess was right. A few minutes later we threw out a grapple, -space-anchored the <i>Aunty</i>, and a rescue party landed on the asteroid. -They brought back with them a sad looking specimen of the genus <i>Homo -sapiens</i>. His cheeks were drained and sunken beneath a bristling, -unkempt beard; his skin was blistered frightfully from long exposure -to solars and cosmics; his limbs were so feeble that he couldn't walk -unaided. He had to be carried.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" width="425" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Someone unscrewed his face-port for him. He drew a long, deep breath of -the pure <i>Antigone</i> air. His wan eyes lighted dimly and he spoke in a -voice that was a thin husk of sound.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, gentlemen. I had hoped that at last I might—But you meant -well, I suppose."</p> - -<p>Which was, I thought at the time, a damned strange speech of gratitude. -But I had no time to answer. For his knees suddenly buckled beneath -him, his eyes closed. Had it not been for the friendly hands that -supported him, he would have pitched forward on his face.</p> - -<p>Cap McNeally snapped, "Sick-bay! Snap it up, you lubbers! The man's in -bad shape. Out on his feet, cold!"</p> - -<p>Sparks whispered, "Gosh, he looks like a corpus!" as the sailors bore -our unexpected passenger away. I stared at him disgustedly.</p> - -<p>"Corpse." I said.</p> - -<p>"Huh?" said Sparks.</p> - -<p>"Corpse!" I repeated. "Corpse!"</p> - -<p>"You," suggested Sparks, "oughta take somethin' for that indigestion, -Lootenant. My sister had it. It made her a physical reek."</p> - -<p>It's against the rules for a Second Mate to punch a radioman. So I -kicked him. There are limits.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That was our first meeting with the mysterious Paul Moran. We -didn't know his name then, of course. We learned that several days -later. After Doc Jurnegan, our medico, had coaxed, bulldozed and -sulfanilamided him back off the brink of the dark and nasty.</p> - -<p>Doc was the first to tag Moran with the adjective we all, eventually, -accepted.</p> - -<p>"It's the damnedest thing," he told me, "I've ever seen. Brait, I'll -swear on a pile of prescriptions that he didn't have one chance in a -million of pulling through. But he's still alive!</p> - -<p>"By rights, he should have been dead two weeks before we found him. -Do you know he was on that asteroid five solid weeks? Without food. -With only one container of water. With the oxygen reserve in his tank -practically exhausted!</p> - -<p>"And his condition—" Jurnegan shook his head uncomprehendingly. -"Deplorable! He was dessicated, undernourished, fouled from weeks in a -bulger. Acute cyanosis alone should have killed him. But—"</p> - -<p>I said, "The will-to-live, Doc. It's the determining factor in many a -borderline case. I've heard of men with holes in their heads you could -drive a stratoplane through who simply refused to—"</p> - -<p>"That's just it," said Jurnegan. "He <i>wants</i> to die! He refused to take -food. I had to feed him intravenously and force him to drink. But in -spite of his physical and mental condition, he still lives. It—it's -mysterious, Brait!"</p> - -<p>So I went in to visit our strange passenger.</p> - -<p>He wasn't a bad looking chap, now that his whiskers had been plowed. -Thin, of course; hollow of cheek and eye. His skin was sallow, faintly -olive; the contours of his head long and narrow, short-indexed. He was -a typical Mediterannean, if what my profs taught me is right. Medium -stature, small-boned, thin, tapering fingers. Crisp, oily hair, black -as space.</p> - -<p>I said, "Well, you look like a new man!"—which he did, and, "You're -looking fine!" I said—which he wasn't.</p> - -<p>He turned his head slowly, studied me with grave, questioning eyes. His -voice was faint, but low and pleasing.</p> - -<p>"You are Mr. Brait, the Second Mate? I believe I have you to thank for -having rescued me?"</p> - -<p>"That's all right," I told him.</p> - -<p>"Why," he interrupted gently, "did you do it?"</p> - -<p>I said, "Oh, come now! You've got to perk up! You get a little flesh on -your bones and you'll feel better."</p> - -<p>But he went on, as though not hearing my words, "It was a chance. The -best chance I've had for years—a thousand years—and you took it from -me. Out there I might have found peace at last. The power cannot—it -<i>must</i> not—extend into the depths of space."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>His voice had risen; there was a light of madness, of strange, savage -intensity in his eyes. I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck -pringling. I knew, now, that the man had not come unscathed through his -experience. He was space crazy. Wildly, desperately so. I said, in what -I hoped was a soothing voice,</p> - -<p>"Now, take it easy, Mr.—er—Moran, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>The ghost of a smile touched his lips, and his body became less tense. -He said wearily, "Moran—yes. Or Ader. Or Cart—Oh, anything you -choose. It hardly seems important any more. I've had so many, many -names."</p> - -<p>That wasn't exactly encouraging. But at least he was quieter now. And I -had to know a few things about him to put in the ship's log. I asked, -"How did you get on that asteroid, Moran? Were you space-wrecked? If -so, what was the name of your craft? The authorities will want to know."</p> - -<p>He answered, almost mockingly, "I was marooned."</p> - -<p>"Marooned! But—but that's criminal! Who did it? We'll have them picked -up and punished!"</p> - -<p>"You'll do nothing of the sort. They marooned me on that asteroid -because I deserved it and I respect and thank them for it!" His voice -was rising again; higher, shriller. "I thank them, do you hear? I bless -them, a hundred, thousand, million times. Though their effort was in -vain. I was, and am, a Jonah. A Jonah, Jonah, <i>Jonah</i>!"</p> - -<p>He sat bolt upright in bed, screaming the word defiantly. Doc Jurnegan -raced in, glanced at me reproachfully and took his patient in hand. -"You'd better go, Brait," he suggested.</p> - -<p>So I left. The sweat on my forehead was damp and cold. I needed a drink.</p> - -<p>When I told Cap McNeally of my experience, he nodded soberly.</p> - -<p>"I know, Brait. I saw him before you did. And he acted just as loony -toward me. Warned me he was a Jonah—"</p> - -<p>"I'm not superstitious," I interrupted, "but there <i>are</i> such things -as Jonahs. Men whose very presence aboard a spaceship seems to cause -trouble, dissention, disaster. You remember that Venusian blaster on -the <i>Goddard III</i>? The survivors always swore he caused the crack-up."</p> - -<p>"Moran's case," frowned the skipper, "is more than just superstition. -He told me that he never wanted to see Earth again. When I told him -that was too bad, that we were headed for Earth right now, he warned me -solemnly that he'd do everything in his power to prevent our getting -there. So what do you think of that?"</p> - -<p>"I think," I said glumly, "he's nuts! And if we pay any attention to -him, we'll all be nuts, too. Well, I've got to go, Cap. I've got to -check the shield generators before we go busting into Earth's H-layer."</p> - -<p>And I left.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Well, I was busy for the next four days on my job. It was a plenty -important job, and had to be done carefully. The H-layer of the -planets—the Kennelly-Heaviside layer—is a supertensioned field of -force similar in composition to the corona of a star. A wide swath -of ionized gas with high potential, serving as a shield against the -murderous Q- and ultra-violet rays that emanate from solar bodies.</p> - -<p>But the H-layer is a barrier as well as a shield. The first -space-flight experimenters learned that, and the knowledge cost them -their lives. For their craft hit the H-layer unguarded; and where had -been a glistening ship, now was pitted, blackened metal; where had been -life, now there was charred carbon.</p> - -<p>Now all spaceships were equipped with shield generators. They were -"generators" by courtesy only; actually they were huge condensers -fed by cable lines tied at intervals to the hull plates. The theory -was that as the craft plunged into and through the H-layer, these -condensers would absorb the excess potential, thus allowing the ship to -pass through unharmed.</p> - -<p>And it worked swell, most of the time. Oh, every year a few ships would -get theirs—would blow out in a blue wreath of coruscating flame—but -for the most part the trip was safe enough. Except, of course, when a -condenser was in bad condition. Which was why I was giving ours a check -and double check.