The Short Stories of Edmond Hamilton: Volume II Read online

  The Short Stories of Edmond Hamilton

  VOLUME II

  Considered a pioneer of the science fiction/alternative fiction forms, Edmond Moore Hamilton was born in 1904 in Youngstown, Ohio. He is remembered, among other things, for his muscular and fast-paced adventure novels and serializations - the juvenile sci-fi pulp series, Captain Future; the Interstellar Patrol stories – and for his comic book writing, especially for the Superman and Batman series.

  Hamilton grew up in Pennsylvania and started writing early. He graduated high school at the tender age of 14, entering Westminster College.

  Hamilton was first published in 1926 by the classic pulp fiction magazine, Weird Tales (WT). With the appearance of the short story The Monster-God of Marmuth (which also later was expanded as a novel), Hamilton became a member of an august group of writers and editors who would shape the concept of a science/alternative fiction genre. This company included WT editor Farnsworth Wright and writers H.P. Lovecraft, Jack Williamson, Robert E. Howard and Otis Kline, among many others. Hamilton would prove to be one of WT’s most prolific contributors with 79 stories published.

  Hamilton became popular as an author of “space opera”, a sub-genre he created along with E.E. "Doc" Smith. Their work is characterized by romantic outer space adventures (“space opera” is a play on the term “soap opera”). Hamilton’s story The Island of Unreason, published in Wonder Stories in 1933, won the first Jules Verne Prize (this was the first science fiction prize for writing awarded by popular vote, a precursor of the later Hugo Awards).

  And in 1936, Hamilton completed what is considered the first hardcover compilation of the science fiction genre - The Horror on The Asteroid and Other Tales of Planetary Horror. Among the iconic stories contained in it: The Accursed Galaxy, The Man Who Saw Everything (The Man with X-ray Eyes) and The Earth-Brain.

  As the popularity of the sci-fi genre waxed and waned in the ‘30s and ‘40s, Hamilton branched out into crime and detective fiction. And, in 1946, he began writing for DC Comics, contributing to the Superman and Batman series. He became a regular writer for the Legion of Super-Heroes series before finally retiring from comics altogether in 1966.

  Also in 1946, Hamilton married writer Leigh Brackett, a fellow sci-fi writer and a major Hollywood screenwriter for Howard Hawkes (Brackett co-wrote The Big Sleep with William Faulkner and Rio Bravo, among other classics of American cinema). Hamilton and Brackett collaborated on one work – the anthology Stark and the Star Kings, featuring stories from both writers; it was published in 2005.

  As a mature writer, Hamilton wrote a string of novels, including The Star of Life (1947), The City at World's End (1951), The Haunted Stars (1960), Valley of Creation (1964) and The Lake of Life (1978), continuing to sketch romantic, larger-than-life and – to some – old-fashioned and even corny scenarios.

  Although he was considered to be a bit of a relic towards the end of his career, Hamilton’s reputation soared in other parts of the world. In the year before his death, Japan’s Toei Animation launched production of an anime adaptation of the Captain Future novels and Tsuburaya Productions adapted his novel Star Wolf into a tokusatsu series. Both series were aired on Japanese television in 1978. The Captain Future adaptation was later exported to Europe, winning Hamilton yet another new fan base.

  Edmond Moore Hamilton died February 1, 1977 at the age of 73.

  Index of Contents

  THE LEGION OF LAZARUS

  Introduction

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  THE STARS, MY BROTHERS

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  The Legion of Lazarus

  INTRODUCTION

  It isn't the dying itself. It's what comes before. The waiting, alone in a room without windows, trying to think. The opening of the door, the voices of the men who are going with you but not all the way, the walk down the corridor to the airlock room, the faces of the men, closed and impersonal. They do not enjoy this. Neither do they shrink from it. It's their job.

  This is the room. It is small and it has a window. Outside there is no friendly sky, no clouds. There is space, and there is the huge red circle of Mars filling the sky, looking down like an enormous eye upon this tiny moon. But you do not look up. You look out.

  There are men out there. They are quite naked. They sleep upon the barren plain, drowsing in a timeless ocean. Their bodies are white as ivory and their hair is loose across their faces. Some of them seem to smile. They lie, and sleep, and the great red eye looks at them forever as they are borne around it.

  "It isn't so bad," says one of the men who are with you inside this ultimate room. "Fifty years from now, the rest of us will all be old, or dead."

  It is small comfort.

  The one garment you have worn is taken from you and the lock door opens, and the fear that cannot possibly become greater does become greater, and then suddenly that terrible crescendo is past. There is no longer any hope, and you learn that without hope there is little to be afraid of. You want now only to get it over with.

  You step forward into the lock.

