Avengers of Space E-Book

Henry Kuttner

• Herausgeber: Wildside Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 101

Beschreibung

Terry Shawn and his Eagle crew raged through the interstellar spaces bent on avenging Earth’s destruction by spaceships of another planet—and faced the strangest destiny ever encountered by man. Classic space opera!

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

AVENGERS OF SPACE, by Henry Kuttner

INTRODUCTION

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

AVENGERS OF SPACE,by Henry Kuttner

INTRODUCTION

Henry Kuttner was born in Los Angeles, California in 1915. As a young man, he worked in his spare time for the literary agency of his uncle, Laurence D’Orsay (in fact his first cousin by marriage), in Los Angeles before selling his first story, “The Graveyard Rats,” to Weird Tales in early 1936. It was while working for the d’Orsay Agency that Kuttner picked Leigh Brackett’s early manuscripts off the slush pile. It was under his tutelage that she sold her first story (to John W. Campbell at Astounding Stories).

Kuttner was known for his literary prose and worked in close collaboration with his wife, C.L. Moore. They met through their association with the “Lovecraft Circle,” a group of writers and fans who corresponded with H.P. Lovecraft. Their work together spanned the 1940s and 1950s and most of the work was credited to pseudonyms, mainly Lewis Padgett and Lawrence O’Donnell.

L. Sprague de Camp, who knew Kuttner and Moore well, has stated that their collaboration was so seamless that, after a story was completed, it was often impossible for either Kuttner or Moore to recall who had written what. According to de Camp, it was typical for either partner to break off from a story in mid-paragraph or even mid-sentence, with the latest page of the manuscript still in the typewriter. The other spouse would routinely continue the story where the first had left off. They alternated in this manner as many times as necessary until the story was finished.

Among Kuttner’s most popular work were the Gallegher stories, published under the Padgett name, about a man who invented high-tech solutions to client problems (assisted by his insufferably egomaniacal robot) when he was stinking drunk, only to be completely unable to remember exactly what he had built or why after sobering up. These stories were later collected in Robots Have No Tails. In her introduction to the 1973 edition, Moore stated that Kuttner wrote all the Gallegher stories himself.

Marion Zimmer Bradley is among many authors who have cited Kuttner as an influence. Her novel The Bloody Sun is dedicated to him. Roger Zelazny has talked about the influence of The Dark World on his Amber series.

Kuttner’s friend Richard Matheson dedicated his 1954 novel I Am Legend to Kuttner, with thanks for his help and encouragement. Ray Bradbury has said that Kuttner actually wrote the last 300 words of Bradbury’s first horror story, “The Candle” (Weird Tales, November 1942). Bradbury has referred to Kuttner as a neglected master and a “pomegranate writer: popping with seeds—full of ideas.”

William S. Burroughs’s novel The Ticket That Exploded contains direct quotes from Kuttner regarding the “Happy Cloak” parasitic pleasure monster from the Venusian seas.

Mary Elizabeth Counselman believed that Kuttner's habit of writing under widely varied pseudonyms deprived him of the fame that should have been his. “I have often wondered why Kuttner chose to hide his talents behind so many false faces for no editorial reason... Admittedly, the fun is in pretending to be someone else. But Kuttner cheated himself of much fame that he richly deserved by hiding his light under a bushel of pen names that many fans did not know were his. Seabury Quinn and I both chided him about this.”

Among his pseudonyms were:

Edward J. Bellin

Paul Edmonds

Noel Gardner

Will Garth

James Hall

Keith Hammond

Hudson Hastings

Peter Horn

Kelvin Kent (used for work with Arthur K. Barnes)

Robert O. Kenyon

C. H. Liddell

Hugh Maepenn

Scott Morgan

Lawrence O’Donnell

Lewis Padgett

Woodrow Wilson Smith

Charles Stoddard

According to J. Vernon Shea, August Derleth “kept promising to publish Hank's and Catherine’s books under the Arkham House imprint, but kept postponing them.”

Henry Kuttner spent the middle 1950s getting his master's degree before dying of a heart attack in Los Angeles in 1958.

—Karl Wurf

Rockville, Maryland

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

First published Marvel Science Stories, August 1938.

CHAPTER I

Into the Void

Terry Shawn was worried. The reporter should have been here hours ago. According to long-made plans, the Eagle would make its first flight from this lonely Arizona valley at six o’clock—and it was long past that time now. Shawn’s lean, tanned face was angry in the cold glare of arc lights as he stamped up and down, swinging his arms to keep warm.

Abruptly he stiffened, stepped into the darkness and shaded his eyes. Far in the distance he could see the headlights of an automobile—no, several of them—racing over the valley road. Grunting, Shawn went to a huge shed that towered not far away. He kicked open a door and yelled:

“Get ready, boys! He’s on the way.”

Within the great barn was a shimmering sphere of metal, the Eagle, first spaceship ever to be built on Earth. Months of careful planning and construction had gone into it, the culmination of years of atomic experimentation by Shawn. From a porthole dangled a rope ladder, and down this scrambled a man, wizened and agile as a monkey. He was chewing a blackened briar, puffing out noxious clouds of smoke. He was Sam Heffley, a noted physicist from whom Shawn had learned the fundamentals of science.

“ ’Bout time,” the little man snarled, ambling toward the door. “Imagine holding up the start for a lousy reporter.”

“We had to keep our end of the bargain,” Shawn said sourly. “Lord knows we needed the money the Tribune advanced. It took plenty of dough to build the Eagle. I spent weeks trying to convince the publisher it’d be worth his while to back us.”

Heffley came to peer out into the night. “Well, he’s made a good investment. Drove a hard bargain, too. Fifteen per cent of the profits.”

