Read Ebook: Trouble on Titan by Kuttner Henry Morey Leo Illustrator

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Ebook has 365 lines and 15352 words, and 8 pages

It was perhaps fortunate that there was no special significance to Myrtle in the name of Clement Lindsay. Since the adventure which had brought these two young persons together, and, after coming so near a disaster, had ended in a mere humiliation and disappointment, and but for Master Gridley's discreet kindness might have led to foolish scandal, Myrtle had never referred to it in any way. Nobody really knew what her plans had been except Olive and Cyprian, who had observed a very kind silence about the whole matter. The common version of the story was harmless, and near enough to the truth,--down the river,--boat upset,--pulled out,--taken care of by some women in a house farther down,--sick, brain fever,--pretty near it, anyhow,--old Dr. Hurlbut called in,--had her hair cut,--hystericky, etc., etc.

Myrtle was contented with this statement, and asked no questions, and it was a perfectly understood thing that nobody alluded to the subject in her presence. It followed from all this that the name of Clement Lindsay had no peculiar meaning for her. Nor was she like to recognize him as the youth in whose company she had gone through her mortal peril, for all her recollections were confused and dream-like from the moment when she awoke and found herself in the foaming rapids just above the fall, until that when her senses returned, and she saw Master Byles Gridley standing over her with that look of tenderness in his square features which had lingered in her recollection, and made her feel towards him as if she were his daughter.

Now this had its advantage; for as Clement was Susan's young man, and had been so for two or three years, i a postmortem being done?"

Von Zorn nodded.

"The report ought to be ready by now if you want to check up." He chewed his cigar savagely. "If only one man of the crew had lived! We've got a smash hit dumped on our laps and goodness knows if we can even film it."

Kathleen put her head through a wrenched door-frame. She was a little pale.

"Really, Tony, it's rather horrible. I hadn't realized--I never saw a space wreck before."

"Let's get on the televisor," Quade said decisively. "I'd like to check on the postmortems."

He swung out through the half-fused port, and the others followed him into the Patrol office. A few minutes' conversation with the authorities was all that was necessary when Von Zorn used his name. Then a gaunt face above a white jacket dawned on the screen. There were introductions.

"Did you find anything out of the ordinary?" Quade asked.

The reflected head shook negatively.

"Well, not what you'd expect, anyhow. The crash certainly killed them all, if that's what you mean. No question of foul play. But--" He hesitated.

"But what?"

"Antibodies," said the man reluctantly. "Something new. I can't get any trace of a virus. Apparently some disease attacked the men. Their systems built up antibodies that I never encountered before. Something funny about the neural tissues, too. The cellular structure's altered a little."

Von Zorn thrust his head toward the screen.

"But what was it? That's what we want to know. Were they conscious when they died?"

"I think not. My theory is that Udell and his crew were attacked by some disease native to Titan. Maybe the same disease that turned the Zonals into idiots."

"I've got to go to Titan myself," Quade said slowly. "Suppose we work there in spacesuits. Could a virus get through metal or glass?"

"I think you'd be safe. Mind you, that's just my opinion. There's such a thing as a filterable virus, you know. But, judging by the antibodies, I'd say there'd be no risk if you wore spacesuits constantly, outside your ship."

"It won't be easy," Quade said, "but it's better than infection."

"We've taken tests of the wrecked ship," the man in the screen told them. "No trace of any unusual disease-germ or virus. We've tested samples on protoplasmic cultures and got nothing but the ordinary bugs present everywhere. Sorry I can't tell you more."

Kathleen looked worried.

"I--I don't like it, Tony. Do you have to--"

"Can't leave a flicker like that unfinished," Quade said. "I saw the reel Udell sent in. It's magnificent theater. The tragedy of the Zonals--one of the biggest epics the System ever saw. They used to be highly civilized at one time, historians think, but something wrecked their brains.

"They acted for Udell--magnificently. They lived their roles. And that's what's so mysterious, Kathleen. The Zonals aren't really smart enough to come in out of the rain."

"Could it have been faked?" the girl asked.

"No," Von Zorn said decisively. "No question of robots. Udell made ace actors out of--of sub-idiots. The question is how?"

"Same way you did with that new crooner you're starring, maybe," Quade said rather sardonically. He was examining a slip of paper. "I picked this up in Udell's ship--it's a list of supplies he planned to get in Hollywood on the Moon. That's probably why he came back from Titan--he ran out of some things he needed. Let's see. Why did he want neo-curare?"

"What's that?" Von Zorn asked.

"Derivative of curare. A poison that paralyzes the motor nerves. I didn't know the Zonals had nerves."

"Their neural structure's atrophied, Tony. Mm-m. What else is on that list?"

"Cusconidin, Monsel's Salt, sodium sulphoricinate, a baresthesiometer, lenses, filters, camera stuff--nothing special in the medical supplies Udell wanted. You've got to jazz up the pharmacy when you're in space, anyhow. Your katabolism changes, and so on. Variant drugs--"

Von Zorn spoke abruptly.

"There was something about a degenerate race of Zonals that attacked Udell's party, I think. An outlaw tribe. They had a high resistance to wounds; pretty invulnerable. Neo-curare's a fast-working poison, isn't it?

"Well--there's your answer. Special ammunition against that particular tribe in case they attacked again. Udell probably intended to smear neo-curare on his ammunition."

"Could be," Quade said. He hesitated, thumbed a button and called Wolfe, his assistant, on the televisor. The youngster's thin face and sharp blue eyes flashed into visibility on the screen.

"Hello, Tony. What's up?"

"Got the camera-ship ready for the take-off?"

"Sure."

"Well, here are some more supplies I want you to get. Photostat it."

Quade pressed Udell's list face down against the screen. After a moment Wolfe said, "Got it."

Von Zorn seized the paper and began scanning it. Abruptly he emitted the anguished howl of a disemboweled wolf.

"Wait, Tony!" he cried desperately. "Not that! Venusian cochineal at a hundred dollars a pint, current quotation? Use surrogate red. It's almost as good, and we don't need--"

"I want everything--understand?" Quade said to the televisor. "Don't leave out a thing."

Stabbed in the budget, Von Zorn spun toward Kathleen Gregg.

"Next he'll want diamond lenses and radium paint for technicolor effects, I suppose. Thirty-odd concentrated aqueous dyes--and they won't even show on the celluloid!"

"The Zonals spend a lot of time underwater," Quade said patiently. "And underwater camera work under alien conditions is tricky. You've got to experiment with the right dyes and special filters and lenses before you can get complete submarine clarity."

"You've ordered enough concentrated dye to color the Pacific," Von Zorn mourned. "Lake Erie at least. Why couldn't Udell have found the right dye before he broke his contract?"

"Broke his contract?" Kathleen said wonderingly. "He didn't--"

"He's dead, isn't he?" Von Zorn snarled and went off, as Quade rather suspected, to beat a child star--any child star who wasn't big enough to be dangerous.

Quade got busy preparing for the expedition.

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