Read The Martian Falcon (Lovecraft & Fort) Online

Authors: Alan K Baker

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The Martian Falcon (Lovecraft & Fort) (9 page)

BOOK: The Martian Falcon (Lovecraft & Fort)
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CHAPTER 13
The Telaug Machine

Rusty Links had been mistaken when she assumed that Crystalman was in danger from the Deros. It was understandable enough, of course, since he had not been strictly accurate when he told her that he was simply occupying caverns that they had long ago abandoned.

The fact was that he had taken these upper chambers from them, and they had capitulated without a fight. They were well aware of his reputation, not to mention his true identity: the penetray machines which they kept in the deeper caverns and through which they observed events in the upper world told them that it would not do to make an enemy of Crystalman.

His reputation had preceded him, even into the nighted realms of the Inner Earth.

The Deros had left behind much that was useful to Crystalman when they had departed these upper chambers, including several of the fantastic machines which were their inheritance from the long-vanished civilisation that had spawned them. One of the machines contained the thought-records of the Atlans, the spacefaring race that had come from the uncharted interstellar gulfs to colonise Earth in the far-off night of prehistory.

For countless millennia, the Atlans had lived in peace and utopian splendour upon the Earth, which they called Lemuria, making the world their own and raising beautiful and mighty cities on its surface.

Then, five million years ago, something had happened to the Sun. The nature of the catastrophe was not explained fully in the thought-records of Lemuria, and Crystalman guessed that so utterly appalling was the event that the Atlans could not bring themselves to set it down in the great chronicle of their civilisation. As far as he understood it, the chemistry of the Sun had undergone a radical change, as if the star had succumbed to some terrible disease, and had begun to radiate a form of energy that was exceedingly harmful to the Atlans, and which they called
disintegrant energy
, or
de
.

Their civilisation under threat, the Atlans excavated gargantuan caverns and tunnels far below Lemuria’s surface, in which they built enormous cities which would have dwarfed any human city of the present. These subterranean realms shielded the entire Atlan population, some three billion individuals; however, the underground cities did not prove a permanent solution, and 20,000 years ago Lemuria/Earth was abandoned in favour of younger, cleaner star systems.

Many Lemurians had already fallen victim to the debilitating effects of the Sun’s harmful radiation and were forced to remain in the cavern cities of the Inner Earth, where they degenerated into the race of disfigured, idiotic and malicious beings known as the Dero. This name was a contraction of the Atlan word
abandondero
, a compound word meaning negative and subservient. Hence the Deros were, literally, controlled by negative forces.

These fiendish, sadistic and perverted beings abducted thousands of surface-dwellers every year and took them into their cavern cities, where they were tortured, used as slave labour or eaten. Although fundamentally stupid and brutal, the Dero nevertheless knew how to use the fabulous machinery left behind by the Lemurians, and were able to spread evil and destruction throughout the world by means of their
dis
rays.

Many governments, including that of the United States, had sent military expeditions into the cavern systems to try to solve the Dero problem. None had returned, and the League of Nations had decided unanimously that, while an all-out confrontation with the cave-dwellers was both necessary and inevitable, it would have to wait until humanity had reached a level of technological sophistication which would allow it to destroy the enemy completely once and for all.

When that day would finally arrive, no one knew, save that the future of humanity depended upon it.

Crystalman walked across the stone floor of his singular drawing room and climbed into the strangely-curved vehicle which sat upon its single rail. He pulled a lever, and the vehicle moved smoothly and silently off across the cavern, gradually picking up speed as it approached the tunnel mouth in the far wall. The vehicle was one of the many relics of the once-mighty Atlan civilisation; the rail upon which it travelled was part of a planet-wide network, much of which was now in hopeless disrepair, but which had once linked every continent on Earth through tunnels winding endlessly through the living rock of the world.