  The door behind you shuts. You sense that the one before you is opening, but there is not much time. The burst of air carries you forward. Perhaps you scream, but you are now beyond sound, beyond sight, beyond everything. You do not even feel that it is cold.

  CHAPTER I

  There is a time for sleep, and a time for waking. But Hyrst had slept heavily, and the waking was hard. He had slept long, and the waking was slow. Fifty years, said the dim voice of remembrance. But another part of his mind said, No, it is only tomorrow morning.

  Another part of his mind. That was strange. There seemed to be more parts to his mind than he remembered having had before, but they were all confused and hidden behind a veil of mist. Perhaps they were not really there at all. Perhaps--

  Fifty years. I have been dead, he thought, and now I live again. Half a century. Strange.

  Hyrst lay on a narrow bed, in a place of subdued light and antiseptic-smelling air. There was no one else in the room. There was no sound.

  Fifty years, he thought. What is it like now, the house where I lived once, the country, the planet? Where are my children, where are my friends, my enemies, the people I loved, the people I hated?

  Where is Elena? Where is my wife?

  A whisper out of nowhere, sad, remote. Your wife is dead and your children are old. Forget them. Forget the friends and the enemies.

  But I can't forget! cried Hyrst silently in the spaces of his own mind. It was only yesterday--

  Fifty years, said the whisper. And you must forget.

  MacDonald, said Hyrst suddenly. I didn't kill him. I was innocent. I can't forget that.

  Careful, said the whisper. Watch out.

  I didn't kill MacDonald. Somebody did. Somebody let me pay for it. Who? Was it Landers? Was it Saul? We four were together out there on Titan, when he died.

  Careful, Hyrst. They're coming. Listen to me. You think this is your own mind speaking, question-and-answer. But it isn't.

  Hyrst sprang upright on the narrow bed, his heart pounding, the sweat running cold on his skin. Who are you? Where are you? How--

 
They're here, said the whisper calmly. Be quiet.

  Two men came into the ward. "I am Dr. Merridew," said the one in the white coverall, smiling at Hyrst with a brisk professional smile. "This is Warden Meister. We didn't mean to startle you. There are a few questions, before we release you--"

  Merridew, said the whisper in Hyrst's mind, is a psychiatrist. Let me handle this.

  Hyrst sat still, his hands lax between his knees, his eyes wide and fixed in astonishment. He heard the psychiatrist's questions, and he heard the answers he gave to them, but he was merely an instrument, with no conscious volition, it was the whisperer in his mind who was answering. Then the warden shuffled some papers he held in his hand and asked questions of his own.

  "You underwent the Humane Penalty without admitting your guilt. For the record, now that the penalty has been paid, do you wish to change your final statements?"

  The voice in Hyrst's mind, the secret voice, said swiftly to him. Don't argue with them, don't get angry, or they'll keep you on and on here.

  "But--" thought Hyrst.

  I know you're innocent, but they'll never believe it. They'll keep you on for further psychiatric tests. They might get near the truth, Hyrst--the truth about us.

  Suddenly Hyrst began to understand, not all and not clearly, something of what had happened to him. The obscuring mists began to lift from the borders of his mind.

  "What is the truth," he asked in that inner quiet, "about us?"

  You've spent fifty years in the Valley of the Shadow. You're changed, Hyrst. You're not quite human any more. No one is, who goes through the freeze. But they don't know that.

  "Then you too--"

  Yes. And I too changed. And that is why our minds can speak, even though I am on Mars and you are on its moon. But they must not know that. So don't argue, don't show emotion!

  The warden was waiting. Hyrst said aloud to him, slowly. "I have no statement to make."

  The warden did not seem surprised. He went on, "According to your papers here you also denied knowing the location of the Titanite for which MacDonald was presumably murdered. Do you still deny that?"

  Hyrst was honestly surprised. "But surely, by now--"

  The warden shrugged. "According to this data, it never came to light."

  "I never knew," said Hyrst, "where it was."

  "Well," said the warden, "I've asked the question and that's as far as my responsibility goes. But there's a visitor who has permission to see you."

  He and the doctor went out. Hyrst watched them go. He thought, So I'm not quite human. Not quite human any more. Does that make me more, or less, than a man?

  Both, said the secret voice. Their minds are still closed to you. Only our minds--we who have changed too--are open.

  "Who are you?" asked Hyrst.

  My name is Shearing. Now listen. When you are released, they'll bring you down here to Mars. I'll be waiting for you. I'll help you.

  "Why? What do you care about me, or a murder fifty years old?"

  I'll tell you why later, said the whisper of Shearing. But you must follow my guidance. There's danger for you, Hyrst, from the moment you're released! There are those who have been waiting for you.

  "Danger? But -"

  The door opened, and Hyrst's visitor came in. He was a man something over sixty but the deep lines in his face made him look older. His face was gray and drawn and twitching, but it became perfectly rigid and white when he came to the foot of the bed and looked at Hyrst. There was rage in his eyes, a rage so old and weary that it brought tears to them.

