The Gods Hate Kansas Read online

  “I’ll go with you. Curt, what are we going to do next? We can’t fight an army of controlled slaves on the moon. You seem to have lost your projector and I gave mine to Allen.”

  Temple shrugged helplessly. “Play it by ear, I guess. We can’t jump out and walk back so we’ll just have to follow through.”

  To his surprise he found gravity normal, probably maintained by artificial means. If by chance they should survive and win this fantastic war, there were enough secrets in this ship alone to advance terrestrial space science a hundred years in one leap. At the moment, he thought dismally, the survival chances were extremely slim.

  They crept along a narrow corridor, lined with closed sliding doors. Walls and ceiling were covered with a black, tar-like substance that resembled the meteorites as he had studied them through glasses. It was probably the same cosmic ray shield that had enabled the entities to survive the journey through space.

  At the end of the corridor they peered cautiously into the control room of the rocket. Temple’s breath caught, not at the intricacy but at the simplicity of the layout. He had expected a bailing maze of weird and unfamiliar instruments. Instead, Rocossen lay in a massively padded reclining seat before a panel that bore a single dial, four snap switches and one movable control knob. Apparently the operation from blast-off to landing was almost entirely automated.

  In front of him a large television screen was filled with a color image of the moon with the massive crater of Plato in the exact center. Every detail stood out in breathtaking, almost three-dimensional clarity. Temple could pick out the nearby craters of Eudoxis and Cassini and identify the individual peaks of the great saw-toothed mountain ranges. The weird, unexplained colors in the depths of Plato were faintly diffused, indicating the presence of some form of atmosphere. A smaller screen bore a receding image of Earth, dimly lit and red-haloed.

  Rocossen stirred, turned his head and saw them. His mouth flew open and his eyes went wide. “You! I thought you were both finished, or at least stopped.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Rocky,” Temple said dryly, “but the opportunity to visit the moon was irresistible.”

  “It is better this way,” Rocossen said, relaxing. “Now the great Monj himself will be able to watch the removal of your annoying plate and the occupation of your brain. There is knowledge there we need and it has already been too long withheld.”

  “Monj?” Temple said. “Who in the devil…?”

  “Monj, the Master of the Moon,” Rocossen said, drawing himself stiffly upright on the seat. “Our great leader whose intelligence planned and directed our project.” He snatched a projector from his belt and leveled it, his eyes alight with malicious triumph. “This time I’ll make sure that you are in no condition to cause trouble when you confront Monj.”

  Lee gasped sharply. Temple suddenly yawned with elaborate nonchalance, leaned against the bulkhead and casually examined his own fingernails. “If this ship is insulated against cosmic rays, then it must also keep out all less powerful radiations as well. Tell me, old boy, where is that trinket going to collect the energy its crystal is supposed to concentrate into a paralysis beam?”

  The expression on Rocossen’s face was ludicrous in its dawning comprehension. In a pleasant, conversational voice, Temple drawled, “It looks as if you chaps goofed again, doesn’t it?”

  The little physicist snarled a curse and hurled the projector at Temple’s head. It bounced off the bulkhead as Rocossen exploded from the seat and threw himself onto Temple, hitting, kicking, clawing like a wildcat. They went to the floor in a savage, struggling tangle. Temple had his hands full simply keeping his face away from those clawed hands.

  “Try to hold him still until I can slug him with this, Curt.” Lee was circling, waving a silver pocket flask. “I didn’t want to risk damaging the projector so I went hunting for a club. One of the Plague victims back there had this in his pocket.”

  “Is there anything in it?” Temple panted.

  “It’s full.” She twisted the cap and sniffed. “Whiskey. But this is no time…”

  With a furious effort, Temple got the squirming Rocossen pinned down and held out his hand. “Hand it to me with the cap off.”

  As Lee gaped he began pouring liquor into Rocossen’s mouth, pinching his nostrils to make him swallow. He grinned up at her. “It just occurred to me than an entity would have a jolly time trying to control a brain buzzing with alcohol fumes. As I remember, two drinks had Rocky climbing the wall.”

