Hunt the Space-Witch! (2 page)

Hard times were coming to the science-fiction magazines of that period, though. One of the biggest magazine distributors of the time abruptly went out of business in the spring of 1958, taking a lot of magazines with it.
Science Fiction Adventures
, to my great sorrow, was one of those that folded. (The final issue, dated June, 1958, contained two short stories of mine, but no novellas—I must have been busy that month meeting some other editor's deadline.) Generally, though, I kept the novellas flowing to editor Shaw's desk even as the end was approaching, and, therefore, when
Science Fiction Adventures
went under he found himself left with a hefty inventory of Silverberg space operas. He had no choice but to use them in the surviving companion magazine,
Infinity
, which ostensibly was devoted to a more serious, contemplative kind of science fiction. (And for which I had written a great many stories also.) So the October, 1958 issue of
Infinity
featured “a great CALVIN KNOX novel” that had been intended for the other magazine, complete with a bright red Emsh cover that proclaimed in big letters, “WAS SHE A WOMAN—OR A MONSTER?” (Monsters were very big in magazine publishing just then.) The story was “The Silent Invaders,” which I later expanded into a novel. But I think the shorter version is superior, and that is the one that is included here.

Then, in the November, 1958
Infinity
, lurking behind another Emsh cover depicting a really revolting alien being, came “Spacerogue,” my final novella for Larry Shaw in the old
Planet Stories
vein, which for some reason was published here under the pseudonym of “Webber Martin.” That was the end of the line.
Infinity
went out of business, I turned my attention to other kinds of science fiction (and a lot of non-science-fiction writing too), and the rest is, well, nostalgia.

But here they are again, brought together for the first time—seven of the action-adventure novellas that I wrote more than half a century ago for Larry Shaw's
Science Fiction Adventures
, a magazine that was for both of us a way of showing our love for the wonderful old
Planet Stories
of our youthful years.

Robert Silverberg

December, 2009

Slaves of the Star Giants

Chapter One

Dark violet shadows streaked the sky, and the forest was ugly and menacing. Lloyd Harkins leaned against the bole of a mighty red-brown tree and looked around dizzily, trying to get his bearings.

He knew he was
there
, not
here. Here
had vanished so suddenly that there had been no sense of transition or of motion—merely a strange subliminal undertone of
loss
, as the world he knew had melted and been replaced with—what?

He heard a distant, ground-shaking sound of thunder, growing louder. Birds with gleaming, toothy beaks and wide-sweeping wings wheeled and shrieked in the shadowed sky, and the air was cold and damp. Harkins held his ground, clinging tightly to the enormous tree as if it were his last bastion of reality in a world of dreams.

And the tree moved
.

It lifted from its base, swung forward and upward, carrying Harkins with it. The sound of thunder grew nearer. Harkins shut his eyes, opened them, gaped in awe.

Some ten feet to the right, another tree was moving.

He threw his head back, stared upward into the cloud-fogged sky, and verified the fact he wanted to deny: the trees were not trees.

They were legs.

Legs of a being huge beyond belief, whose head rose fifty feet or more above the floor of the dark forest. A being who had begun to move.

Harkins dug his hands frantically into the leg, gripping it as he swung wildly through a fifteen-foot arc with each stride of the monstrous creature. Gradually, the world around him took shape again, and slowly he re-established control over his fear-frozen mind.

Through the bright green blurs of vegetation he was able to see the creature on which he rode. It was gigantic but vaguely manlike, wearing a sort of jacket and a pair of shorts which terminated some twenty-five feet above Harkins' head. From there down, firm red-brown skin the texture of wood was visible. Harkins could even distinguish dimly a face, far above, with pronounced features of a strange and alien cast.

He began to assemble his environment. It was a forest—where? On Earth, apparently—but an Earth no one had ever known before. The bowl of the sky was shot through with rich, dark colors, and the birds that screeched overhead were nightmare creatures of terrifying appearance.

The earth was brown and the vegetation green, though all else had changed.

Where am I
? Harkins asked over and over again.