“I’d laugh if there weren’t any profits,” Shawn chuckled.

“Oh, there will be. The Moon’s virgin territory, a whole new world, with minerals waiting to be dug up. We’ll get gold, all right, and silver—and precious stones, I’ll bet. Blast this pipe!” Heffley found a match and lit his dead tobacco.

* * * *

Shawn said, “Wait a minute!” He listened. The faint crackle of gunfire came to their ears.

Swiftly, Shawn moved. He leaped to a switchboard behind the door, flung down levers. The bright glare of the arc lamps died. Now the headlights of the approaching cars were clearly visible—and so were the occasional flashes of exploding weapons.

“What the devil!” Heffley snapped. “They’re—”

“International Power men, I’ll bet.” Shawn’s lean face was set in a hard grin. The tall, muscular fighting-machine of his body swung into action.

“Pete!” he yelled, “Hooker!” He sprang toward a gun-rack near by, lifted out a rifle and a heavy, snub-nosed automatic.

In the Eagle’s open porthole two faces showed—Hooker Flynn, ex-prizefighter, a huge dull-faced gorilla of a man; Pete Trost, astronomer, with a keen dark face handsome as a movie idol’s and a brain as cold and accurate as polished beryllium-steel.

“What’s up, Terry?” Hooker Flynn rumbled.

“Trouble,” Shawn shouted. “Start the engines. We may have to take off in a hurry. Don’t know how many guys are coming—”

The two heads vanished; Shawn retreated to the door. At his side was Heffley, armed, puffing frantically on his pipe.

The rattle of gunfire grew louder. The bellow of straining engines shrieked through the night. A beam of light from a car’s headlight, coldly revealing, flashed briefly across the two men’s figures. Then, suddenly, a black sedan thundered out of darkness, brakes screaming. It whirled in a crazy skid and toppled over sidewise. Tinkle of breaking glass sounded.

“Stay here,” Shawn commanded, and ran forward. He halted as a shot hissed past his head. Another automobile appeared, with men crouching on the running boards, guns in their hands.

Shawn flung up his gun in a quick snap shot. One of the killers screamed, lost his hold, and went hurtling through the air, a dark figure that rolled over and over in the dust to lay still at last. The car made a quick swerve, circled back into the gloom. Shawn ran to the overturned auto as he saw a white hand groping through the broken window.

He peered down, saw a pale face staring up at him, blue eyes fear-filled. “Wait a minute,” he said, and whipped off his coat, wrapping it around his fist. He started to break off the sharp edges of glass that rimmed the window-frame. But a cry from Heffley made him change his mind.

“Hurry up, Terry! They’re coming—”

Shots crashed. Shawn swiftly put his coat inside the window-frame, grabbed the arms that reached up to him. He pulled the occupant of the car out, realizing with a sudden shock that it was a girl, red hair flying in mad disarray.

The glass that remained played havoc with the girl’s dress, ripping it nearly off her slim body. For a second Shawn felt the warm firmness of her half-bared bosom hot against his cheek. Even at that moment the blood pounded dizzily in his temples at the girl’s alluring nearness, at the musky perfume that was strong in his nostrils. Shawn’s throat felt dry. His pulses beat faster at the touch of his hands upon her rounded, vibrant body. All he seemed able to think of was that this girl was beautiful, and that he had never before felt as he did now.

She slid down, staring around with frightened eyes, and Shawn stopped to hold his breath. The night breeze was icy on his perspiration-wet face. Then he looked down and whispered an oath.

There was another body left in the car. Shawn made a motion toward it, but the girl caught his arm.

“Mac’s dead. They shot him—through the head. I’ve been driving—”

“Terry!” Hysteria edged Heffley’s voice. “Terry!”

Dark figures were converging toward Shawn, grim purpose in their swift advance. Some of them were between him and the barn. Shawn’s lips tightened in a crooked grin. The attackers were holding their fire—depending on numbers. Well, that was their mistake.

Shawn said under his breath, “Keep behind me. Come on!”

* * * *

He charged forward in purposeful silence, hearing the quick patter of the girl’s footsteps. Then, suddenly, he was in the midst of a tangle of cursing, snarling men, too nonplussed by Shawn’s unexpected action to move in accord. A gun clubbed down at Shawn’s head. He jerked aside, felt numbing pain lance through his shoulder. His fists were smashing out in driving, sledgehammer blows, his big body moving forward relentlessly through the circle of his attackers.

Abruptly all lights went out. In the dim starlight it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe. But Shawn managed to make out the smaller shadow that was the girl; he lunged toward her, knocking a man aside.

“Shoot!” somebody yelled. “Don’t let him get away! Shoot, damn it!”

But they couldn’t shoot without a mark. Shawn felt soft, warm flesh under his hand. The girl cried out, and instantly shadows closed in on her. But Shawn had already picked up her slim body, flung her over his shoulder like a bag of meal, and, head down, run for the barn. He could see a tiny spot of red light, glowing like a coal. Heffley, after switching off the lights, was using his pipe-embers to signal the position of the doorway.

Shawn cannoned into a slight figure, heard Heffley’s reedy voice whispering urgent commands. He jumped inside the barn.

“Shut the door!”

Heffley obeyed, moved to the light-switch, turned it on. Radiance flooded the barn. Hooker Flynn was halfway down the rope-ladder that dangled from the Eagle’s porthole. He was gripping a blackjack in a huge, hairy hand.

“You okay, Chief?” he rumbled.

“I told you to start the motors!” Shawn snapped. The girl wriggled free, stood gasping, an ivory statue half clothed by the tatters of her dress. Heffley was barring the door. Already the men outside were kicking at the barrier.

“We started ’em,” Flynn said. “Who’re those mugs, huh?”