The Idol From Passa - Kurt Mahr, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
SNAKE ATTACK!
THE GREATEST Kidnap Caper of All Time!
10,000 Terrans kidnapped!
Is Akon behind it?
This is a challenge for Division 3 and once again (see #102) the agents of the Secret
Organisation are called into action, action calling for the greatest diplomacy, a mantle of
invisibility and a devil-may-care approach to danger.
For, make no mistake about it, danger abides on every side on the planet Passa, scene of
mysterious happenings.
A strange plan is required when the intrepid Terrans meet–
THE IDOL FROM PASSA
1/ THE SKIN GAME ISN’T A JOKE
Ayaa-Oooy, thou art the Glorious One, praised be Thy Name! We bow to the will of Ayaa-Oooy
the Magnificent…
* * * *
For Andy Lever the greatest adventure of his life had become a reality. He had finally left the Earth and
now he was on a far distant planet. He was actually living on a world that was unutterably alien.
As he looked about him in the jungle clearing he realized that the strange hour of twilight had come. The
land lay in multicoloured shadows and was silent except for the small mysterious sounds he was fond of
listening to because they helped to accentuate his awareness of adventure. This time of evening was the
period between red sunset and blue dawn—a 1-hour span during which the red sun went down in the
West and the blue sun came up in the East. The heavens seemed to shimmer in overtones of reddish
brown and violet hues, reflecting weirdly in the glass forest around him as in some psychedelic
kaleidoscope.
 He was vague distracted by the unexplained presence of a single tree in the clearing where not a tree had
been standing several hours ago. But now there it was, more than 15 feet tall and with a trunk that
appeared to taper to narrower proportions as it neared the ground.
Then it passed from his mind for the moment and he thought of other things. In the alien twilight the small
house appeared to have changed into a tremendous dark shape that pressed itself against the warm earth
and seemed ready to spring upon its prey. Andy often marvelled at the strange impressions he received
from this dwelling, which was
his
house and should have filled him with a sense of peace and security. At
this peculiar time of evening it filled him with a presentiment that was less definable. But then he would tell
himself, as he did now, that after all the house could only reflect his own temperament, which was
characterized by a restless zeal for action. No, the house was alright—it was he himself who responded
to the changing moods of his weird environment.
A small bright spark of light flashed against the brown-violet sky. Andy watched it go as it sped
heavenward and increased in brilliance. It finally dwindled away until it blinked out like an extinguished
star. Then belatedly the far thunder of a starting spaceship rolled across the land. Andy took a deep
breath, sensing the heavy scent of the jungle, while he thought of the city of Modessa where the great
spaceport was located. He was satisfied with the place where he was, 1,500 km removed from
Modessa. Others called him a fool but he preferred to be a fool rather than live in one of the great cities
where one did not get the feeling of being on an alien world.
All of which brought his thoughts back to the happenings of the day—or rather, to what had failed to
happen. The Evergreens, as the natives were called, had not appeared; they had not delivered their usual
quota of skins. Only 8 of them had come to the shedding centre where ordinarily 10 times that number
showed up each day. Not that it made any difference to Andy. The Passa Skin Co. paid him a fixed
salary for his half-day work. He was paid whether the Evergreens supplied any skins or not. So he
wasn’t bothered about it personally—he merely wondered about it.
Finally his attention turned again to the tree which hadn’t been there two hours ago. He walked over
closer to it but in the gathering darkness he couldn’t see it too clearly. He refrained from touching it,
however, because he knew what had happened to inexperienced people who had grabbed hold of things
without knowing for sure that they were not dangerous. Actually he didn’t doubt that on Passa it was
possible for a thick, branchless tree to grow to a height of 15 feet within a time-span of 2 hours. Stranger
things than that had happened here. But he still wanted to know what this was all about.
He turned around to get a lamp from the house. And that was the moment when the tree began to move.
It simply bent over toward him. Andy heard a sound above him and whirled about swiftly but it was of no
use. The thing he had assumed to be a tree swatted him, knocking him down, and then it pressed him
against the ground.
For half a second Andy was paralysed with fear. Then he began to struggle wildly against the weight of
the thing but the smooth surface of the ‘tree’ offered him no place to get a grip on it. He slipped down
under it and the tree redoubled its pressure on him as though his resistance had goaded it into further
aggression.
