Planet Of No Return

Bit by bit he lifted it higher, until he could get his fingertips under the bottom edge. Once this grip was secure he bent his legs until he was squatting on his thighs, took a deep breath and straightened up, lifting smoothly. The metal tube rose up and up — then dropped suddenly sideways as it came free.

Brion jumped back as it clanged down on the stone surface. Breathing deeply as he looked at what had been revealed.

Fitted inside a shiny metal frame was a compact electronic apparatus of some kind. There were familiar looking circuit boards with memory nodules, amplifiers and transformers, and all of it connected together by a network of wires. A thick cable emerged from a junction box, and he traced it with his eye down to the solid bulk of an atomic battery that was fitted into place at the base. It was a heavy duty battery which meant that if the drain wasn’t too great this machine might be able to function for years without attention. But what was its function? Almost all of the components were familiar, resembling closely some he had worked with himself. As he looked at it, Brion became aware of a slight humming emanating from the device. Was it functioning? He walked around it and, yes, there were LED displays on the far side, flickering with swift-changing numbers. So it was working, fine. But what was it — and what possible connection did it have to do with the war machines?

Brion bent and picked up his knife, then stepped back to look at the thing again. It was an absolute mystery. He raised the blade and aimed it, filled with the sudden impulse to jam it deep into the works. He resisted. That would accomplish nothing, other than his possible electrocution. Could there possibly be any nameplates or identification marks of any kind on the thing? As he bent over for a closer look loud explosions boomed out close behind him.

Reflex sent him hurtling to one side, rolling as he fell, turning and raising the knife before him.

Three men stood there, facing him, men who could not possibly have been there an instant before.

Three men dressed completely in black, with heavy boots and thick pressure suits. Their features were concealed by helmets with reflecting faceplates. All of them carried metal cases of some kind, and they did not appear to be armed. They must have been equally surprised to see him, for they recoiled back from the threat of his knife. Brion straightened slowly and slid the knife back into its sheath and took a step towards the nearest man. The man stepped back and pressed a control at his waist. There was a sharp bang — and he vanished just as suddenly as he had appeared.

“What’s happening here? Who are you?” Brion called out, walking forward. The two remaining men fell back before him just as explosions sounded for a third time. They were cracked out in rapid succession as, one after another, and at least a dozen more men appeared dressed in the same outfits.

But these men were armed. Their heavy rifles were raised and pointed in his direction. Brion stood still, making no movements to alarm them. The man in front, with identifying stripes of some kind on his arms, lowered his weapon and touched his helmet. His faceplate opened.

“Who are you?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

17: The Killers

The other armed men were opening their faceplates now.

“Does he understand you, sergeant?” one of them called out.

“That’s a wicked looked knife he’s wearing.”

“Tell him to drop it.”

Brion understood well enough; they were speaking Universal Esperanto, the interstellar language that everyone used in addition to their native tongue. He raised his hand slowly and placed it carefully on his knife. “I’m going to put this on the ground. Just keep your fingers easy on those triggers.”

The Sergeant watched closely, gun pointed, as Brion dropped the knife. When it was on the ground he lowered his gun and stepped forward. He was a grim looking man with slitted eyes, his skin pale above the black smudge of his unshaven jaw.

“You’re not a Gyongyos tech,” the Sergeant said. “Not in that outfit. What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same question, Sergeant,” Brion said. “Explain yourself. I have more questions than you do …”

“Not for me you don’t. I don’t like this at all.” He called back over his shoulder, “Corporal. Jump back and get a pressure suit, a big one. Tell the captain what we’ve found, tell him to let the War Department know at once.”

The crackling explosion sounded again. Brion realized it had something to do with their appearance and disappearance, as though they moved so fast they displaced the air, or left a vacuum like a lightning bolt. Military ranks, reporting to the War Department — they must surely have some connection with the mechanized army that had originated here. Perhaps the machines had materialized just the way they did!

“You’re responsible for the tanks and all the armoured vehicles, aren’t you?”