And—
Why am I here?

And—
How can I get back?

He had no answers. The day had begun in ordinary fashion, promising to be neither more nor less unusual than the day before or all the days before that. Shortly after noon, on the 21st of April, 1957, he had been on his way to the electronics laboratory, in New York City, on the planet Earth. And now he was here wherever
here
might be.

His host continued to stride through the forest, seemingly unconcerned about the man clinging to his calf. Harkins' arms were growing tired from the strain of hanging on, and suddenly the new thought occurred:
Why not let go?
He had held on only through a sort of paralysis of the initiative, but now he had regained his mental equilibrium. He dropped off.

He hit the ground solidly and sprawled out flat. The soil was warm and fertile-smelling, and for a moment he clung to it as he had to the “tree” minutes before. Then he scrambled to his feet and glanced around hastily, looking for a place to hide and reconnoiter.

There was none. And a hand was descending toward him—red-brown, enormous, tipped with gleaming, pointed fingernails six inches long. Gently, the giant hand scooped Harkins up.

There was a dizzying moment as he rose fifty feet, held tenderly in the giant's leathery embrace. The hand opened, and Harkins found himself standing on an outspread palm the size of a large table, staring at a strange oval face with deep-set, compassionate eyes and a wide, almost lipless mouth studded with triangular teeth. The being seemed to smile almost pityingly at Harkins.

“What are you?” Harkins demanded.

The creature's smile grew broader and more melancholy, but there was no reply—only the harsh wailing of the forest birds, and the distant rumbling of approaching thunder. Harkins felt himself being lowered to the giant's side, and once again the being began to move rapidly through the forest, crushing down the low-clustered shrubs as it walked. Harkins, his stomach rolling agonizingly with each step, rode cradled in the great creature's loosely-closed hand.

After what must have been ten minutes or more, the giant stopped. Harkins glanced around, surprised. The thunder was close now, and superimposed on it was the dull boom of toppling trees. The giant was standing quite still, legs planted as solidly as tree trunks, waiting.

Minutes passed—and then Harkins saw why the giant had stopped. Coming toward them was a machine—a robot, Harkins realized—some fifteen feet high. It was man-shaped, but much more compact; a unicorn-like spike projected from its gleaming nickel-jacketed forehead, and instead of legs it moved on broad treads. The robot was proceeding through the forest, pushing aside the trees that stood in its way with casual gestures of its massive forearms, sending them toppling to the right and left with what looked like a minimal output of effort.

The giant remained motionless, staring down at the ugly machine as it went by. The robot paid no attention to Harkins' host, and went barrelling on through the forest as if following some predetermined course.

Minutes later it was out of sight leaving behind it a trail of uprooted shrubs and exposed tree-roots. As the robot's thunder diminished behind them, the giant resumed his journey through the forest. Harkins rode patiently, not daring to think any more.

After a while longer a clearing appeared—and Harkins was surprised and pleased to discover a little cluster of huts. Man-sized huts, ringed in a loose circle to form a village. Moving in the center of the circle were tiny dots which Harkins realized were people, human beings, men.

A colony?

A prison camp?

The people of the village spotted the giant, and gathered in a small knot, gesticulating and pointing. The giant approached within about a hundred yards of the village, stooped, and lowered Harkins delicately to the ground.

Dizzy after his long journey in the creature's hand, Harkins staggered, reeled, and fell. He half expected to see the giant scoop him up again, but instead the being was retreating into the forest, departing as mysteriously as he had come.

Harkins got to his feet. He saw people running toward him—wild-looking, dangerous people. Suddenly, he began to feel that he might have been safer in the giant's grip.

Chapter Two

There were seven of them, five men and two women. They were probably the bravest. The rest hung back and watched from the safety of their huts.

Harkins stood fast and waited for them. When they drew near, he held up a hand.

“Friend!” he said loudly. “Peace!”

The words seemed to register. The seven paused and arrayed themselves in an uneasy semicircle before Harkins. The biggest of the men, a tall, broad-shouldered man with unruly black hair, thick features and deep-set eyes, stepped forward.

