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  ISLAND OF FEAR

  William Sambrot

  A PERMABOOK EDITION published by POCKET BOOKS, INC. • NEW YORK

  ISLAND OF FEAR AND OTHER SCIENCE FICTION STORIES

  Permabook edition published May, 1963

  1st printing................................ March, 1963

  This original Permabook* edition is printed from brand-new plates made from newly set, clear, easy-to-read type.

  Permabook editions are published by Pocket Books, Inc., and are printed and distributed in the U.S.A. by Affiliated Publishers,

  a division of Pocket Books, Inc.,

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  New York 20, N.Y.

  Trademarks of Pocket Books, Inc.,

  630 Fifth Avenue, New York 20, N.Y.,

  In the United States and other countries.

  Copyright, ©, 1963, by William Sambrot. All rights reserved. Published by Pocket Books, Inc., New York, and on the same day in Canada by Pocket Books of Canada, Ltd., Montreal.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  S

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND COPYRIGHT NOTICES

  The stories in this volume are copyrighted as specified below:

  Space Secret: Copyright © 1959, by The Curtis Publishing Company. First published in The Saturday Evening Post.

  A Distant Shrine: Copyright © 1961, by The Curtis Publishing Company. First published under the title ''Cathedral of Mars" in The Saturday Evening Post.

  Island of Fear: Copyright ©1958, by The Curtis Publishing Company. First published in The Saturday Evening Post.

  Creature of the Snows: Copyright © 1960, by The Curtis Publishing Company. First published in The Saturday Evening Post.

  Nine Days to Die: Copyright © 1960, by The Curtis Publishing Company. First published in The Saturday Evening Post.

  Invasion: Copyright © 1955, by The Curtis Publishing Company. First published in The Saturday Evening Post.

  Control Somnambule: Copyright © 1962, by William Sam-brot. First published in Playboy.

  The Secret of the Terrible Titans: Copyright © 1959, by William Sambrot. First published under the title 'Toot-ball Majors at Pacific U." in Cosmopolitan.

  Report to the People: Copyright © 1933, by William Sambrot. First published in Bluebook.

  Deadly Decision: Copyright © 1958, by William Sambrot. First published in Extension.

  The Man Who Knew: Copyright © 1957, by William Sambrot. First published in Tiger.

  Cathartic: Copyright © 1957, by William Sambrot. First published in Satellite Science Fiction.

  A Son of Eve: Copyright © 1959, by William Sambrot. First published in MR. Magazine.

  Space Secret

  I am sending this report by special courier; I am personally unable to deliver it, because I wish to be on hand to forestall any possible repercussions which might yet arise from the charges made by Dr. John Lassiter, of the Rand Corporation, that the original video tapes taken by the successful American moon rocket yesterday had been stolen during the night and a substitute put in their place.

  As you know, the successful moon shot was made with a rocket that carried an electronic camera, operating with photoelectric cells which transmitted pictures onto electronically sensitized tape. The rocket made the run to the moon and swung around, photo graphing the far side which had never been seen from earth. Then continuing on around, executing a vast figure eight, the rocket shot back toward earth, circled it and finally made a successful reentry into the Pacific Ocean.

  Although it was anticipated that the far side of the moon was in no way different from the near side, the prestige of being the first to have taken close-up pictures of it was enormous. And quite naturally the Air Force made every effort, once the nose cone was recovered, to keep the video tapes secret. They were rushed by special jet to the research and development building in Santa Monica known as Rand Corporation. There they were processed by Dr. Lassiter.

  After the tapes were processed, apparently Lassiter had viewed them privately (a breach of security). What he saw caused him to send urgent summonses to the top echelons of the Air Force and Rand Corporation. I was able, because of my position at Rand, to be among the four or five who were permitted to view the second showing.

  John Lassiter, Ph.D., a theoretical physicist, topflight mathematician and electronic expert, is in his early forties, tall, rather thin, with penetrating eyes. He is a standout, intellectually, in a building full of geniuses. Rand Corporation, the Air Force's research and development center in Santa Monica, consists of about eight hundred brilliant people: scientists, economists, mathematicians, physicists, cybernetics and electronic experts and the like. Also, they have a list of another two hundred and fifty consultants on the outside on whom they draw from time to time for expert advice.