Andy couldn’t breathe anymore. A fiery barrage of small, painful prodding drummed against his ribs and
there was a wild roaring in his ears. He suddenly realized that he’d never be able to free himself from this
murderous pressure. And all at once he knew what it was that was lying on top of him and that nothing
could withstand such a massive force.
 He began to cry out but there was no one there to hear him. As he began to lose consciousness, oblivion
seemed to rush upon him in blinding streaks of lightning and crackling fireworks.
* * * *
Nike Quinto stared suddenly as though he had been struck dumb. He stood there as if he were having a
stroke and probably he would have been the first to assert that the shock was too much for his heart.
Which wouldn’t have been far from the truth. Col. Quinto was a chubby little man with a slightly
bloated-looking and perpetually flushed face which always exhibited a few drops of perspiration even in
the coolest part of the year. Above his puffy lips was a small nose under a pair of deep-set eyes topped
by a narrow space of forehead that was sparsely obscured by a scraggle of colourless blond hair. The
colonel had never been one to inspire anyone’s congenial response at first sight. To those who did not
know him he was strictly anti-simpatico.
Ron Landry and Larry Randall waited until the security door behind them had closed. Then they saluted
with a military preciseness that was a strange contrast to their summery and very casual civilian attire.
When he spoke, Nike Quinto seemed to fairly wheeze and shriek in an unpleasantly high tone of voice.
"Ye gods! I told them to send me two of the best men we had and look what they come up with! I ask
you—is the whole world trying to make sure I’ll have a heart attack? What am I supposed to do with the
likes of
you?!
Oh well, you’re here now, so sit down. Have you listened to the tapes yet? Glord, do you
think we have all day? Say something: yes or no?"
"Yes," Ron Landry answered calmly.
"Yes what!"
"Yessir—we have listened to the tapes."
"Aha! And so?"
Ron Landry cleared his throat and stole a glance at Larry sitting next to him but the latter made no
response. Nike Quinto was standing behind his desk as if ready to pounce upon his answer.
"We can’t be sure, sir," Ron began cautiously, "but it looks as if somebody were playing a bad joke."
For a moment it appeared as though Nike Quinto were going to hit the ceiling. At least he looked up at it
as he bent back his head and ran his hands through his hair. He sighed almost piteously as if the last hope
of the world had fled from him.
But finally he vented his spleen: "Jokes, he says! Somebody playing a bad joke—on
me?
Landry, you’re
a nail in my coffin! It seems you can’t say a word without sending my blood-pressure up another 10
centimetres!" He removed his hands from his head and glared. "Do you really think that anyone would
dare
to play jokes on me?"
Ron Landry was thinking that he knew of at least two people who would like to try but of course
 whether or not they might succeed was another question. So he answered: "Sir, please keep in mind the
purpose of this division. This organization has been created for a specific area of assignments. Forgive my
stupidity… but I can’t for the life of me figure out what two special agents have to do with a jungle planet
where the natives have merely started to turn in 4 or 5 skins a day instead of a normal quota of 80. I—"
"They’ve ceased delivering entirely," snapped Quinto. "That’s the latest report."
Ron Landry waved his hand in a deprecating gesture. "So great! They’ve stopped supplying skins. What
are the skins for? Perfume? Aromatic hides and leathers? Can you build a spaceship with them? Can they
be used to power an energy cannon? No. Are they a source of exotic drugs or medicines? No. So riddle
me this: why should we concern ourselves over such fid-fad?"
Nike Quinto sat down with emphasis. His twisted grin was a mixture of anger and malice. "I can’t take
this standing up or it’ll be the end of me! It’s too much for my circulation. For the sake of survival I’ll
have to contain myself in spite of you, Landry. For you I suppose the world depends on spaceships,
cannons and miracle drugs, right? You don’t seem to be concerned with the fact that Terra is engaged in
a bitter economic struggle with the Springers, who think Divine Providence created commerce just for
them. It makes no difference to you that mysterious things are happening on a world that’s supposed to
be Terra’s exclusive trade territory—that revenues there have suddenly dropped to zero. And just what
is that revenue? Pretty smelling hides? Spaceships? No. Cannons? No. Nor any drugs either. Of course
we’re not concerned that Terrans have settled there—or are we? What? 14 million of them? Gee whiz
now, we hadn’t thought of that! What? And 10,000 of them have either been killed or have vanished in
the glass forests under mysterious circumstances? Oh well, why bother? You can’t make anything out of
dead settlers either, can you? No spaceships, no cannons…"
Landry had straightened up in his chair. "We knew nothing about that, sir!" he blurted out. "That was not
on the tapes!"