The vehicle followed the track as it curved through the tunnel, the darkness relieved by the single headlamp which cleaved the eternal night of this subterranean realm. Presently, the vehicle emerged in another, smaller chamber, an excavated cube perhaps eighty feet on a side, which contained nothing from the human world of light and sanity.

Like many chambers of the Inner Earth, the walls were decorated from floor to ceiling with bas reliefs depicting scenes from the life of the Atlan civilisation. The bas reliefs were sweeping in scope and exquisite in execution – although the ones in this chamber had been largely defaced by the malicious and idiotic Dero, who saw no sense in beauty, and for whom the illustrious history of their ancestors was but a cruel and mocking reminder of all that they had lost.

Crystalman brought the vehicle to a halt, climbed down and regarded his hoard of ancient and outrageous machines. Some had long ago fallen into complete disrepair, so that even their functions were now a mystery… but others were still in working order, and it was towards one of these that Crystalman carried the Martian Falcon.

The Atlans had called it a telepathic augmenter, or telaug, and it was a miracle of their arcane and long-forgotten science. In appearance it was as bizarre as any of their other devices: it gave the impression of having been melted, drawn away by intense heat from its original form, so that it was now warped and etiolated, a painterly smear in three dimensions, a confusion of sweeping curves and iridescent bulges that stood upon the floor of the chamber like an idol devoted to some incomprehensible alien god.

Its purpose was to transmit thought. Once an individual’s brain patterns had been recorded, the telaug machine acted as a powerful transceiver which would allow instantaneous telepathic communication. Crystalman had found the device extremely useful on more than one occasion. Over the last few years, several high-ranking figures in politics, industry and law enforcement, in America and other countries, had been Crystalman’s guests here in the upper caverns of the Dero. Of course, they had been sedated at the time, and had no memory of their temporary abduction, or of the recording of their brains’ electrochemical impulses, as distinctive and unique as fingerprints, which allowed Crystalman to step inside their heads whenever he chose, and to read their minds at his leisure. Their every thought and plan, their every intention and secret (dirty or otherwise), were his to peruse as easily as one might scan the pages of a newspaper. Through the subtle manipulation of the person’s will, he guided some plans and intentions towards fruition when he decided that they would be beneficial to him; others, those he considered contrary to his interests, he caused to be abandoned.

The telaug was indeed a wonderful device, by far the most useful of Crystalman’s many useful possessions, but today he hoped it would surpass itself.

Today, he hoped it would allow him to divine the true nature of the Martian Falcon.

The telaug sensed his approach and slowly opened its maw, the misshapen metal of its flank splitting apart to reveal the twitching, cilia-like sensors within. Crystalman placed the statuette inside, stepped back and began to manipulate the machine’s controls, bringing the sensors to full awareness. A low hum slowly spread through the cavern, like tendrils of ink exploring a piece of blotting paper. A myriad of glowing, crisscrossing lines appeared in the bulbous, asymmetrical monitor screen above the controls.

Crystalman frowned and leaned forward to examine the strange pattern more closely. It was no surprise, of course, that the pattern was so unusual, so utterly unlike anything he had ever seen before. The important thing was that there was a pattern at all. He gave a shallow sigh of satisfaction. There
was
something inside the Falcon, some form of energy, an invisible matrix of information coherent enough for the telaug to detect and record.

The lines on the screen twisted and writhed, glowing an ugly shade of green – the green of disease and decay, the green of rotten meat, of the sky before a thunderstorm.

An indicator light told Crystalman that the process was complete, that the energy signature of whatever was inside the Martian Falcon had now been recorded. He manipulated more controls, calling up his own brain pattern from the depths of the machine’s memory. His gaze fell upon the lever that would connect the two patterns, placing him in direct contact with the pattern inside the Falcon.

He hesitated, glancing again at the green tendrils that writhed across the monitor screen.

He pulled the lever.

