The Boneheads of Dhil
[Editor’s Note: Read the Entire Saga from the Beginning]
The planet Dhil and its enormous satellite, called “Lune” in lieu of the utterly unpronounceable name its inhabitants gave it, are almost twin worlds, revolving about their common center of gravity and circling as one about their sun in its second orbit. In the third orbit revolves Uhal, a planet strikingly similar to Dhil in every respect of gravity, atmosphere, and climate. Furthermore, Dhilians and Uhalians are, to all interests and purposes, identical. [For the explanation of these somewhat peculiar facts, which is too long to go into here, the reader is referred to Transactions of the Planetographical Society; Vol. 283, No. 11, p. 2745.]
In spite of these facts, however, the two peoples had been at war with each other, most of the time, for centuries. Practically all of this warfare had been waged upon luckless Lune.
Each race was well advanced in science, and each had atomic power, offensive beams, defensive screens. Neither had even partial inertialessness, neither had ever driven a spaceship to any other solar system, neither had ever heard of Galactic Civilization.
At this particular time peace of a sort existed. More precisely, it was a truce of exhaustion and preparation for further strife. It was a fragile thing indeed, and existed only upon the surface. Beneath, the conflict raged as bitterly as ever. The discovery by the scientists, inventors or secret service of either world of any superior artifice of destruction would kindle the conflagration anew, without warning.
Such was the condition obtaining when Darjeeb of Uhal blasted his little spaceship upward away from Lune. He was glowing with pride of accomplishment, suffused with self-esteem. Not only had he touched off an inextinguishable atomic flame exactly where it would do the most good, but as a crowning achievement he had taken and was now making off with no less a personage than Luda of Dhil herself—the coldest, hardest, most efficient Minister of War that the planet Dhil had ever had!
Now, as soon as they could extract certain facts from Luda’s mind, they could take Lune in short order. Then, with Lune definitely theirs to use as a permanent base, Dhil could not possibly hold out for more than a couple of years or so. The goal of generations would have been reached—he, Darjeeb, would have wealth, fame and—best of all—power!
Gazing gloatingly at his furiously radiating captive with every eye he could bring to bear, Darjeeb strolled over to inspect again her chains and manacles. Let her radiate!
She could not touch his mind; no mentality in existence could break down his barriers.
But physically, she had to be watched. Those irons were strong, but so was Luda. If she could succeed in breaking free he would very probably have to shoot her, which would be a very bad thing indeed. She had not caved in yet, but she would. When he got her to Uhal, where the proper measures could be taken, she would give up every scrap of knowledge she had ever had!
The chains were holding, all eight of them, and Darjeeb kept on gloating as he backed toward his control station. To him Luda’s shape was normal enough, since his own was the same, but in the sight of a Tellurian she would have appeared more than a little queer.
The lower part of her resembled more or less closely a small elephant, one weighing perhaps three hundred and fifty pounds. There were, however, differences. The skin was clear and fine, delicately tanned; there were no ears or tusks; the neck was longer. The trunk was shorter, divided at the tip to form a highly capable hand; and between the somewhat protuberant eyes of this “feeding” head there thrust out a boldly Roman, startlingly human nose. The brain in this head was very small, being concerned only in the matter of food.
Above this not-too-unbelievable body, however, all resemblance to anything Terrestrial ceased. Instead of a back there were two mighty shoulders, fore and aft, from each of which sprang two tremendous arms, like the trunk except longer and stronger. Between those massive shoulders there was an armored, slightly retractile neck which carried the heavily armored “thinking” head. In this head there were no mouths, no nostrils. The four equally-spaced pairs of eyes were protected and shielded by heavy ridges and plates. The entire head, except for its juncture with the neck, was solidly sheathed with bare, hard, thick, tough bone.
Darjeeb’s amazing head shone a clean-scrubbed white. But Luda’s—the eternal feminine!—was really something to look at. It had been sanded, buffed, and polished. It had been inlaid with bars and strips and scrolls of variously colored noble metals and alloys; then decorated tastefully in red and green and blue and black enamel—then, to cap the climax, lacquered!
But that was old stuff to Darjeeb. All that he cared about was the tightness of the chains immobilizing Luda’s every hand and foot. Seeing that they were all tight, he returned his attention to his plates. For he was not yet in the clear. Any number of enemies might be blasting off after him at any minute….
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A light flashed upon his panel—something was in the ether. Behind him everything was clear. Nothing was coming from Dhil. Ah, there it was—coming in from open space. Nothing could move that fast, but this thing, whatever it might be, certainly was. It was a space-craft of some kind. And, gods of the ancients, how it was coming!
As a matter of fact the lifeboat was coming in at less than one light, the merest crawl, as space-speeds go. Otherwise Darjeeb could not have seen it at all. Even that velocity, however, was so utterly beyond anything known to his solar system that the usually phlegmatic Uhalian sat spellbound—appalled—for a fraction of a second. Then every organ leaping convulsively in the realization that that incredible thing was actually happening, he drove one hand toward a control.