  In the battered detector screen he caught a glimpse of the violet blob jerking free and darting erratically off down the corridor. Beneath him Rocossen’s struggling figure went limp. He got to his feet, panting from the exertion of the struggle.

  The little physicist shuddered, opened bleary eyes, hiccupped and sat up. “Curtish! And Mish Mashon! You free me from my shameful bondage. Wordsh can never expresh my appre—appre—my gratitude. Oh, to think that I, a Doctor of Philosliophy and Fellof of the Royal Shoshiety, would be forshed to do horrible, shameful—” He put his face in his hands and sobbed.

  “Don’t let it break you up, Rocky,” Temple said, winking at Lee. “You had plenty of distinguished company in your life of shame. Our job now is to see that it doesn’t recur.”

  Rocossen lifted an angry, tear-streaked face. “Wait till I get my handsh on that Monj, Mashter of the Moon. I’ll kill the shon of a bish.”

  “And I’ll probably let you,” Temple said. “First we have to figure how to keep ourselves alive and get at him.”

  “Curt!” Lee clutched his arm. “We forgot something. You’ve driven out his controlling entity. What if he can’t remember how to land the rocket?”

  Rocossen lurched to his feet. “No problem at all, Mish Mashon. ’Sh’all automatic.” He blinked owlishly up at the viewscreen. “In fact, we’ve already landed.”

  Temple whirled and gaped at the screen. The image of the moon had been replaced by that of a great vaulted cavern, with a lighted tunnel in the center of the screen. He whirled and thrust the half-empty flask into Lee’s hand.

  “Bottoms up, sweet. Down this to the last delicious drop.”

  “Me? But why?”

  “Because, my girl, otherwise the first thing they’ll do out there is yank off your silver cap and take over your brain again, and I’d rather save the rest of our battles until after we’re married.” He swung around to the other. “You’ve made this trip often enough, Rocky. What will we be facing out there?”

  “Slaves—hundreds of poor, helplesh devils like myshelf. Huge, glowing caverns. Mines that go almost down to the shenter of the moon. Ugly monsters like nothing you ever shaw, even in a nightmare. And thoushands of those things hovering in the air. I never saw ’em but I could feel their intelligence flowing all around me.”

  Temple shuddered. “A delightful picture of our hosts but not of our future. But I guess we haven’t much choice.”

  “Curtis!” Rocossen staggered against him, clawing at his arm. “You’re not going out there to face them? You can’t! You don’t know the fearful danger.” Shock was sobering him rapidly but Temple hoped enough fumes would remain in his brain to provide immunity for at least a time.

  “If we don’t face them now,” he said somberly, “we may have to later as conquerors of the Earth. Now that they know how, it shouldn’t be hard for them to launch more shielded meteorites with enough entities to take over. And they have the big rocket to haul an army of controlled slaves.” He frowned at Lee who was choking on the last of the liquor. “I hope that doesn’t hit you the way it did Rocky.”

  She grinned. “Wel-l-l, I won’t say I’m exactly hilariously happy, but on the other hand I’m not afraid of the big bad moon wolf any more. Shall we go before that feeling wears off?”

  CHAPTER 15

  The Vards

  The port lock finished opening and the trio stared out into a tunnel, brightly lit by banks of glowing rods in the ceiling. It appeared to be empty, but Temple’s d
etector screen showed entities hovering in a watchful cloud some distance back.

  As they stepped from the rocket, Temple saw that what had appeared to be a tunnel was actually a telescoping metal tube, extended to form an airtight seal around the port. In tense silence they walked forward, alert for attack that failed to come. There was no sign of visible life as far as they could see.

  Abruptly the passage turned and opened into a great vaulted cavern, completely lined with the black shielding substance. All along one side massive machines of unfamiliar design and unknown purpose hummed quietly behind low metal screens. Beyond, a broad passage slanted steeply downward, reminding Temple of Rocossen’s babble about mines in the center of the moon.

  Opposite, a closed door was set into the wall, and beside it hung six objects that could only be space suits meant for human beings or creatures of human form. They were constructed of an unfamiliar metal, with oxygen tanks and bulbous, transparent helmets.