He gasped, his mouth open wide behind his quartz mask. He reached up with hands that had become desperate claws and tore the mask from his head. It skittered away across the stone floor of the chamber as he fell to his knees, panting, his eyes tightly shut.

He groaned, and somewhere in the depths of his mind the realisation came to him that the voice was not his.

A series of sense impressions flooded his awareness.

Confinement… aeon-long and terrible beyond enduring.

The stillness of stone, the silence of ages, trapped within an implacable polymerized lattice of volcanic glass, coughed out of Mars when the planet was still young.

And
rage
… rage as powerful as the great volcano that had birthed his prison, powerful enough to smite worlds and scrape the screaming life from them.

Crystalman gasped again, dragged himself to his knees and reached with a violently-trembling hand towards the lever that would shut down the telaug machine. He pulled the lever and fell onto his back, once again feeling air surrounding him instead of stone, once again feeling limbs, skin, bone and senses instead of the unendurable stillness and darkness that had enclosed him.

Panting, he turned his head to look at the Martian Falcon, standing still and serene within the telaug.

Still, serene and silent.

And containing something that wanted out, something that wanted out very badly indeed.

Crystalman took the Falcon, walked unsteadily back to the railed vehicle and returned to his ‘drawing room’ in the immense cavern beneath the house. Still breathing raggedly, still unsteady on his feet, he crossed the floor and sat in an armchair.

There was something powerful inside the Falcon – no doubt about it. A raging mind, a soul in torment, anger and terror fused into a terrible new alloy… but behind it, beyond it… yes, there was something else, some
where
else, something far worse… and it was that which had thrown Crystalman to his knees. He had touched it for the briefest span, and the touch had nearly annihilated him. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe more evenly.

‘The power of it,’ he whispered. ‘Yes… the power. When the time comes, I will need to forsake this body, this fragile flesh; I will need to return to that of which I am the merest fragment. And then…’ He smiled and looked up at the ceiling of the cavern far above. ‘I know what you are… and I humbly send you greetings.’

CHAPTER 14
Reprieve

The vampires approached slowly and steadily, their weapons still trained on Capone’s head.

‘Buncha numb-nuts,’ said Capone. ‘Whataya waitin’ for? Let’s go!’

‘You’re going to pay for what you did to Johnny Sanguine, garbage can,’ said one of the vampires.

‘Oh yeah? And who’s gonna make me pay? You?’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Fort, stepping forward suddenly. Four of the vampires immediately trained their weapons on him. ‘Capone had nothing to do with your boss’s murder.’

‘Shut it, Fort,’ said the vampire. ‘We’ll get to you next.’

‘It’s true,’ Fort persisted.

‘I said shut it!’ The vampire returned his attention to Capone. ‘Was the bird really worth that much to you? Was it really worth your life, you metal maggot?’

‘What the hell are you talkin’ about, nightwalker?’ said Capone.

‘Rusty Links, that shapeshifting bitch! We know she’s working for you. We know you paid her to stake Johnny and take the Falcon. Why? What’s it worth to you? Tell us, and we’ll make it quick and easy for you.’

Capone laughed. ‘The sunlight must be gettin’ to you. Like I said to my friend Charlie here, I don’t deal with shifters – they can’t be trusted. Guess old Johnny found that out for himself, didn’t he?’

Fort glanced back along the road. The traffic had come to a halt behind the wreckage of the truck and Capone’s limousine. The people in the cars were wisely staying put; no one was getting out. Fort saw ashen faces through windshields. Further back along the road, drivers who couldn’t see what had caused the wreck were honking their horns in frustration. The traffic was quickly backing up. In a few minutes, the cops would show up. Fort hoped that he and Lovecraft would still be alive when they did.

One of the vampires had the same thought. He stepped forward. ‘Carmine,’ he said to the lead vampire. ‘Let’s just do them and get out of here. Cops’ll be here soon.’

‘Shut it, Vinnie,’ said Carmine.