  For the record: The business of Rand Corporation is that of evaluating any given idea and projecting its inherent possibilities into the future. They have come very close on a great many occasions. For example: Working from known data concerning the U.S.S.R.'s rocket potential, they accurately forecast the first Sputnik—an event of some importance, you will agree.

  We assembled in the viewing room in the Rand building, with Air Force police outside the door and scattered about throughout the entire building and grounds. Security was complete.

  Before he showed the tapes, Lassiter made an impromptu speech which I consider well worth repeating:

  "Gentlemen," he said quietly, "history has always interested me. Not the history of the textbooks but the history of legends, of primitive peoples; the stories handed down through the millenniums. And among these, without fail, in any civilization, we come across a strangely similar belief—a legend of gods who descended from the sky to walk the earth like men."

  He held up a hand, ticking off on his fingers as he talked. "On the American continent we have the Mayans, the Aztecs, with their beliefs that bearded white gods would once more come back —gods who taught them their science, their mathematics, how to smelt ore, cut rocks, gods who came from the sky. And there are the Polynesians, surrounded by the vast Pacific, who worship the redheaded bearded white god who landed on Easter Island—the 'Eye to Heaven,' as they call it. Everywhere throughout the world primitive men lifted their eyes to the skies for salvation, longing for the return of those kindly, brilliant far-travelers whose science so far outstripped their own."

  He paused. "The pattern continues down to our time. Only now it appears to be one of watching — and waiting. But I won't bore you with flying saucers or Fortian proofs of visitors from other worlds. We have here"—he touched the kinescope—"our own proof; proof that our planetary system teems with life, with science that is to our atomic piles what they are to bonfires; proof that we are not alone, not lost in the immensity of the infinite universe. We are not alone—and here's the proof in living color"—he became suddenly wry—"as they say on all the networks."

  He switched on the kinescope.

  Instantly the screen came alive, showing the brilliant blue-black velvet of outer space, the stars, glowing in colors seen only outside the earth's atmosphere: greens, yellows, fiery reds, icy blues, burning steadily without a flicker. The men in the room gasped. The rocket was approaching the moon, closer and closer, the chilling whites and dead blacks looming closer and clearer.

  "Now," Lassiter whispered. "Now you'll see. It's going to the far side — the side never before seen by man."

  The scene on the screen moved along. Formidable mountains; sheer, fantastic, slender needle spires, defying even the faint gravity of the moon. Immense pits, filled with the rubble of ancient disasters. More pits, more mountains, slashing crazy patterns of eye-hurting light and utter black of shadow without depth—and slowly, slowly, the ground moved under
the rocket until, visible faintly, the swollen, greenish-blue rim of earth appeared off in space. The rocket began leaving the moon and approaching the earth again. The tape came to an end. The lights came up. We turned as one and stared at Lassiter.

  He was seated, motionless, eyes unblinking, only his large, sensitive hands tightly clenched. He stared at the screen.

  "It's beautiful," I said, "but no more so than we'd expected. Other than the prestige of having been first — well, really, Lassiter, the far side is no different from the side we've seen since the beginning of time."

  "It's not the same!" He stood up, and his voice was a terrible broken shout in the soundproof room. "That's not the tape I saw last night!"

  There was an immediate stir in the room, and some of the Air Force people looked alarmed.

  "Listen to me! Please!" He stood up, his face gray, his eyes stricken, like a man who has seen glory suddenly leave him forever. "Listen —"

  We quieted. Already I heard one of the Air Force officers muttering something about "Crazy as a hoot owl — "

  "Last night," Lassiter began, pointing to the screen, "last night on that screen — " His voice trembled slightly, as though in despair at ever being able to convey what he'd seen. "How can I begin to explain what I saw?" he whispered. We sat tensely, watching, listening. "How can I tell of the buildings there; the colors; the smoothly flowing lines of architecture, slim, airy, yet full of strength? Serene, mature. Yes, that's it—mature. Water, trees, parks. And the spaceships."