  Temple studied them blankly, gave up and shifted his gaze. A deep shadowy alcove seemed to be filled with odd doll-like objects. He started, then gulped at the realization that they were unrevived Plague bodies, standing in rows like logs on end.

  A gasp from Lee brought his head around and for the first time he saw the three living men. The one in the center, tall and gaunt, bore the most vivid and gigantic entity his detector had ever revealed. He did not need Rocossen’s awed whisper to know that he was face to face with Monj, Master of the Moon.

  But what wrung a gasp of stunned incredulity from his lips was the circle of monstrous shapes that came slithering out of the shadows on both sides to surround them. Lee’s fingers went tight on his arm, pressing with unconscious ferocity. Rocossen gasped, “The Vards!”

  They were like grotesque sea monsters out of their element, each a travesty of a terrestrial octopus but with ten great tentacles on which they shuffled awkwardly. Leathery, bulbous bodies tapered to a rounded top that apparently constituted the head. Four huge, round, black eyes were spaced equally around this protrusion, enabling the creature to see in every direction without the need of a flexible neck.

  Four of the tentacles, thicker than the rest, terminated in round sucker discs that served as feet. The six remaining tentacles were slimmer and terminated in both a row of smaller discs and waving tendrils that seemed to perform the function of fingers.

  Horrible as they appeared, Temple got a sudden strong impression that they were neither hostile nor willfully evil. The great saucer eyes were intelligent, even sad. Then he saw the glowing entity perched on each head and realized with a shock that these, too, were slaves of the mind-energy beings.

  In that moment his understanding of the entities broadened. Because they were mind energy, expressing themselves through the minds of hosts they commanded, only the most intelligent could be used. On Earth they had taken full control of only the best-trained scientific minds, indicating a need for already established thought patterns. Those incapable of absorbing the extra burst of mind energy to useful purpose became mere controlled dupes.

  These Vards, then, must be creatures endowed with the needed intelligence to begin with. Watching the movements of those prehensile tentacles, Temple realized how the nebulous beings must have used that dexterity to build this base and to construct the “meteorites” that bombarded Kansas.

  Lee pressed against him, shuddering. “Curt, do you suppose they were original natives of the moon, enslaved by these things?”

  “I don’t think so, Lee. These Vards, as Rocossen called them, don’t appear to have the necessary physical adaptation to lunar extremes of heat and cold. Also, they seem to be oxygen breathers since they show no discomfort from the air here, which feels very much like the atmosphere we’re accustomed to. But we’ll probably find out all about them, and matters more unpleasant, almost immediately.”

  His detector showed the vaulted ceiling of the great chamber literally jammed with solid masses of the hovering beings. Their numbers must run into the tens of thousands, he thought hopelessly, forming a concentration of malignant intelligence beyond comprehension. Against them stood three puny humans, only one of whom could even see the enemy.

  Apparently in response to a silent command the semicircle of Vards began shuffling forward, closing their ranks and irresistibly forcing the trio closer to Monj and his two companions.

  Rocossen turned a pale, strained face toward Temple and whispered, “Oh, Lord, to think that only a short time ago I was actually trafficking with these unholy monsters. After you freed me by driving that thing out of my brain I remembered the Vards, but only vaguely. I didn’t realize how hideous they are until I see them now with my normal senses.”

  The gaunt figure that was the vehicle for Monj opened its mouth and a booming voice rolled forth. “Silence! Slaves do not whisper, or even dare to speak without permission, in the presence of the Master of the Moon.” The supreme arrogance of that command reached down inside Temple and rasped on nerves already raw from strain, worry and fear. A blinding, heedless anger swept over him, smothering caution.

  “Oh, shut up!” he shouted furiously. “Who are you to be giving orders to your betters? You’re nothing but a cheap parasite who couldn’t wipe its own nose without its slavey. In our league you couldn’t even be master of mud balls. We aren’t your slaves and never will be. You thought you could conquer and rule Earth but you’re looking at three people you can’t control, and we’re going to cross your wires and blow your fuse.”