Too late—before the hand had covered half the distance, the incomprehensibly fast ship had struck his own in direct central impact. In fact, before he even realized what was happening it was all over! The strange vessel had struck and had stopped dead-still—without a jar or shock, without even a vibration!
Both ships should have been blasted to atoms—but there the stranger was, poised motionless beside him. Then, under the urge of a ridiculously tiny jet of flame, she leaped away, covering a distance of miles in the twinkling of an eye. Then something else happened. She moved aside, drifting heavily backward against the stupendous force of her full driving blast!
As soon as he recovered from his shock, Darjeeb’s cold, keen brain began to function in its wonted fashion.
Only one explanation was possible—inertialessness!
What a weapon! With that and Luda—even without Luda—the solar system was his. No longer was it a question of Uhal overcoming Dhil. With inertialessness, he himself would become the dictator, not only of Uhal and Dhil and Lune, but also of all the worlds within reach.
That vessel and its secrets must be his!
He blasted, then, to match the inert velocity of the smaller craft. As his ship crept toward the other he reached out both telepathically—he could neither speak nor hear—and with a spy-ray, to determine the most feasible method of taking over this godsend.
Bipeds! Peculiar little beasts—repulsive. Only two arms and two eyes—only one head. Weak, soft, fragile, but they might have weapons. No, no weapons—good! Couldn’t any of them communicate? Ah yes, there was one—an unusually thin, reed-like specimen, bundled up in layer after layer of fabric….
I perceive that you are the survivors of some catastrophe in outer space. Tell your pilot to open up, so that I may come aboard and guide you to safety, Darjeeb began. He correlated instantly, if unsympathetically, the smashed panel and the pilot’s bleeding head. If the creature had had a real head it could have wrecked a dozen such things with it without getting a scratch. Hurry! Those may come at any moment who will destroy all of us without palaver.
I am trying, sir, but I cannot get through to him direct. It will take a few moments, the strange telepathist replied. She began to wave rhythmically her peculiar arms, hands, and fingers. Others of the outlanders brandished their members and made repulsive motions with their ridiculous mouths. Finally—
He says that he would rather not, the interpreter reported. He asks you to go ahead. He will follow you down.
Impossible—we cannot land upon this world or upon its primary, Dhil, Darjeeb argued, reasonably. These people are enemies—savages—I have just escaped from them. It is death to attempt to land anywhere in this system except upon my home planet Uhal—that bluish one.
Very well, then, we’ll see you over there. We are just about out of air, but it will take only a minute or so to reach Uhal.
But that would not do either, of course. Argument took too much time. He would have to use force, and he had better call up reenforcements. Darjeeb hurled mental orders to a henchman far below, threw out his magnetic grapples, and turned on a broad, low-powered beam.
Open up or die! he ordered. I do not want to blast you open—but time presses, and I will do so if I must!
That treatment was effective, as the Uhalian had been pretty certain that it would be. Pure heat is hard to take. The outer portal opened and Darjeeb, after donning his armor and checking his ray-gun, picked Luda up and swung nonchalantly out into space. Luda was tough enough so that a little vacuum wouldn’t hurt her—much. Inside the lifeboat he tossed his trussed-up captive into an unoccupied corner and strode purposefully toward the control board.
I want to know—right now—what it is that makes this ship to be without inertia, he radiated harshly.
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The Chickladorian at the board—the only male aboard the lifeboat—was very plainly in bad shape. He had been fighting off unconsciousness for hours. The beaming had not done him a bit of good. Nevertheless he paid no attention to the invading monstrosity’s relayed demand, but concentrated what was left of his intelligence upon his visibeam communicator.
“You’ll have to hurry it up,” he said quietly, in “spaceal”, the lingua franca of deep space. “The ape’s aboard and means business. I’m blacking out, I’m afraid, but I’ve left the lock open for you. Take over, pal!”
Darjeeb had been probing vainly at the pink biped’s mind. Most peculiar—a natural mind-block of tremendous power!
Tell him to give me what I want to know or I will squeeze it out of his very brain, he directed the Manarkan girl.
As the order was being translated he slipped an arm out of his suit and clamped one huge hand around the pilot’s head. But just as he made contact, before he had applied any pressure at all, the weakling fainted—went limp and useless.
Simultaneously, he saw in the visiplate that another ship, neither Uhalian nor Dhilian, had arrived and had locked on.
He tautened as two of his senses registered disquieting tidings. He received, as plainly as though it were intended for him, a welcome which the swaddled-up biped was radiating in delight at an unexpected visitor. He saw that that visitor, now entering the compartment, while a biped, was in no sense on a par with the frightened, helpless, wholly innocuous creatures already cluttering up the room. Instead, it was armed and armored—in complete readiness for strife even with Darjeeb of Uhal!
The Bonehead swung his ready weapon—with his build, he had no need, ever, to turn or whirl to face danger—and pressed a stud. A searing lance of flame stabbed out at the over-bold intruder. Passengers screamed and fled into whatever places of safety were available.
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This story, by E.E. Smith, PhD, originally appeared in Astonishing Stories, October 1942.
Another installment will appear every other Sunday.