‘You should ask yourself why Sanguine stole the Falcon in the first place,’ said Fort, resisting the temptation to check his wristwatch.
God damn it
, he thought.
Cops’ll show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night, but when you actually
need
them

‘I told you to shut up, Fort,’ said Carmine.

‘Or what? You’ll shoot me? You’re going to do that anyway. What did Sanguine know about the Falcon?’

‘Nothing.’ Carmine turned his machine gun on Fort. ‘What do
you
know about it?’

‘We know it’s dangerous,’ Lovecraft piped up.

Carmine’s gun twitched in his direction, and Lovecraft took an instinctive step back. ‘Dangerous how?’

‘It’s entirely possible that it destroyed the Martian civilisation,’ Lovecraft replied.

Fort thought about telling him to shut up, but they still needed to play for time, and the way Carmine’s gun wavered a little told him that Lovecraft was doing a pretty good job.

‘What are you talking about?’ said the vampire.

‘Sanguine stole it thinkin’ he could put me in the frame for the heist, didn’t he?’ said Capone. ‘Only he didn’t figure on Rusty Links double crossing him. I thought Johnny was smarter than that…’

‘Shut up about that!’ said Carmine. ‘I don’t wanna hear about that. I’m talkin’ to slim over there. What do you mean it destroyed the Martians?’

‘I take it you didn’t read this morning’s newspapers,’ said Lovecraft.

‘I had other things on my mind,’ said Carmine.

The distant wail of police sirens drifted along the road.

‘Damn it, Carmine, come
on
!’ said Vinnie.

‘Vinnie, so help me…’

Another vampire stepped forward. ‘Vinnie’s right,’ he said. ‘We gotta get going. Let’s just do Capone and take these two with us. Then we can make them talk.’

‘Sir,’ said Lovecraft, ‘you don’t need to
make
us talk. We will quite happily tell you whatever you want to know, so please… put your typewriters down.’

Vinnie glanced at the other vampires. ‘Typewriters? Is this guy for real?’

‘Okay, we’ll do it your way,’ said Carmine, taking aim once again at Capone’s head. ‘Kiss your diesel-powered ass goodbye, Capone…’

Lovecraft and Fort winced in anticipation of the coming hail of bullets, but instead of firing, Carmine hesitated and glanced up at the sky. The other vampires did the same and then looked at each other in apparent confusion.

‘What’s happening?’ whispered Lovecraft.

‘I’m not sure,’ Fort whispered back.

The vampires lowered their weapons and stood still, with their heads raised, as if they were listening to something.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ said Capone. ‘You got cold feet?’ He slammed his fists into his metal chest. ‘Come on!’

‘Shut up, shit bucket,’ said Carmine. He beckoned to the other vampires, and they huddled together, speaking quietly to each other.

Then, with a final glance at Capone, they returned to their cars and took off, skidding across the central divide with a grind of metal on concrete and hurtling back along the Expressway.

‘What the fuck?’ said Capone. ‘Why’d they take off like that?’

‘I have no idea,’ Fort replied. ‘But I think it may be worth our while to find out.’

‘Another time, maybe,’ said Capone, jerking his head at the oncoming traffic on the other side of the central divide, and the two police squad cars that were rapidly approaching. ‘See ya later, boys.’

With that, he ran to the edge of the elevated highway and leaped over. A couple of seconds later, Lovecraft and Fort heard the crunch of metal on asphalt and a sudden cacophony of honking horns and screeching tyres. They ran to the edge and looked over to see Capone racing off amongst the swerving traffic.

Fort sighed and shook his head, as the squad cars skidded to a halt and four cops piled out, guns drawn. ‘Son of a bitch,’ he said.

*

Twenty minutes later, Lovecraft and Fort were sitting on uncomfortable chairs in a small, drab room in the 7th Precinct stationhouse on the Lower East Side. Lovecraft had expected to make a statement and be politely thanked and allowed to leave, but Fort knew better.