  The echoes of his wrath died away. Lee and Rocossen were staring at him in shocked horror. The Vards were quivering nervously, and overhead the swarms of entities milled like disturbed bees. As his rage faded, even Temple was shocked at his own outburst. He expected an outburst of fury, physical violence—anything but the reaction he got.

  The voice of Monj sounded genuinely puzzled. “Invade and rule Earth? Why should we want to do that? We don’t want that poor, sterile globe you dwell upon. What possible satisfaction or glory could we find in ruling a race whose most intelligent life-forms are little more than primitive savages in comparison to our vast knowledge?” Temple’s jaw dropped. In some incomprehensible way, Monj’s words carried conviction. Against his will and against all reason, he found himself believing the unbelievable. In the space of the same heartbeat, he realized that to admit his feeling would be to weaken his own position.

  He snapped, “When you were hard up for knowledge, I notice it was those same ‘primitive savages’ you raided to get it. And if what you did wasn’t invasion, or that Crimson Plague swindle conquest, it was a mighty realistic imitation. Personally, I think you’re a pack of cheap parasites who got kicked out of a civilized world as mental delinquents. You go around leeching onto the output of real brains and claiming it as your own.”

  A wave of anger crossed the face of Monj, to be replaced by calm deliberation. After a silence, he nodded. “Yes, I realize our action could be misinterpreted. You are one of the more intelligent specimens of your race, and also our most serious obstacle. The female, there, was important to us, as was the other, who operated the rocket, but you wrested them both from our control. Perhaps knowing the truth would make you less dangerous to us. Your reactions might even provide us an unexpected clue. Relax and let your minds receive thought patterns. It is swifter and more sure than your crude method of communicating by noises of the mouth. Do not be afraid. You will be quite safe until you have heard our story through.”

  Into Temple’s stunned mind came weird, incredible scenes, vividly real, stirring his emotions. As they flashed by, a soft disembodied voice explained in running commentary. By the awed expressions on the faces of Lee and Rocossen he knew they, too, were sharing the same experience.

  The images swept him up across space, past worlds, stars, systems, galaxies to a place beyond the horizon of even man’s knowledge. “A world called Xacrn, which is a planet in the system of the faint star you call Seventeen Leporis,” the voice murmured. “We are Xacrns, u
ltimate evolutionary forms of the highest life order in the cosmos. Once, a million generations past, we possessed physical bodies more useful and adaptable than yours.”

  Temple saw Vards tilling alien fields, fabricating strange and intricate tools with those delicate tentacle tips, building magnificent cities. “Inevitably, some were interested only in developing only their minds, more hungry for knowledge than for physical possessions. It is always thus with every race. Even on your world, the gap between farmer and scholar widens.

  “As ages passed our separate interests evolved divergent body-forms. The Vards, content to blend artistry with knowledge, were little changed. We, who ignored our bodies to fill our minds, found our physical structures sloughed off, discarded by the relentless sweep of evolution.”

  Like time-lapse photographs, the scenes condensed endless millennia into nightmare visions of tentacles, withered from disuse, falling away, of bodies wasting to dust until nothing remained but the glowing clouds of pure mind energy.

  “Take heed, you of Earth,” the voice thundered. “Your evolution may one day carry you to the same ultimate state. Already, in a mere hundred of your years, you have seen your sturdy bodies weaken as your minds grew stronger. Unless you stop before it is too late, you will some day become like us.”

  Temple felt a wave of horror. The logic in that prophecy was inescapable. While American science and knowledge leaped ahead at an accelerating pace, the physical condition of its populace was already a matter of grave concern.

  The scenes flashed from the drifting entities to the normal Vards, content to labor and prosper. The voice seemed to grow more arrogant. “When we had acquired all the knowledge of our world we turned to the system, then the galaxy. The Vards gave us the physical bodies and skills and served as our corporeal vehicles, while we gave them access to our vast knowledge. It was a most happy partnership for both.”

  Yeah, Temple thought dryly, I’ll bet the Vards were overjoyed at becoming mindless slaves. He started when the voice said stiffly, “They were honored to be so favored.” He could not be sure the words were a direct answer to his thoughts but the possibility was disturbing.