</p> - -<p>Still, I could never rid myself of a queasy moment when we hit that -blanket of spark-happy ionization. Particularly when a planet was at -aphelion as Earth was now. Because at such times the H-layer was more -highly activated than usual.</p> - -<p>And to tell the truth, I wasn't satisfied with the way my work was -going. First I hit my thumb with a monkey-wrench. It didn't hurt -the wrench, but the thumb turned pale mauve and throbbed like a -sixteen-year-old kid's pulse on his first hayride.</p> - -<p>Then I lost a brass collar off the hull-brace, and since we didn't -carry a reserve stock I had to ask Chief Lester to make me one. By the -time that was ready, I'd busted a .44 coil cable lock, and had to -jerry-rig a substitute.</p> - -<p>Oh, it was a headache! But I wasn't the only guy on board the <i>Aunty</i> -who was having troubles. Slops raised a howl to high heaven because his -stove went on the squeegee. Gunner McCoy stalked into the officer's -mess one afternoon demanding what such-and-such so-and-so had stripped -the gears of his pet rotor-gun. Sparks burned out three vacuum tubes -in one day, breaking contact with all transmitting stations and almost -causing us to crack up on a rogue asteroid. Even Cap McNeally was -visited by the plague. He came wailing to me, on the bridge, that the -refrigeration units in the No. 3 storage bin had broken down.</p> - -<p>"—and we've lost a whole binfull of <i>clab</i>, Brait! Worth at least six -thousand credits on Earth. The Corporation will be mad as hell."</p> - -<p>"That's tough," I said, "but there's nothing we can do about it. It -wasn't your fault."</p> - -<p>He eyed me curiously. "Brait—" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Cap?"</p> - -<p>"I've been wondering—do you think there could be anything in what -Moran said? About him being a—a—"</p> - -<p>"Jonah?" I'd been thinking the same thing myself. "I don't know, -Skipper. I wouldn't say yes, and I wouldn't say no. But there's no -doubt about it, things have been going haywire ever since we picked him -up. I'll be glad when he lifts gravs off the <i>Aunty</i>."</p> - -<p>Cap said petulantly, "Of course it's just nonsense. Bad luck doesn't -hang around one man like that. It's against the law of averages. Still, -I wish you'd sort of keep an eye on him for the next three days, Brait. -Till we land on Earth. I've got a notion—"</p> - -<p>"So has Earth," I grinned. "Five of 'em. Atlantic, Pacific, Indian and -the two Etceteras. What's yours?"</p> - -<p>"It might," frowned the skipper. "Be sabotage. He said he'd do -everything in his power to prevent our reaching Earth. And he's up and -around now."</p> - -<p>"If you think that," I suggested, "why don't you shove him in the -clink, just to make sure?"</p> - -<p>"Can't do it. Because I've no <i>proof</i> he's responsible for these -occurrences, and besides, a rescued passenger is entitled to the -courtesy of the ship."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>So that's how I assumed, in addition to the rest of my duties, the job -of watch-dogging the mysterious Paul Moran. As Cap McNeally had said, -Moran was up and about now. He had made what Doc Jurnegan claimed was -the swiftest recovery in the annals of medicine. He still looked like -a skeleton in search of a square meal. But there was sanity in his -eyes. If not always in his speech. Like that afternoon in Sparks' radio -turret, for instance.</p> - -<p>We had been talking, Sparks and I, about space-flight. What a great -thing it was. How, only in its infancy, it was already changing man's -outlook, widening the borders of man's domain, creating a newer, -greater universe.</p> - -<p>"We got," Sparks said, "reason to be proud of ourselves. Gee, I was -readin' in the library—"</p> - -<p>"You," I interrupted wonderingly, "can read?"</p> - -<p>"Comets to you, Lootenant!" sniffed Sparks. "As I was sayin' before I -was so rudely ruptured, I was readin' in the library some old books -from the Twentieth Century. Just about a hundred an' fifty years old, -mind you! They had the craziest ideas about what men would find on -other planets, if an' when they ever got there. Flame-men, an' robots, -an' all sorts of things.</p> - -<p>"Nothin' like what we actually found. 'Course, we shouldn't laugh at -'em too much. They had no way of knowin'. We're the first people ever -traveled in space."</p> - -<p>"No!" said Moran.</p> - -<p>Sparks said patiently, "Well, I didn't mean us here in this room. Of -course we ain't. But I mean the people of our time."</p> - -<p>"And I still say," said Moran gravely, "no! Man in all ages is a -creature of conceit, self-pride, self-glorification. There was -space-flight long before you lived, Sparks. A race, long dead now, from -a neighbor planet."</p> - -<p>I said gently, "You're thinking of those pyramids found on Venus and -Mars, Moran? I know that's a puzzler to modern science. And I've read -several theories regarding their builders. But most authorities agree -that their mere presence does not necessarily imply the existence of a -single race of engineers. The pyramid is a fundamental structural form. -Any intelligent race—"</p> - -<p>"Man," said Moran almost sadly. "Man the dreamer; Man the doubter. No, -Lieutenant, I am not speaking of theories, now. I am speaking of tales -I've heard; accounts I've read in archives long molded into dust. At -least three times in the past have civilized races spanned the void. It -was the dying Martian race that first achieved space-flight. They found -Venus a rank and stinking jungle, but on Earth certain of them set up -their new abode." He smiled quietly. "And reverted to savagery, as is -always the case when civilized men, removed from the source of their -culture, find themselves face to face with stark reality.</p> - -<p>"Then it was the Moon-creatures who fled their airless world, spanned -the distance to nearby earth."</p> - -<p>I said, "That's an interesting thought, Moran. It explains the -coloration of the races of man, doesn't it? I'd like to read that book -you mentioned. Where can I get it?"</p> - -<p>He shook his head sadly.</p> - -<p>"You can't, Lt. Brait. The last copy of it was destroyed more than -twelve centuries ago. Simon Magnus was the last man to read it as I -remember. I loaned it to him—"</p> - -<p>He stopped abruptly. But Sparks' eyes were plate-sized and incredulous. -"—you loaned it to him?"</p> - -<p>I spun on Sparks, angry. Jurnegan had told us to humor Moran, help him -to a complete recovery. I didn't approve of this, not a little bit. I -snapped, "That'll do, Sparks! Good Lord, man—What's the matter, Moran?"</p> - -<p>For suddenly his face had paled, his eyes widened in horror, and he was -backing away from me. He thrust out a trembling hand, gasped hoarsely, -"Have a care, Brait! 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord, thy -God, in vain—'!"</p> - -<p>Then he fled; his running footsteps clattered down the ramp, and the -echoes were strangely disturbing. Sparks stared after him, then made a -circular motion at his temple.</p> - -<p>"Nuts!" he said. "Crazy as a loon, Lootenant."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Oh, he was an odd one, that Moran. Those next days are somehow garbled -in my mind. They were so full of incident that now, looking back upon -them, I can hardly distinguish between that which actually <i>was</i>, and -that which an active imagination conjured for me out of fancy.</p> - -<p>This I do know—it was the worst trip I've ever experienced in the -<i>Antigone</i> or any other ship. Something was always wrong. Lt. Russ -Bartlett, whose mind is as accurate as the cogs of a computing machine, -discovered to his dismay that he had made an error in calculation; that -at our present rate of speed we would miss Earth entirely and plunge -Sunward at a rate that would destroy us all. He discovered that by -sheer accident, and just in time to scream a hasty, "Cut hypos!" to the -engine room, else I wouldn't be here to tell it. Then there was that -mysterious occurrence in the galley. Our cook had a pet cat, and if it -weren't for his habit of feeding the pussy before he fed the crew, half -of us would be stiff now. Because the cat slopped up its dinner and -forthwith proceeded to give up all nine of its lives simultaneously. -Ptomaine, from faulty food tins. The first time such a thing had -happened in more than forty years!</p> - -<p>You couldn't say Moran was behind either of these near-disasters. For -I was dogging his footsteps; I'll take my oath he was not involved. -Physically, that is. But they say a Jonah's curse works even though the -Jonah takes no actual part.