Lovecraft glanced at Fort, who was leaning forward, face cradled in palms, his elbows planted on the cheap table in front of them. The table had once been white, but years of cigarette smoke had persuaded it to give up the pretence.

‘Not even coffee, eh?’ said Lovecraft.

‘Not even coffee,’ Fort replied, taking a hip flask from an inside pocket of his suit. He unscrewed it, took a lengthy sip and then offered it to Lovecraft.

‘No, thank you, Charles. I never indulge.’

Fort sighed. ‘Of course you don’t, Howard.’

‘We’ve given our statements. For how long do you think we’re going to be detained?’

At that moment, the door opened and John Carter and Dave Wiseman entered.

‘Well well,’ said Fort. ‘If it isn’t Tweedledum and Tweedle-dumber. How you doing, boys?’

Wiseman gave him a humourless grin. ‘From the look of things, a hell of a lot better than you, Fort.’

Carter and Wiseman took the two empty chairs across the table from Lovecraft and Fort.

‘So,’ said Fort. ‘You got me on the detain-on-sight list, huh?’

‘Not quite, Charlie,’ Carter replied. ‘Cops took statements from the witnesses on the Expressway. They saw what happened with you and Capone and the vampires; they also saw Capone leaving the scene.’

‘When they called it in,’ added Wiseman, ‘we decided to bring you in for further questioning.’

Fort smiled. ‘Thanks. Saved us having to walk back.’

Carter smiled too, and then glanced at Lovecraft. ‘So… what’s your story, Mr. Lovecraft?’

‘Er… my story?’

‘How did you come to be mixed up in all this?’

‘He’s my new research assistant,’ Fort began, but Carter held up a hand.

‘I think the gentleman can speak for himself, don’t you, Charlie?’

Fort shrugged, folded his arms and sat back on his chair.

‘I am a writer, sir,’ said Lovecraft. ‘One who has, regrettably, been forced by parlous financial circumstances to seek regular employment. Mr. Fort was kind enough to offer me such employment…’

Wiseman grunted. ‘That
was
kind of him. Where do you live?’

Lovecraft told him.

‘And where are you from, originally? Boston?’

‘Providence, Rhode Island.’

‘What are you doing in New York?’

‘I was married, briefly. I moved here with my then-wife.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘Cleveland.’

Wiseman leaned forward. ‘And what were you and Mr. Fort here doing in Al Capone’s limousine?’

Lovecraft hesitated, shrugged and said: ‘Being chased by vampires.’

‘Don’t get smart, Mr. Lovecraft,’ Wiseman rumbled. ‘You’re in a heap of trouble.’

Lovecraft swallowed audibly.

‘Don’t listen to him, Howard,’ said Fort. ‘He doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.’

Wiseman cackled like a witch and shot a glance at Carter. ‘Get this guy, John! I don’t know what I’m talking about. Well, Mr. Fort, why don’t you set me straight? Let’s start with what you said last night. The case is closed, you said. No more reason to have anything to do with Capone, you said. And yet, here you are the next day, running around with him in his limo. What’s the deal, Charlie boy?’

‘You still think I was involved in the Falcon heist,’ said Fort. ‘Me and Capone.’

Wiseman gave an elaborate shrug. ‘Like I said last night: tell me why I’m wrong.’

Fort shook his head sadly. ‘Such two-dimensional thinking.’

Wiseman frowned. ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Mr. Lovecraft and I swung by the Medical Examiner’s office this morning and took a peek at the autopsy report on the three deadwalkers who were found in back of the Algonquin. They didn’t belong to Capone…’ Fort glanced from Wiseman to Carter. ‘But of course, you already knew that, didn’t you? No traces of Enochian Magick, which is the method Capone uses for reanimation.’

‘So Sanguine stole the Falcon after all?’ said Carter.

Fort snapped his fingers. ‘Bingo! Yeah, Sanguine stole the Falcon, and got staked for his trouble.’