  "You should have stayed dead," he said to Hyrst. "Why couldn't they let you stay dead?"

  Hyrst was shocked and startled. "Who are you? And why -"

  The other man was not even listening. His eyelids had closed, and when they opened again they looked on naked agony. "It isn't right," he said. "A murderer should die, and stay dead. Not come back."

  "I didn't murder MacDonald," Hyrst said, with the beginnings of anger. "And I don't know why you--"

  He stopped. The white, aging face, the tear-filled, furious eyes, he did not quite know what there was about them but it was there, like an old remembered face peeping up through a blur of water for a moment, and then withdrawing again.

  After a moment, Hyrst said hoarsely, "What's your name?"

  "You wouldn't know it," said the other. "I changed it, long ago."

  Hyrst felt a cold, and it seemed that he could not breathe. He said, "But you were only eleven--"

  He could not go on. There was a terrible silence between them. He must break it, he could not let it go on. He must speak. But all he could say was to whisper, "I'm not a murderer. You must believe it. I'm going to prove it--"

  "You murdered MacDonald. And you murdered my mother. I watched her age and die, spending every penny, spending every drop of her blood and ours, to get you back again. I pretended for fifty years that I too believed you were innocent, when all the time I knew."

  Hyrst said, "I'm innocent." He tried to say a name, too, but he could not speak the word.

  "No. You're lying, as you lied then. We found out. Mother hired detectives, experts. Over and over, for decades--and always they found the same thing. Landers and Saul could not possibly have killed MacDonald, and you were the only other human being there. Proof? I can show you barrels of it. And all of it proof that my father was a murderer."

  He leaned a little toward Hyrst, and the tears ran down his lined, careworn face. He said, "All right, you've come back. Alive, still young. But I'm warning you. If you try again to get that Titanite, if you shame us all again after all this time, if you even come near us, I'll kill you."

  He went out. Hyrst sat, looking after him, and he thought that no man before him had ever felt what tore him now.

  Inside his mind came Shearing's whisper, with a totally unexpected note of compassion. But some of us have, Hyrst. Welcome to the brotherhood. Welcome to the Legion of Lazarus.

  CHAPTER II

  Mars roared and glittered tonight. And how was a man to stand the faces and lights and sounds, when he had come back from the silence of eternity?

  Hyrst walked through the flaring streets of Syrtis City with slow and dragging steps. It was like being back on Earth. For this city was not really part of the old dead planet, of the dark barrens that rolled away beneath the night. This was the place of the rocket-men, the miners, the schemers, the workers, who had come from another, younger world. Their bars and entertainment houses flung a sun-like brilliance. Their ships, lifting majestically skyward from the distant spaceport, wrote their flaming sign on the sky. Only here and there moved one of the hooded, robed humanoids who had once owned this world.

  The next corner, said the whisper in Hyrst's mind. Turn there. No, not toward the spaceport. The other way.

  Hyrst thought suddenly, "Shearing."

  Yes?

  "I am being followed."

  His physical ears heard nothing but the voices and music. His physical eyes saw only the street crowd. Yet he knew. He knew it by a picture that kept coming into his mind, of a blurred shape moving always behind him.

  Of course you're being followed, came Shearing's thought. I told you they've been waiting for you. This is the corner. Turn.

  Hyrst turned. It was a darker street, running away from the lights through black warehouses and on the labyrinthine monolithic houses of the humanoids.

  Now look back, Shearing commanded. No, not with your eyes! With your mind. Learn to use your talents.

  Hyrst tried. The blurred image in his mind came clearer, and clearer still, and it was a young man with a vicious mouth and flat uncaring eyes. Hyrst shivered. "Who is he?"

  He works for the men who have been waiting for you, Hyrst. Bring him this way.

  "This--way?"

  Look ahead. With your mind. Can't you learn?

  Stung to sudden anger, Hyrst flung out a mental probe with a power he hadn't known he possessed. In a place of total darkness between two warehouse
s ahead, he saw a tall man lounging at his ease. Shearing laughed.

  Yes, it's me. Just walk past me. Don't hurry.

  Hyrst glanced backward, mentally at the man following him through the shadows. He was closer now, and quite silent. His face was tight and secret. Hyrst thought, How do I know this Shearing isn't in it with him, taking me into a place where they can both get at me--

  He went past the two warehouses and he did not turn his head but his mind saw Shearing waiting in the darkness. Then there was a soft, shapeless sound, and he turned and saw Shearing bending over a huddled form.

  "That was unkind of you," said Shearing, speaking aloud but not loudly.

  Hyrst, still shaking, said, "But not exactly strange. I've never seen you before. And I still don't know what this is all about."