</p> - -<p>Oh, he was an odd one, that Moran. For instance, the time Sparks' -selenium plate blew out. It was Moran who got permission to use -the machine shop, construct a substitute out of a uranoid-steel -atmochamber. We used that freak audio throughout the trip, then -replaced it with a standard one when we reached Earth. Like dopes! -Because two years later that screwball First Mate of the <i>Saturn</i> -"invented" a uranium time-speech-trap exactly like the one Moran made -us. He earned a quarter million credits from it. Imagine!</p> - -<p>Then there was the time, as we were approaching the Lunar outpost, -that our calculating machine jammed. Lieutenant Bartlett and Cap -McNeally were in a dither trying to figure the approach velocity. It's -a fifteen-minute job for the machine; a six-hour job for a man's brain. -But Moran, who happened by, glanced casually at the declension chart, -said, "Cut to forty-three at 3.05 Earth Standard, Captain. Maintain -full speed for point three five parsecs, alter declension to north one, -loft seven, fire fore jets twice—"</p> - -<p>Having no better idea, McNeally did as Moran suggested. And we warped -past the Moon oh-oh-oh on trajectory!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Which put us within scant hours of Earth's H-layer. And which also -roused in me the realization that the mysterious Paul Moran was more -than the ordinary space-sailor he pretended to be. Maybe I'm snoopy, -I don't know. Anyway, I went to the radio room. I told Sparks grimly, -"You and I are going to find out just who or what this Moran guy is. -Send a message, Sparks. To Fred Bender, at Long Island Spaceport. -Tell him to find out if there's a scientist missing who answers to -this description. Five feet, seven and a half inches; a hundred and -twenty-five pounds, dark hair, brown eyes—"</p> - -<p>The relay of that description and the subsequent reply took longer than -I had anticipated. That's why Sparks and I were among the last to learn -of the new trouble. We didn't learn until, excited, we burst onto the -bridge, confronted the skipper with our information.</p> - -<p>"Look, Skipper!" I yelled. "No wonder 'Moran' was able to fix Sparks' -radio and set your course! Do you—"</p> - -<p>And the Captain raised haggard eyes to me.</p> - -<p>"Brait, where have you been? I've been audioing all over the ship for -you."</p> - -<p>"In Sparks' cabin. Listen, though. Moran is—"</p> - -<p>"I don't care," said the skipper wearily, "who he is. And in a -little while, nobody else will, either. Your check-up, Mr. Brait, -was a miserable failure! We are only an hour and a half out of the -H-layer—and the shield generators refuse to function!"</p> - -<p>I just stared at him for a minute. When I caught my breath, there was -only enough of it for one word.</p> - -<p>"Impossible!"</p> - -<p>"Impossible, maybe," acknowledged the First Mate, "but unfortunately, -Don, the Captain's right. Three lead-in cables are broken, the -stripping is off the condenser."</p> - -<p>"But—but everything was in perfect order an hour ago! I don't -understand! Yes, I do! Moran! He said he'd destroy us all if he got a -chance! Skipper, there's the answer. He's done it. The madman—"</p> - -<p>Then there was a mirthful chuckle in the doorway, and Moran was -standing there looking at us, his thin lips wide in a smile.</p> - -<p>"You're right, Brait. I <i>did</i> do it. But I'm not a madman. I'm a happy -man. The happiest man who ever lived!" His eyes lighted triumphantly; -he stretched his arms above his head in a great, yearning gesture. -"Soon will come freedom! The great, everlasting freedom of death."</p> - -<p>"Get him!" said the Skipper succinctly. Gunner McCoy lumbered forward, -his long, hairy arms encircled Moran's body. The Skipper pawed his -graying thatch. "This is no time for reproaches, Mr. Brait. I told you -to guard this man; for some reason you failed to do so. But now our -problem is to repair the damage he has done. Or else—"</p> - -<p>His pause was significant. But Moran's quiet, mocking laughter -persisted.</p> - -<p>"It is useless, Captain. Not in hours, no, not in weeks, will you -repair the damage. Don't you see—" There was a feverish light in his -eyes, a shuddering vibrancy in his voice. "Don't you see that I bring -you the greatest of all boons known to man?</p> - -<p>"Death! Wonderful, blissful death! Death that I have sought so long ... -so hopelessly."</p> - -<p>Those were the last words I heard for some time. I dashed from the -room, Bartlett, Sparks and McCoy at my heels. We picked up the Chief -Engineer. We covered the <i>Antigone</i> from stern to stern. And our worst -fears were realized. It was no use. The damage Moran had done was -irreparable.</p> - -<p>Russ Bartlett said, "There's only one way out. We mustn't try to -penetrate the Heaviside layer. We must shift trajectory, pass Earth -and remain in space until we get the shield generator operating again."</p> - -<p>And Chief Lester said somberly, "Have you forgotten the trajectory you -planned, Lieutenant Bartlett?"</p> - -<p>"The trajectory?"</p> - -<p>"I thought it was unusual," rumbled the engineer, "when you called -it down to me. It's paper-thin, balanced on a knife-edge between -counter-gravitations. If we try to shift course now, we'll tear the -ship into shreds!"</p> - -<p>I knew, now, why Moran had come up with such a ready answer when the -computer failed. He had planned well. He had deliberately forced us -into this trajectory from which there was no escape.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Back on the bridge, we found Captain McNeally pacing the deck like a -caged cat. Moran was silent, watchful intent, with an unholy gleam -of justification lighting his curious eyes. The skipper looked up -hopefully as we entered.</p> - -<p>"Well, gentlemen?"</p> - -<p>Bartlett shook his head.</p> - -<p>McNeally was silent for a long moment. His glance roved the smart, -glistening interior of the <i>Antigone's</i> control room. I knew exactly -what he was thinking. It was too bad that this smooth perfection, this -finest ship built by master craftsmen, should become a brief, winking -flame in the atmospheric borders of Earth.</p> - -<p>And it was tough that we must all go out together like this. Through no -fault of our own. Through the machinations of a space-mad castaway. He -turned to me. "Lieutenant Brait, you and Sparks will go to the radio -turret. Send a complete report to the Earth authorities. Tell them—" -He gulped. "Tell them why the—the <i>Antigone</i> will not come in."</p> - -<p>I said, "Aye, aye, sir!" mechanically, and started for the door. But -Sparks stopped me.</p> - -<p>"Ain't you gonna tell 'em what we learned?"</p> - -<p>"Eh?"</p> - -<p>"About <i>him</i>?"</p> - -<p>He jerked his head toward 'Moran'.</p> - -<p>"It doesn't really make any difference now," I said. "But—" I suppose -my voice was scornful. There was scorn and bitterness in my heart. -"They might as well know that the man who has condemned us all to -death is—or was—one of Earth's greatest scientists. Had he not become -a raving lunatic his genius could have stemmed this disaster."</p> - -<p>McNeally said, "What's that, Lieutenant? What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"I mean this man's name is not 'Paul Moran'—"</p> - -<p>"Names," murmured Moran gently. "What difference does a name make? When -one has had thousands of names."</p> - -<p>"His name," I continued, "is John Cartaphilus!"</p> - -<p>Bartlett said, "Cartaphilus!" In a leap he was at our strange guest's -side, his voice eager. "Then he will—he <i>must</i>—help us!</p> - -<p>"Cartaphilus, listen to me! Of all men, only you have the genius to -devise some way of escaping this peril! You've been mad, sir! Insane -from your privations! But now I beg that you cast aside this madness, -come to our rescue!"</p> - -<p>Moran—or Cartaphilus—brushed his hand aside. A dreamy look was in his -eyes.</p> - -<p>"Death at last!" he whispered. "Oh, sweet boon of mankind—death! I who -have suffered so long, waited such a long time—"</p> - -<p>"Can't you hear me, man? Snap out of it! Time is growing short. In a -half hour, maybe less, we'll nose into the H-layer. And then—Please, -sir!"</p> - -<p>But there was no reply. Captain McNeally looked at me uncertainly. "Are -you sure, Brait?"</p> - -<p>"Positive. I forwarded a description to Bender at L.I. He said -Cartaphilus has been missing for a year and a half. He fled Earth -because of a scandal. It seems—"</p> - -<p>"Never mind that now." McNeally confronted the insane scientist. "Mr. -Cartaphilus, you must help us out of this jam! We're not thinking only -of ourselves, but of the mothers and children waiting for us on Earth. -And of the future of space-travel. If the <i>Antigone</i>, the finest ship -ever built, blows out in the H-layer, it will strike a heavy blow at -all astronavigation. Help us, sir! For Heaven's sake—"</p> - -<p>Cartaphilus spoke suddenly, sharply.