‘Do you know who by?’

‘According to Sanguine’s boys, it was Rusty Links…’

‘What?’ said Wiseman with an incredulous snort. ‘You’re telling us a girl took out the most powerful vampire in New York?’

Fort smiled, his gaze remaining on Carter.

‘She’s a… shapeshifter?’ Carter said.

‘The penny drops,’ said Fort. ‘Hallelujah.’

Carter nodded contemplatively. ‘She could have taken the form of something so dangerous and powerful not even Sanguine would have stood a chance.’

‘You’re actually buying this bullshit?’ said Wiseman.

‘Hold on, Dave,’ said Carter, leaning forward. ‘All right, Charlie, let’s just say that you’re right…’

‘Not me,’ said Fort. ‘Sanguine’s boys – and they were there.’

‘Okay, fine,’ said Carter. ‘But why?’

‘Because she wanted the Falcon, and she took it. Sanguine’s boys think she stole it on Capone’s orders, but I don’t think so. I think she stole it for someone else.’

‘Who?’

‘I have no idea, but I need to find out. We
all
need to find out, and quickly.’

Carter hesitated. ‘Because of Tesla…’


Tesla?
’ said Wiseman. ‘What the hell has
he
got to do with this?’

‘You know, Dave, you should try reading the front pages once in a while instead of just the funnies,’ said Fort.

Wiseman ground his jaw but said nothing.

His gaze still fixed on Carter, Fort continued: ‘There’s something more going on here than two wiseguys knocking the shit out of each other – something much more. You know it, Howard and I know it, and given time, even Einstein here’ll figure it out. The Martian Falcon is more than just a statue, a relic from a dead civilisation. The question is: what is it?’

‘And why does…
someone
want it?’ added Carter.

‘Yeah, that too.’

‘You don’t think it’s Links?’

Fort shook his head. ‘I’d be surprised if she were acting alone. This seems too ambitious. I think there’s someone pulling her strings, someone who knows – or suspects – what the Falcon really is. That’s the person you should be looking for.’

Carter nodded. ‘We’ll issue an arrest warrant for Links…’

Fort chuckled. ‘Good luck with that.’

Carter shook his head miserably. ‘Yeah, I know. How do you bring in a shapeshifter? She could look like anyone or anything.’

‘That’s your problem, boys,’ said Fort, trying not to look too smug.

‘It’s your problem too, Fort,’ said Wiseman. ‘You and your pal here aren’t off the hook yet.’

Carter ignored him and said: ‘What’s next for you, Charlie? From what you’ve been saying, you’re not going to walk away from this.’

‘Damn right I’m not. As soon as you cut us loose, Mr. Lovecraft and I are heading out to Colorado to have a talk with Dr. Tesla about the transmission he intercepted from Mars…’

‘The hell you are!’ said Wiseman. ‘You’re not skipping town until this investigation is put to bed.’

Fort slammed his fist onto the table. ‘Damn it, Wiseman, why can’t you get it through your thick skull that this isn’t about gangsters? It never was! It’s about all of us – the entire human race. Tesla has detected a transmission coming from Mars, a transmission that only began
after
the departure of the X-M expedition from the planet – a transmission that shows the destruction of the Martian civilisation.’

‘And you think the Falcon has something to do with it?’ said Wiseman.

‘That’s what we need to find out,’ said Fort. ‘Because if the transmission
was
triggered by the removal of the Falcon from that temple on Mars – and I’d put money on that being the case – then it stands a chance that the Falcon is somehow connected with the catastrophe that wiped out the Martians five million years ago.’

Carter and Wiseman glanced at each other. Wiseman shook his head slowly.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Lovecraft, ‘let’s not forget that the crew of Rocketship X-M have not been the same since they returned to Earth, and that the Martian Falcon was displayed at the museum in a lead-lined case. There is something very strange about that object – and not just that it’s from Mars.’

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