“Where are you from, stranger?” he growled in recognizable, though oddly distorted, English.

Harkins thought it over, and decided to keep acting on the assumption that they were as savage as they looked. He pointed to the forest. “From there.”

“We know that,” the tall man said. “We saw the Star Giant bring you. But where is your village?”

Harkins shrugged. “Far from here—far across the ocean.” It was as good a story as any, he thought. And he wanted more information about these people before he volunteered any about himself. But one of the two women spoke up.

“What ocean?” Her voice was scornful. She was a squat, yellow-faced woman in a torn, dirty tunic. “There are no oceans near here.” She edged up to Harkins, glared intently at him. Her breath was foul. “You're a
spy
,” she said accusingly. “You're from the Tunnel City, aren't you?”

“The Star Giant brought him,” the other woman pointed out calmly. She was tall and wild-looking, with flowing blonde hair that looked as if it had never been cut. She wore ragged shorts and two strips of cloth that covered her breasts. “The Star Giants aren't in league with the city dwellers, Elsa,” the woman added.

“Quiet,” snapped the burly man who had spoken first. He turned to Harkins. “Who are you?”

“My name is Lloyd Harkins. I come from far across the ocean. I don't know how I came here, but the Star Giant”—this part would be true, at least—“found me and brought me to this place.” He spread his hands. “More I cannot tell you.”

“Uh. Very well, Lloyd Harkins.” The big man turned to the other six. “Kill him, or let him stay?”

“How unlike you to ask our opinions, Jorn!” said the squat woman named Elsa. “But I say kill him. He's from the Tunnel City. I know it!”

The man named Jorn faced the others. “What say you?”

“Let him live,” replied a sleepy-looking young man. “He seems harmless.”

Jorn scowled. “The rest of you?”

“Death,” said a second man. “He looks dishonest.”

“He looks all right to me,” offered the third. “And to me,” said the fourth. “But I vote for death. Elsa is seldom wrong.”

Harkins chewed nervously at his lower lip. That made three votes for death, two in his favor. Jorn was staring expectantly at the sullen-faced girl with long hair.

“Your opinion, Katha?”

“Let him live,” she said slowly.

Jorn grunted. “So be it. I cast my vote for him also. You may join us, stranger. But mine is the deciding vote—and if I reverse it, you die!”

They marched over the clearing single file to the village, Jorn leading, Harkins in the rear followed by the girl Katha. The rest of the villagers stared at him curiously as he entered the circle of huts.

“This is Lloyd Harkins,” Jorn said loudly. “He will live among us.”

Harkins glanced tensely from face to face. There were about seventy of them, altogether, ranging from gray-beards to naked children. They seemed oddly savage and civilized all at once. The village was a strange mixture of the primitive and cultured.

The huts were made of some unfamiliar dark green plastic substance, as were their clothes. A bonfire burnt in the center of the little square formed by the ring of huts. From where he stood, Harkins had a clear view of the jungle—a thickly-vegetated one, which had obviously not sprung up overnight. He could see the deeply-trampled path which the Star Giant had made.

He turned to Jorn. “I'm a stranger to this land. I don't know anything about the way you live.”

“All you need to know is that I'm in charge,” Jorn said. “Listen to me and you won't have any trouble.”

“Where am I going to stay?”

“There's a hut for single men,” Jorn said. “It's not very comfortable, but it's the best you can have.” Jorn's deep eyes narrowed. “There are no spare women in this village, by the way. Unless you want Elsa, that is.” He threw back his head and laughed raucously.

“Elsa's got her eyes fixed on one of the Star Giants,” someone else said. “That's the only kind can satisfy her.”

“Toad!
” The squat woman known as Elsa sprang at the man who had spoken, and the ferocity of her assault knocked him to the ground. Elsa climbed on his chest and began banging his head against the ground. With a lazy motion, Jorn reached down and plucked her off.

“Save your energy, Elsa. We'll need you to cast spells when the Tunnel City men come.”