</p> - -<p>"Don't say that!"</p> - -<p>"Only Heaven can save us now," said McNeally simply, "if you won't. -It's our only hope. May the Lord help us if you—"</p> - -<p>"Don't!" The strange, thin man screamed the word. Suddenly he buried -his face in his hands, and his words were an incoherent babble of -torment. "Don't you see what you're doing? Man, have you no pity?"</p> - -<p>He raised wide, tortured eyes. "The endlessness of time—" he -whispered. "But I thought that, free of Earth, lost in the depths of -space, I might at last find peace. But now you call upon me to save you -in His name.</p> - -<p>"I won't do it! I won't! The power cannot force me, here in the void. -Two thousand years.... No! No!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>McNeally stepped back, torn between dread and doubt. He shook his head -at us. "It's no use. He's completely mad."</p> - -<p>Then Russ Bartlett cried, "Wait! <i>Listen!</i>"</p> - -<p>For Cartaphilus, his face worn and aged, had bowed his head as -though surrendering to forces greater than his will-to-die. And he -was droning in a drab, lack-lustre voice, "Tell the engineer to -reverse the polarity of the alternate hypatomic motors. Transmit the -counter electromotive force helically through the forward coils. -Use full power. Keep all motors running at top speed. Cut out the -intercommunicating and lighting systems; there must be no D.C. current -in operation anywhere on the ship. The cross-currents will—"</p> - -<p>Chief Engineer Lester's face was a masque of blank dismay. He husked, -"A hysteresis bloc! It might work. Nobody ever thought of it before."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" That was Cap McNeally.</p> - -<p>"His suggestion. Heterodyning the web-coils, so we'll counter the -H-layer radiation with an alternating current of our own. It's just -about one chance in a million!"</p> - -<p>"Then take that chance!" cried the skipper. "Try it! Do as he says. -And, for God's sake, man, <i>hurry</i>!"</p> - -<p>Cartaphilus, his eyes drained of all expression, rose sluggishly. Once -more he spoke, faintly. "It will work," he said. "It will work, and I -have failed again. And all because I would not let Him rest...."</p> - -<p>His voice broke in a great, wrenching sob. Then he lurched from the -control room like a broken thing.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I never saw him again. No one aboard the <i>Antigone</i> ever saw him again. -For the next hour we were in a turmoil, rearranging the electrical -units of the ship as Cartaphilus had told us. We finished our task just -in time; scant seconds after we had thrown on the power we nosed into -the web-like field of force which is the H-layer.</p> - -<p>It was a breathless moment. Despite our efforts, there was not a man of -us but expected a brief, brilliant instant of horror—then oblivion. -But we were as wrong as Cartaphilus had been right. There was a jolt -as our forcefield met that of Earth's shield; the permalloy hull of -the ship sang and hummed and glowed cherry-red under the impact of -that terrific electromotive strain, but we slipped through the barrier -with greater ease than ever had any ship using the old style shield -generators.</p> - -<p>In our jubilation we quite forgot the mad scientist whose strange, -last-minute change of mind had saved our lives. We landed. And sometime -between the moment of landing and the moment when we remembered our -passenger, he fled. Disappeared completely from the ship and from our -lives.</p> - -<p>Cap McNeally was nothing if not a square-shooter. He refused to take -credit for the invention that had brought us through the H-layer. The -patent rights were taken out in the name of our deranged passenger. -The "Moran H-penetrant" it is called. All spaceships used it until -just recently; until Cap Hawkins of the <i>Andromeda</i> and the Venusian -scientist, Jar Farges, discovered Ampies could be used as H-layer -shields.</p> - -<p>But afterward, Cap McNeally came to me, wondering.</p> - -<p>"Why should he have wanted to die, Brait? I can't understand it. A man -like John Cartaphilus; wealthy, intelligent, respected—was he really -mad, do you think?"</p> - -<p>I hesitated. I, too, had been wondering about that. I had gone so far -as to look up the life history of the mad scientist. I had found -several curious things. No man knew when, or where, John Cartaphilus -had been born. All agreed that he was "remarkably youthful" in -appearance. It was rumored that he had outlived a wife married in -youth; that she had been an elderly woman when she died.</p> - -<p>I said, "I told you there had been a scandal in his life, recently, -Skipper. It concerned a friend of his, a worker in one of his shops.</p> - -<p>"Cartaphilus was, and is, a genius, but he has a reputation for driving -his men too hard. They say that on this occasion, seeking the answer -to some problem that evaded him, he forced this assistant to labor for -weeks, begrudging him even a few hours sleep each night.</p> - -<p>"On the eve of the solution of the problem, this worker came to him, -nervous, ragged, exhausted, begging for a brief respite. Claiming he -was sick with overwork and fatigue. But John Cartaphilus insisted, -impatiently, there was no time for rest. He ordered the man to get -about his work.</p> - -<p>"The job was completed. But the friend died. The doctors said it -was a pure case of exhaustion. When he heard this, Cartaphilus' -brain snapped. He blamed himself for the man's death, fled Earth. He -became—or so we may believe—the wandering spaceman we found in the -asteroids."</p> - -<p>Cap McNeally frowned.</p> - -<p>"Do you believe that story, Brait?"</p> - -<p>I started to say no. I started to tell the skipper something else I had -discovered while probing into the life history of John Cartaphilus. -Something that, to my mind at least, more fully explained the oddness -of our erstwhile passenger.</p> - -<p>It was an old legend I had run across. The queer story of a man with -many names ("I have had so many names," Moran had said) who wandered -endlessly about the Earth, perhaps the universe now, simply because he -had not let another rest for a moment on his doorsill.</p> - -<p>Sometimes this man had been known as Cartaphilus. He had also been -known as Juan Espera en Dios, as Ahasverus, and as Butta Deus. The -Parisian gazette, "Turkish Spy," had in 1644 A.D. reported his presence -in that city traveling under the name of "Paul Marrane." But men in -general knew him by a more descriptive name. The Wandering Jew. The -Eternal Jew....</p> - -<p>But I did not tell Cap McNeally this. After all, it was a fanciful -thought. And surely Moran—or Marrane, or Cartaphilus—was mad when he -claimed to have met and talked with Simon Magnus twelve hundred years -ago?</p> - -<p>Anyway, when we saw that ad in the classified columns of this week's -<i>Spaceways Weekly</i>, and McNeally claimed Moran would return to claim -his reward, it raised again the question in my mind.</p> - -<p>Will he return? Or will he find, at last, whatever peace awaits him out -there? In the vast emptiness of space, where the power cannot—must -not—extend? I wonder....</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Castaway, by George Danzell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTAWAY *** - -***** This file should be named 61842-h.htm or 61842-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/8/4/61842/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Castaway - -Author: George Danzell - -Release Date: April 16, 2020 [EBook #61842] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTAWAY *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -THE CASTAWAY - -By GEORGE DANZELL - -Who was this bearded castaway of space? -Some said he was Jonah. Others thought -him a long-lost, mad scientist. But -Lieutenant Brait knew him by a name -that was old when the world was young. - -[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from -Planet Stories Winter 1940. -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -There was an ad in the classified columns of this week's _Spaceways -Weekly_. It asked for information concerning the whereabouts of one -"Paul Moran, last known to have taken off from Long Island Spaceport -for parts unlogged." Captain McNeally drew the notice to my attention. -He said, "Look at this, Brait. Wasn't Moran the chap we picked up in -the asteroids? It seems to me I remember--" - -"You should," I told him. "You see his name twice every shuttle, -engraved on cold steel. And you can be thankful for that. But I don't -think he'll answer this ad. I don't think they'll ever hear from him." - -"That," scoffed the Shipper, "is nonsense! Do you realize what this -means, Brait? This ad was inserted by the Government