Planet Stories: Golden Age Space Opera Tales (Short Story Fiction Anthology)

RAIDERS OF THE SECOND MOON-9

A FAT, SQUARE-JAWED face, harsh lines paralleling the ugly blob of a nose, showed through the opened robe of the leader. The face was that of Doctor Von Mark the treacherous Nazi scientist that Stephen Dietrich had trailed across space to Sekk! But Noork knew nothing of that chase. The man’s face seemed familiar, and hateful, but that was all he remembered.

“I see you have come from the island,” said the Doctor. “Perhaps you can tell me the secret of this invisible material I wear. With the secret of invisibility I, Karl Von Mark, can again conquer Earth and make the Fatherland invincible.”

“I do not understand too well,” said Noork hesitantly. “Are we enemies? There is so much I have forgotten.” He regarded the brutal face thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you know from what valley the great bird brought me,” he said. “Or perhaps the other bird brought you here.”

Von Mark’s blue eyes widened and then he roared with a great noise that was intended to be mirth. His foot slammed harder into Noork’s defenseless ribs.

“Perhaps you have forgotten, swine of an American,” he roared suddenly, and in his hand was an ugly looking automatic. He flung back his robe and Noork saw the dress uniform of a general. “Perhaps,” the scientist repeated, “but I will take no chances. The amnesia is often but a pretense.”

His lip curled. “This is something for you to remember, Captain Dietrich,” he said as the ugly black muzzle of the gun centered on Noork’s bronzed chest.

And then Doctor Von Mark cursed as the gun dropped from his nerveless fingers and his hands clawed weakly at the arrow buried in his wide belly. He stumbled backward.

Arrows rained from the mistiness that had closed in about Von Mark and his men. The men from Wari, their faces unshielded, fell like flies. In a moment those yet alive had taken to their heels, and Noork felt invisible fingers tearing at the nets that bound him.

As he rose to his feet the robed figure let its misty covering drop aside. A handsome golden-skinned warrior stood revealed.

“Gurn!” cried Noork.

A glad cry came from the throat of Tholon Sarna as she saw her brother. And then she crept closer to Noork’s side as the invisible mantles of Gurn’s loyal Vasads opened to reveal the hairy beast men they concealed. Rold whimpered fearfully.

“The message that Ud carried to me was good,” laughed Gurn. “The Misty Ones skin easily. We were trapping the Misty Ones as they came across the lake,” he looked at the dying Von Mark, “as were these others. Soon we would have come to your rescue, Noork, my friend.”

“Lucky I escaped first,” Noork told him. “The priests of Uzdon would have trapped you. To them the Misty Ones are visible.”

He picked up the fallen vision shield that lay beside their feet. His chest expanded proudly.

“No longer,” he told Gurn, “am I a man without a name. I am Captain Dietrich from a distant valley called America. I was hunting this evil man when my bird died.”

He smiled and his brown arm tightened around Sarna’s golden body. “The evil man is dead. My native valley is safe. Now I can live in peace with you, Gurn, and with your sister, here in the jungle.”

“It is good, Noork,” smiled Tholon Sarna.