Quinto waved him to silence. "Exactly. That’s why I’ve called you here. Now I want you to go into the
next room and listen to what you are told there. You will take careful note of everything and then
tomorrow morning early at 7:48 Terrania time you will take passage on the scheduled passenger freighter
of the Passa Line—is that clear?"
Ron and Larry got up. They didn’t see Quinto touch a control button on his desk but the door to the
next room was already standing open when they turned toward it. When they entered they saw a room
dimly illuminated by a reddish light. They also saw a row of comfortable upholstered chairs and the
familiar large screens of the hypno-projectors.
"By the way," Quinto called after them, "do you have any idea of what the annual revenue from Passa
has been so far?"
Ron stopped and turned to look back at him. "No sir," he answered.
"Oh you don’t, eh—well then I’ll tell you: 15 billion Solars. That, my friend, is enough to build 10 heavy
cruisers for the Fleet!"
* * * *
 Passa was a world in the double-star system of Antares, the 9th planet as counted outward in the normal
sequence from the centre. It was a warm oxygen world, somewhat larger than Earth yet with a lighter
gravitation. The native intelligences on Passa were strictly non-humanoid and the first Terrans who saw
them had experienced a shock of terror in spite of the weapons they carried. For the aborigines of Passa
were nothing more nor less than 4-limbed serpents which measured on the average between 15 and 18
feet in length. They were not only different from Earthly serpents in the matter of intelligence but also in
their method of locomotion, since they walked upright. That is, they didn’t actually walk but managed
instead to support themselves on their supple and powerful tails and to move forward in a kind of
hopping fashion which was nevertheless somehow elegant—and very swift. Their limbs served merely as
a means of grasping things and maintaining their balance. Their serpentine bodies ended at the top in a
round worm-like head containing a number of orifices whose various functions only a galacto-biologist
could make any sense out of. The Terran settlers had taken possession of this Paradise world with
enthusiasm and they had named the serpent inhabitants Evergreens because of the prominent green
colouration of their skins.
Not only were the Evergreens the native intelligences of Passa, they were also the suppliers of that trade
commodity which had made the planet so economically important to the Earth: Passa Pelts, the Antares
bonanza. This was owing to the fact that the Evergreens had one ancient biological function in common
with other serpent types: they shed their skins periodically. The mechanism and frequency of this moulting
process or shedding was something unheard of even among the experts. The fact remained, however,
that the Evergreens were able to produce an astonishing quantity of skins.
These ‘Passa pelts’ exuded a marvellously pleasant aroma and could easily be processed for almost any
type of application as hides or leatherwork. On Terra and Arkon, products made of Passa leather were
in a higher price bracket than their equivalent weight in gold. The most exclusive women’s salons counted
Passa perfumes among their most exotic and expensive specialties.
The Springers, those restless nomadic offshoot of the Arkonides who roamed the galaxy in their
clan-ships, lived only for trading and were convinced that commerce on an interstellar scale was their
own exclusive prerogative. Of course it had not taken them long to get wind of the gold mine that the
Terrans had discovered on Passa but when they attempted to muscle in on the business the Terra Fleet’s
Passa Task Force quickly showed them where the lines of demarcation were and they informed them
that no Springer would be welcome on Passa unless by very special invitation.
After that, developments proceeded peacefully on the peltrich planet. Instruments were developed which
could translate the vowel-saturated language of the Evergreens into English, and vice-versa. The
Evergreens were then persuaded to gather at designated collection points when they shed their skins and
by this means a daily average quota of the pelts was obtained. When they moulted, the Evergreens hung
by their tails from the trees. By a process of shaking their bodies strenuously they would slip their old
skins down over their heads. The Terrans made sure that there were enough suitable trees for the
purpose at every collection point and they paid the Evergreens for their services in trade commodities
which were considered by the serpents to be useful to them.
For a period of some years this operation had continued smoothly. The Terrans had expanded their
settlements on Passa without crowding the Evergreens. In fact there was no problem in this regard
because the serpent people lived in their glass forests, so-called. Such forests consisted of thickets of
bamboo-like growths which were hard as glass and branchless, with transparent trunks reaching as high
as 150 feet or more. On the other hand the settlers preferred the more pleasant regions of grass plains or
the banks of the broad rivers and the more inhabitable coastal areas. They hardly had any contacts to
speak of with the Evergreens, other than at the pelt collection points. Although their language could be
Â
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]