Patent Office. -There's a fortune waiting for Mr. Moran back on Earth, when he sees -this--" - -"A fortune waiting," I said softly, "when and if he ever sees it. But I -wonder, Skipper. I wonder." - - * * * * * - -We were about three thousand miles north, west and loft of Ceres -when we first sighted him. I remember that well, because I was on -the Bridge, and our Sparks, Toby Frisch, had just handed me a free -clearance report from the space commander of that planetoid. - -I read it and chuckled. I said, "Sparks, this bit of transcription is -a masterpiece. Nobody expects a radioman to be good-looking or have -brains, but blue space above, man, your spelling and grammar--" - -"Leave my relatives," said Sparks stiffly, "out of this. Is the message -O.Q. or ain't it?" - -"Yes," I told him, "with a light sprinkling of no. Sometimes I wish we -had a good operator aboard the _Antigone_. Like one of those Donovan -brothers, for instance." - -"Them guys!" sniffed Sparks. "Too wise for their britches, both of 'em. -I'm a bug-pounder, not a joke-book. If it's smart cracks you want, why -don't you buy an audio?" - -It was at this point that Lt. Russ Bartlett, First Mate of our ship, -who had been shooting the azimuth through the perilens, turned and -waved to me excitedly. - -"Brait, take a look! Quick! There's a man down below! On one of the -minor asteroids!" - -I said, "A joke, Bartlett? You'd better check the alignment of that -perilens. That's the Man in the Moon you see." - -Gunner McCoy, Bartlett's staunchest friend and admirer, looked up from -the rotor port, wrinkled his leathery, space-toughed cheeks into a -frown, and squirted mekel-juice at a distant gobboon. - -"Mebbe you better look, Mr. Brait," he said. "If Russ says there's a -man there, then there's a man there." - -So I looked. And to look was to act. I cut in my intercommunicating -unit and bawled a stop hypo order to Chief Lester in the engine room -below. Bartlett was right. There was a single, bulger-clad figure -sprawled on the craggy rock of a tiny asteroid hurtling beneath us. A -man who lay there quietly, did not rise, did not wave, gave no sign of -noticing our approach even when I dropped the _Antigone_ down toward -the spatial island. - -Bartlett, peering through the duplicate lens, said, "Dead, Brait. He -must have cracked up. He's not moving." - -But there was no wrecked spaceship anywhere around. I said, "We'll know -in a few minutes." And then the Skipper burst into the bridge, startled -and curious. "Something haywire, boys? Here, I'll take over." - -He was a good man, Cap McNeally. A hardened spacehound, canny and wise -to the ways of the void, always on deck in moments of emergency. That's -why the IPS, the Corporation for which we work, had placed him in -command of the _Antigone_, finest and fastest ship in the fleet. - -But I calmed his rotors. "Everything O.Q., sir," I told him. "We're -standing by to take on a space-wrecked sailor. I think." - -My guess was right. A few minutes later we threw out a grapple, -space-anchored the _Aunty_, and a rescue party landed on the asteroid. -They brought back with them a sad looking specimen of the genus _Homo -sapiens_. His cheeks were drained and sunken beneath a bristling, -unkempt beard; his skin was blistered frightfully from long exposure -to solars and cosmics; his limbs were so feeble that he couldn't walk -unaided. He had to be carried. - -Someone unscrewed his face-port for him. He drew a long, deep breath of -the pure _Antigone_ air. His wan eyes lighted dimly and he spoke in a -voice that was a thin husk of sound. - -"Thank you, gentlemen. I had hoped that at last I might--But you meant -well, I suppose." - -Which was, I thought at the time, a damned strange speech of gratitude. -But I had no time to answer. For his knees suddenly buckled beneath -him, his eyes closed. Had it not been for the friendly hands that -supported him, he would have pitched forward on his face. - -Cap McNeally snapped, "Sick-bay! Snap it up, you lubbers! The man's in -bad shape. Out on his feet, cold!" - -Sparks whispered, "Gosh, he looks like a corpus!" as the sailors bore -our unexpected passenger away. I stared at him disgustedly. - -"Corpse." I said. - -"Huh?" said Sparks. - -"Corpse!" I repeated. "Corpse!" - -"You," suggested Sparks, "oughta take somethin' for that indigestion, -Lootenant. My sister had it. It made her a physical reek." - -It's against the rules for a Second Mate to punch a radioman. So I -kicked him. There are limits. - - * * * * * - -That was our first meeting with the mysterious Paul Moran. We -didn't know his name then, of course. We learned that several days -later. After Doc Jurnegan, our medico, had coaxed, bulldozed and -sulfanilamided him back off the brink of the dark and nasty. - -Doc was the first to tag Moran with the adjective we all, eventually, -accepted. - -"It's the damnedest thing," he told me, "I've ever seen. Brait, I'll -swear on a pile of prescriptions that he didn't have one chance in a -million of pulling through. But he's still alive! - -"By rights, he should have been dead two weeks before we found him. -Do you know he was on that asteroid five solid weeks? Without food. -With only one container of water. With the oxygen reserve in his tank -practically exhausted! - -"And his condition--" Jurnegan shook his head uncomprehendingly. -"Deplorable! He was dessicated, undernourished, fouled from weeks in a -bulger. Acute cyanosis alone should have killed him. But--" - -I said, "The will-to-live, Doc. It's the determining factor in many a -borderline case. I've heard of men with holes in their heads you could -drive a stratoplane through who simply refused to--" - -"That's just it," said Jurnegan. "He _wants_ to die! He refused to take -food. I had to feed him intravenously and force him to drink. But in -spite of his physical and mental condition, he still lives. It--it's -mysterious, Brait!" - -So I went in to visit our strange passenger. - -He wasn't a bad looking chap, now that his whiskers had been plowed. -Thin, of course; hollow of cheek and eye. His skin was sallow, faintly -olive; the contours of his head long and narrow, short-indexed. He was -a typical Mediterannean, if what my profs taught me is right. Medium -stature, small-boned, thin, tapering fingers. Crisp, oily hair, black -as space. - -I said, "Well, you look like a new man!"--which he did, and, "You're -looking fine!" I said--which he wasn't. - -He turned his head slowly, studied me with grave, questioning eyes. His -voice was faint, but low and pleasing. - -"You are Mr. Brait, the Second Mate? I believe I have you to thank for -having rescued me?" - -"That's all right," I told him. - -"Why," he interrupted gently, "did you do it?" - -I said, "Oh, come now! You've got to perk up! You get a little flesh on -your bones and you'll feel better." - -But he went on, as though not hearing my words, "It was a chance. The -best chance I've had for years--a thousand years--and you took it from -me. Out there I might have found peace at last. The power cannot--it -_must_ not--extend into the depths of space." - - * * * * * - -His voice had risen; there was a light of madness, of strange, savage -intensity in his eyes. I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck -pringling. I knew, now, that the man had not come unscathed through his -experience. He was space crazy. Wildly, desperately so. I said, in what -I hoped was a soothing voice, - -"Now, take it easy, Mr.--er--Moran, isn't it?" - -The ghost of a smile touched his lips, and his body became less tense. -He said wearily, "Moran--yes. Or Ader. Or Cart--Oh, anything you -choose. It hardly seems important any more. I've had so many, many -names." - -That wasn't exactly encouraging. But at least he was quieter now. And I -had to know a few things about him to put in the ship's log. I asked, -"How did you get on that asteroid, Moran? Were you space-wrecked? If -so, what was the name of your craft? The authorities will want to know." - -He answered, almost mockingly, "I was marooned." - -"Marooned! But--but that's criminal! Who did it? We'll have them picked -up and punished!" - -"You'll do nothing of the sort. They marooned me on that asteroid -because I deserved it and I respect and thank them for it!" His voice -was rising again; higher, shriller. "I thank them, do you hear? I bless -them, a hundred, thousand, million times. Though their effort was in -vain. I was, and am, a Jonah. A Jonah, Jonah, _Jonah_!" - -He sat bolt upright in bed, screaming the word defiantly. Doc Jurnegan -raced in, glanced at me reproachfully and took his patient in hand. -"You'd better go, Brait," he suggested. - -So I left. The sweat on my forehead was damp and cold. I needed a drink. - -When I told Cap McNeally of my experience, he nodded soberly. - -"I know, Brait. I saw him before you did. And he acted just as loony -toward me. Warned me he was a Jonah--" - -"I'm not superstitious," I interrupted, "but there _are_ such things -as Jonahs. Men whose very presence aboard a spaceship seems to cause -trouble, dissention, disaster. You remember that Venusian blaster on -the _Goddard III_? The survivors always swore he caused the crack-up." - -"Moran's case," frowned the skipper, "is more than just superstition. -He told me that he never wanted to see Earth again. When I told him -that was too bad, that we were headed for Earth right now, he warned me -solemnly that he'd do everything in his power to prevent our getting -there. So what do you think of that?" - -"I think," I said glumly, "he's nuts! And if we pay any attention to -him, we'll all be nuts, too. Well, I've got to go, Cap. I've got to -check the shield generators before we go busting into Earth's H-layer." - -And I left. - - * * * * * - -Well, I was busy for the next four days on my job. It was a plenty -important job, and had to be done carefully. The H-layer of the -planets--the Kennelly-Heaviside layer--is a supertensioned field of -force similar in composition to the corona of a star. A wide swath -of ionized gas with high potential, serving as a shield against the -murderous Q- and ultra-violet rays that emanate from solar bodies. - -But the H-layer is a barrier as well as a shield. The first -space-flight experimenters learned that, and the knowledge cost them -their lives. For their craft hit the H-layer unguarded; and where had -been a glistening ship, now was pitted, blackened metal; where had been -life, now there was charred carbon. - -Now all spaceships were equipped with shield generators. They were -"generators" by courtesy only; actually they were huge condensers -fed by cable lines tied at intervals to the hull plates. The theory -was that as the craft plunged into and through the H-layer, these -condensers would absorb the excess potential, thus allowing the ship to -pass through unharmed. - -And it worked swell, most of the time. Oh, every year a few ships would -get theirs--would blow out in a blue wreath of coruscating flame--but -for the most part the trip was safe enough. Except, of course, when a -condenser was in bad condition. Which was why I was giving ours a check -and double check. - -Still, I could never rid myself of a queasy moment when we hit that -blanket of spark-happy ionization. Particularly when a planet was at -aphelion as Earth was now. Because at such times the H-layer was more -highly activated than usual. - -And to tell the truth, I wasn't satisfied with the way my work was -going. First I hit my thumb with a monkey-wrench. It didn't hurt -the wrench, but the thumb turned pale mauve and throbbed like a -sixteen-year-old kid's pulse on his first hayride. - -Then I lost a brass collar off the hull-brace, and since we didn't -carry a reserve stock I had to ask Chief Lester to make me one. By the -time that was ready, I'd busted a .44 coil cable lock, and had to -jerry-rig a substitute. - -Oh, it was a headache! But I wasn't the only guy on board the _Aunty_ -who was having troubles. Slops raised a howl to high heaven because his -stove went on the squeegee. Gunner McCoy stalked into the officer's -mess one afternoon demanding what such-and-such so-and-so had stripped -the gears of his pet rotor-gun. Sparks burned out three vacuum tubes -in one day, breaking contact with all transmitting stations and almost -causing us to crack up on a rogue asteroid. Even Cap McNeally was -visited by the plague. He came wailing to me, on the bridge, that the -refrigeration units in the No. 3 storage bin had broken down. - -"--and we've lost a whole binfull of _clab_, Brait! Worth at least six -thousand credits on Earth. The Corporation will be mad as hell." - -"That's tough," I said, "but there's nothing we can do about it. It -wasn't your fault." - -He eyed me curiously. "Brait--" he said. - -"Yes, Cap?" - -"I've been wondering--do you think there could be anything in what -Moran said? About him being a--a--" - -"Jonah?" I'd been thinking the same thing myself. "I don't know, -Skipper. I wouldn't say yes, and I wouldn't say no. But there's no -doubt about it, things have been going haywire ever since we picked him -up. I'll be glad when he lifts gravs off the _Aunty_." - -Cap said petulantly, "Of course it's just nonsense. Bad luck doesn't -hang around one man like that. It's against the law of averages. Still, -I wish you'd sort of keep an eye on him for the next three days, Brait. -Till we land on Earth. I've got a notion--" - -"So has Earth," I grinned. "Five of 'em. Atlantic, Pacific, Indian and -the two Etceteras. What's yours?" - -"It might," frowned the skipper. "Be sabotage. He said he'd do -everything in his power to prevent our reaching Earth. And he's up and -around now." - -"If you think that," I suggested, "why don't you shove him in the -clink, just to make sure?" - -"Can't do it. Because I've no _proof_ he's responsible for these -occurrences, and besides, a rescued passenger is entitled to the -courtesy of the ship." - - * * * * * - -So that's how I assumed, in addition to the rest of my duties, the job -of watch-dogging the mysterious Paul Moran. As Cap McNeally had said, -Moran was up and about now. He had made what Doc Jurnegan claimed was -the swiftest recovery in the annals of medicine. He still looked like -a skeleton in search of a square meal. But there was sanity in his -eyes. If not always in his speech. Like that afternoon in Sparks' radio -turret, for instance. - -We had been talking, Sparks and I, about space-flight. What a great -thing it was. How, only in its infancy, it was already changing man's -outlook, widening the borders of man's domain, creating a newer, -greater universe. - -"We got," Sparks said, "reason to be proud of ourselves. Gee, I was -readin' in the library--" - -"You," I interrupted wonderingly, "can read?" - -"Comets to you, Lootenant!" sniffed Sparks. "As I was sayin' before I -was so rudely ruptured, I was readin' in the library some old books -from the Twentieth Century. Just about a hundred an' fifty years old, -mind you! They had the craziest ideas about what men would find on -other planets, if an' when they ever got there. Flame-men, an' robots, -an' all sorts of things. - -"Nothin' like what we actually found. 'Course, we shouldn't laugh at -'em too much. They had no way of knowin'. We're the first people ever -traveled in space." - -"No!" said Moran. - -Sparks said patiently, "Well, I didn't mean us here in this room. Of -course we ain't. But I mean the people of our time." - -"And I still say," said Moran gravely, "no! Man in all ages is a -creature of conceit, self-pride, self-glorification. There was -space-flight long before you lived, Sparks. A race, long dead now, from -a neighbor planet." - -I said gently, "You're thinking of those pyramids found on Venus and -Mars, Moran? I know that's a puzzler to modern science. And I've read -several theories regarding their builders. But most authorities agree -that their mere presence does not necessarily imply the existence of a -single race of engineers. The pyramid is a fundamental structural form. -Any intelligent race--" - -"Man," said Moran almost sadly. "Man the dreamer; Man the doubter. No, -Lieutenant, I am not speaking of theories, now. I am speaking of tales -I've heard; accounts I've read in archives long molded into dust. At -least three times in the past have civilized races spanned the void. It -was the dying Martian race that first achieved space-flight. They found -Venus a rank and stinking jungle, but on Earth certain of them set up -their new abode." He smiled quietly. "And reverted to savagery, as is -always the case when civilized men, removed from the source of their -culture, find themselves face to face with stark reality. - -"Then it was the Moon-creatures who fled their airless world, spanned -the distance to nearby earth." - -I said, "That's an interesting thought, Moran. It explains the -coloration of the races of man, doesn't it? I'd like to read that book -you mentioned. Where can I get it?" - -He shook his head sadly. - -"You can't, Lt. Brait. The last copy of it was destroyed more than -twelve centuries ago. Simon Magnus was the last man to read it as I -remember. I loaned it to him--" - -He stopped abruptly. But Sparks' eyes were plate-sized and incredulous. -"--you loaned it to him?" - -I spun on Sparks, angry. Jurnegan had told us to humor Moran, help him -to a complete recovery. I didn't approve of this, not a little bit. I -snapped, "That'll do, Sparks! Good Lord, man--What's the matter, Moran?" - -For suddenly his face had paled, his eyes widened in horror, and he was -backing away from me. He thrust out a trembling hand, gasped hoarsely, -"Have a care, Brait! 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord, thy -God, in vain--'!" - -Then he fled; his running footsteps clattered down the ramp, and the -echoes were strangely disturbing. Sparks stared after him, then made a -circular motion at his temple. - -"Nuts!" he said. "Crazy as a loon, Lootenant." - - * * * * * - -Oh, he was an odd one, that Moran. Those next days are somehow garbled -in my mind. They were so full of incident that now, looking back upon -them, I can hardly distinguish between that which actually _was_, and -that which an active imagination conjured for me out of fancy. - -This I do know--it was the worst trip I've ever experienced in the -_Antigone_ or any other ship. Something was always wrong. Lt. Russ -Bartlett, whose mind is as accurate as the cogs of a computing machine, -discovered to his dismay that he had made an error in calculation; that -at our present rate of speed we would miss Earth entirely and plunge -Sunward at a rate that would destroy us all. He discovered that by -sheer accident, and just in time to scream a hasty, "Cut hypos!" to the -engine room, else I wouldn't be here to tell it. Then there was that -mysterious occurrence in the galley. Our cook had a pet cat, and if it -weren't for his habit of feeding the pussy before he fed the crew, half -of us would be stiff now. Because the cat slopped up its dinner and -forthwith proceeded to give up all nine of its lives simultaneously. -Ptomaine, from faulty food tins. The first time such a thing had -happened in more than forty years! - -You couldn't say Moran was behind either of these near-disasters. For -I was dogging his footsteps; I'll take my oath he was not involved. -Physically, that is. But they say a Jonah's curse works even though the -Jonah takes no actual part. - -Oh, he was an odd one, that Moran. For instance, the time Sparks' -selenium plate blew out. It was Moran who got permission to use -the machine shop, construct a substitute out of a uranoid-steel -atmochamber. We used that freak audio throughout the trip, then -replaced it with a standard one when we reached Earth. Like dopes! -Because two years later that screwball First Mate of the _Saturn_ -"invented" a uranium time-speech-trap exactly like the one Moran made -us. He earned a quarter million credits from it. Imagine! - -Then there was the time, as we were approaching the Lunar outpost, -that our calculating machine jammed. Lieutenant Bartlett and Cap -McNeally were in a dither trying to figure the approach velocity. It's -a fifteen-minute job for the machine; a six-hour job for a man's brain. -But Moran, who happened by, glanced casually at the declension chart, -said, "Cut to forty-three at 3.05 Earth Standard, Captain. Maintain -full speed for point three five parsecs, alter declension to north one, -loft seven, fire fore jets twice--" - -Having no better idea, McNeally did as Moran suggested. And we warped -past the Moon oh-oh-oh on trajectory! - - * * * * * - -Which put us within scant hours of Earth's H-layer. And which also -roused in me the realization that the mysterious Paul Moran was more -than the ordinary space-sailor he pretended to be. Maybe I'm snoopy, -I don't know. Anyway, I went to the radio room. I told Sparks grimly, -"You and I are going to find out just who or what this Moran guy is. -Send a message, Sparks. To Fred Bender, at Long Island Spaceport. -Tell him to find out if there's a scientist missing who answers to -this description. Five feet, seven and a half inches; a hundred and -twenty-five pounds, dark hair, brown eyes--" - -The relay of that description and the subsequent reply took longer than -I had anticipated. That's why Sparks and I were among the last to learn -of the new trouble. We didn't learn until, excited, we burst onto the -bridge, confronted the skipper with our information. - -"Look, Skipper!" I yelled. "No wonder 'Moran' was able to fix Sparks' -radio and set your course! Do you--" - -And the Captain raised haggard eyes to me. - -"Brait, where have you been? I've been audioing all over the ship for -you." - -"In Sparks' cabin. Listen, though. Moran is--" - -"I don't care," said the skipper wearily, "who he is. And in a -little while, nobody else will, either. Your check-up, Mr. Brait, -was a miserable failure! We are only an hour and a half out of the -H-layer--and the shield generators refuse to function!" - -I just stared at him for a minute. When I caught my breath, there was -only enough of it for one word. - -"Impossible!" - -"Impossible, maybe," acknowledged the First Mate, "but unfortunately, -Don, the Captain's right. Three lead-in cables are broken, the -stripping is off the condenser." - -"But--but everything was in perfect order an hour ago! I don't -understand! Yes, I do! Moran! He said he'd destroy us all if he got a -chance! Skipper, there's the answer. He's done it. The madman--" - -Then there was a mirthful chuckle in the doorway, and Moran was -standing there looking at us, his thin lips wide in a smile. - -"You're right, Brait. I _did_ do it. But I'm not a madman. I'm a happy -man. The happiest man who ever lived!" His eyes lighted triumphantly; -he stretched his arms above his head in a great, yearning gesture. -"Soon will come freedom! The great, everlasting freedom of death." - -"Get him!" said the Skipper succinctly. Gunner McCoy lumbered forward, -his long, hairy arms encircled Moran's body. The Skipper pawed his -graying thatch. "This is no time for reproaches, Mr. Brait. I told you -to guard this man; for some reason you failed to do so. But now our -problem is to repair the damage he has done. Or else--" - -His pause was significant. But Moran's quiet, mocking laughter -persisted. - -"It is useless, Captain. Not in hours, no, not in weeks, will you -repair the damage. Don't you see--" There was a feverish light in his -eyes, a shuddering vibrancy in his voice. "Don't you see that I bring -you the greatest of all boons known to man? - -"Death! Wonderful, blissful death! Death that I have sought so long ... -so hopelessly." - -Those were the last words I heard for some time. I dashed from the -room, Bartlett, Sparks and McCoy at my heels. We picked up the Chief -Engineer. We covered the _Antigone_ from stern to stern. And our worst -fears were realized. It was no use. The damage Moran had done was -irreparable. - -Russ Bartlett said, "There's only one way out. We mustn't try to -penetrate the Heaviside layer. We must shift trajectory, pass Earth -and remain in space until we get the shield generator operating again." - -And Chief Lester said somberly, "Have you forgotten the trajectory you -planned, Lieutenant Bartlett?" - -"The trajectory?" - -"I thought it was unusual," rumbled the engineer, "when you called -it down to me. It's paper-thin, balanced on a knife-edge between -counter-gravitations. If we try to shift course now, we'll tear the -ship into shreds!" - -I knew, now, why Moran had come up with such a ready answer when the -computer failed. He had planned well. He had deliberately forced us -into this trajectory from which there was no escape. - - * * * * * - -Back on the bridge, we found Captain McNeally pacing the deck like a -caged cat. Moran was silent, watchful intent, with an unholy gleam -of justification lighting his curious eyes. The skipper looked up -hopefully as we entered. - -"Well, gentlemen?" - -Bartlett shook his head. - -McNeally was silent for a long moment. His glance roved the smart, -glistening interior of the _Antigone's_ control room. I knew exactly -what he was thinking. It was too bad that this smooth perfection, this -finest ship built by master craftsmen, should become a brief, winking -flame in the atmospheric borders of Earth. - -And it was tough that we must all go out together like this. Through no -fault of our own. Through the machinations of a space-mad castaway. He -turned to me. "Lieutenant Brait, you and Sparks will go to the radio -turret. Send a complete report to the Earth authorities. Tell them--" -He gulped. "Tell them why the--the _Antigone_ will not come in." - -I said, "Aye, aye, sir!" mechanically, and started for the door. But -Sparks stopped me. - -"Ain't you gonna tell 'em what we learned?" - -"Eh?" - -"About _him_?" - -He jerked his head toward 'Moran'. - -"It doesn't really make any difference now," I said. "But--" I suppose -my voice was scornful. There was scorn and bitterness in my heart. -"They might as well know that the man who has condemned us all to -death is--or was--one of Earth's greatest scientists. Had he not become -a raving lunatic his genius could have stemmed this disaster." - -McNeally said, "What's that, Lieutenant? What do you mean?" - -"I mean this man's name is not 'Paul Moran'--" - -"Names," murmured Moran gently. "What difference does a name make? When -one has had thousands of names." - -"His name," I continued, "is John Cartaphilus!" - -Bartlett said, "Cartaphilus!" In a leap he was at our strange guest's -side, his voice eager. "Then he will--he _must_--help us! - -"Cartaphilus, listen to me! Of all men, only you have the genius to -devise some way of escaping this peril! You've been mad, sir! Insane -from your privations! But now I beg that you cast aside this madness, -come to our rescue!" - -Moran--or Cartaphilus--brushed his hand aside. A dreamy look was in his -eyes. - -"Death at last!" he whispered. "Oh, sweet boon of mankind--death! I who -have suffered so long, waited such a long time--" - -"Can't you hear me, man? Snap out of it! Time is growing short. In a -half hour, maybe less, we'll nose into the H-layer. And then--Please, -sir!" - -But there was no reply. Captain McNeally looked at me uncertainly. "Are -you sure, Brait?" - -"Positive. I forwarded a description to Bender at L.I. He said -Cartaphilus has been missing for a year and a half. He fled Earth -because of a scandal. It seems--" - -"Never mind that now." McNeally confronted the insane scientist. "Mr. -Cartaphilus, you must help us out of this jam! We're not thinking only -of ourselves, but of the mothers and children waiting for us on Earth. -And of the future of space-travel. If the _Antigone_, the finest ship -ever built, blows out in the H-layer, it will strike a heavy blow at -all astronavigation. Help us, sir! For Heaven's sake--" - -Cartaphilus spoke suddenly, sharply. - -"Don't say that!" - -"Only Heaven can save us now," said McNeally simply, "if you won't. -It's our only hope. May the Lord help us if you--" - -"Don't!" The strange, thin man screamed the word. Suddenly he buried -his face in his hands, and his words were an incoherent babble of -torment. "Don't you see what you're doing? Man, have you no pity?" - -He raised wide, tortured eyes. "The endlessness of time--" he -whispered. "But I thought that, free of Earth, lost in the depths of -space, I might at last find peace. But now you call upon me to save you -in His name. - -"I won't do it! I won't! The power cannot force me, here in the void. -Two thousand years.... No! No!" - - * * * * * - -McNeally stepped back, torn between dread and doubt. He shook his head -at us. "It's no use. He's completely mad." - -Then Russ Bartlett cried, "Wait! _Listen!_" - -For Cartaphilus, his face worn and aged, had bowed his head as -though surrendering to forces greater than his will-to-die. And he -was droning in a drab, lack-lustre voice, "Tell the engineer to -reverse the polarity of the alternate hypatomic motors. Transmit the -counter electromotive force helically through the forward coils. -Use full power. Keep all motors running at top speed. Cut out the -intercommunicating and lighting systems; there must be no D.C. current -in operation anywhere on the ship. The cross-currents will--" - -Chief Engineer Lester's face was a masque of blank dismay. He husked, -"A hysteresis bloc! It might work. Nobody ever thought of it before." - -"What do you mean?" That was Cap McNeally. - -"His suggestion. Heterodyning the web-coils, so we'll counter the -H-layer radiation with an alternating current of our own. It's just -about one chance in a million!" - -"Then take that chance!" cried the skipper. "Try it! Do as he says. -And, for God's sake, man, _hurry_!" - -Cartaphilus, his eyes drained of all expression, rose sluggishly. Once -more he spoke, faintly. "It will work," he said. "It will work, and I -have failed again. And all because I would not let Him rest...." - -His voice broke in a great, wrenching sob. Then he lurched from the -control room like a broken thing. - - * * * * * - -I never saw him again. No one aboard the _Antigone_ ever saw him again. -For the next hour we were in a turmoil, rearranging the electrical -units of the ship as Cartaphilus had told us. We finished our task just -in time; scant seconds after we had thrown on the power we nosed into -the web-like field of force which is the H-layer. - -It was a breathless moment. Despite our efforts, there was not a man of -us but expected a brief, brilliant instant of horror--then oblivion. -But we were as wrong as Cartaphilus had been right. There was a jolt -as our forcefield met that of Earth's shield; the permalloy hull of -the ship sang and hummed and glowed cherry-red under the impact of -that terrific electromotive strain, but we slipped through the barrier -with greater ease than ever had any ship using the old style shield -generators. - -In our jubilation we quite forgot the mad scientist whose strange, -last-minute change of mind had saved our lives. We landed. And sometime -between the moment of landing and the moment when we remembered our -passenger, he fled. Disappeared completely from the ship and from our -lives. - -Cap McNeally was nothing if not a square-shooter. He refused to take -credit for the invention that had brought us through the H-layer. The -patent rights were taken out in the name of our deranged passenger. -The "Moran H-penetrant" it is called. All spaceships used it until -just recently; until Cap Hawkins of the _Andromeda_ and the Venusian -scientist, Jar Farges, discovered Ampies could be used as H-layer -shields. - -But afterward, Cap McNeally came to me, wondering. - -"Why should he have wanted to die, Brait? I can't understand it. A man -like John Cartaphilus; wealthy, intelligent, respected--was he really -mad, do you think?" - -I hesitated. I, too, had been wondering about that. I had gone so far -as to look up the life history of the mad scientist. I had found -several curious things. No man knew when, or where, John Cartaphilus -had been born. All agreed that he was "remarkably youthful" in -appearance. It was rumored that he had outlived a wife married in -youth; that she had been an elderly woman when she died. - -I said, "I told you there had been a scandal in his life, recently, -Skipper. It concerned a friend of his, a worker in one of his shops. - -"Cartaphilus was, and is, a genius, but he has a reputation for driving -his men too hard. They say that on this occasion, seeking the answer -to some problem that evaded him, he forced this assistant to labor for -weeks, begrudging him even a few hours sleep each night. - -"On the eve of the solution of the problem, this worker came to him, -nervous, ragged, exhausted, begging for a brief respite. Claiming he -was sick with overwork and fatigue. But John Cartaphilus insisted, -impatiently, there was no time for rest. He ordered the man to get -about his work. - -"The job was completed. But the friend died. The doctors said it -was a pure case of exhaustion. When he heard this, Cartaphilus' -brain snapped. He blamed himself for the man's death, fled Earth. He -became--or so we may believe--the wandering spaceman we found in the -asteroids." - -Cap McNeally frowned. - -"Do you believe that story, Brait?" - -I started to say no. I started to tell the skipper something else I had -discovered while probing into the life history of John Cartaphilus. -Something that, to my mind at least, more fully explained the oddness -of our erstwhile passenger. - -It was an old legend I had run across. The queer story of a man with -many names ("I have had so many names," Moran had said) who wandered -endlessly about the Earth, perhaps the universe now, simply because he -had not let another rest for a moment on his doorsill. - -Sometimes this man had been known as Cartaphilus. He had also been -known as Juan Espera en Dios, as Ahasverus, and as Butta Deus. The -Parisian gazette, "Turkish Spy," had in 1644 A.D. reported his presence -in that city traveling under the name of "Paul Marrane." But men in -general knew him by a more descriptive name. The Wandering Jew. The -Eternal Jew.... - -But I did not tell Cap McNeally this. After all, it was a fanciful -thought. And surely Moran--or Marrane, or Cartaphilus--was mad when he -claimed to have met and talked with Simon Magnus twelve hundred years -ago? - -Anyway, when we saw that ad in the classified columns of this week's -_Spaceways Weekly_, and McNeally claimed Moran would return to claim -his reward, it raised again the question in my mind. - -Will he return? Or will he find, at last, whatever peace awaits him out -there? In the vast emptiness of space, where the power cannot--must -not--extend? I wonder.... - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Castaway, by George Danzell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTAWAY *** - -***** This file should be named 61842.txt or 61842.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/8/4/61842/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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