  He paused, and when he repeated it, it was more a groan than a phrase. "The spaceships. One of them was taking off. Rising straight up, gently, swiftly, like a huge iridescent bubble. Light, incomparably lovely— " His voice was suddenly subdued. "They have a source of power so far beyond us. So far beyond us—"

  An Air Force man came to his feet. "Are you telling us that someone has had access to this room during the night and switched tapes on us?"

  Lassiter turned and looked at him, his eyes peculiarly inward-looking. "Yes," he said.

  "And the . . . the original tapes showed a ... a civilization on the other side of the moon?" There was frank disbelief in the officer's voice.

  "A civilization compared to which we're still savages crouching over a fire in a cave," he said.

  The room was a hubbub of noise. I stood up and shouted for silence. When I got it, I looked at Lassiter. "Isn't the manufacture of that electronic tape a Rand Corporation top-secret process?"

  He nodded. His mind was obviously far away.

  "Who could possibly duplicate that process, then use the tape to take these obviously authentic shots of the moon approach, steal the original and substitute the duplicates —and all in one night?"

  There was a murmur in the room, subdued laughter even.

  Lassiter looked at me, and suddenly his eyes became keen, blazing with that truly great intelligence of his. "The same ones who are living on the other side of our moon."

  There was a sudden silence in the room.

  His glance swept us. "They're here — in this building. They switched the tapes. I repeat: The tapes you saw just now are not the ones I saw last night. And yet this substitute is authentic. It shows an actual moon-rocket approach"

  "Whom do you suspect — Martians?" I said gently, giving the others in the room a significant look. They looked back, nodding slightly. One of the officers scribbled a hasty note and went to the door.

  "Call them Martians if you wish," Lassiter said softly. "Those ancient ones who visited here so many millenniums ago, who out of pity or kindness —or maturity—taught the savages they found here the rudiments of civilization. Those far-travelers who still watch—and wait."

  "You can't be serious, Lassiter," one of the Rand men said unhappily. "Even if there were such space people, why would they try to keep us in ignorance?"

  "Because we're still savages!" he shouted. "Clever, murderous children, developing our brains, our skills, but never our emotions. How could they permit us to join them, the society of other worlds, until we achieve adulthood —genuine maturity? That's why they switched these films—so we couldn't really know"

  He said more. Much more. He pointed out the consistent pattern of failures that had harassed man's burgeoning space hopes. Failures he now understood to be deliberate stumbling blocks placed in mankind's path as it clawed —prematurely—for the stars.

  An altogether remarkable synthesis.

  After exhaustive chemical analysis of the tape, it was proved to be of the same composition as stock still on the lab's shelves, which of necessity ruled out its being a substitute. After a few more reruns of the tape, the Air Force announced itself as well pleased with the brilliant success of the moon shot.

  Lassiter, it was decided, had suffered a mental collapse because of overwork and the disappointment at discovering that the other side of the moon was no different from the side the earth had always seen. He is, as of this writing, undergoing a series of psychiatric examinations which ought to disclose (but in all likelihood won't) that he is more sane than most of mankind. He is a remarkable individual, and I suggest that he be placed on the list of those to be watched most closely in the future.

  Also, I recommend that steps be taken hereafter to intercept all camera-bearing rockets from earth while in flight and prepared films or tapes substituted, thus avoiding another untoward incident such as developed here.

  For the archives: Enclosed, herewith, is the original video tape which the U.S. moon rocket took of our lunar base. Though I've made the journey from earth to moon and back innumerable times, I found Lassiter's description of this tape strangely moving. Especially his remark concerning the rather good shot of my own ship rising from the moon as I left with the substitute tape last night. He is right; it does indeed resemble an iridescent bubble.

  Control Somnambule

  To: General James Kearny, Directorate, A.F.I

  From: Amos P. Fineman, M.D.

  Subject:Statements made while under deep hypnosis by Captain Paul Davenport, Project Apollo astronaut, and an evaluation thereof.

  Classified: For your eyes only.

  Dear Jim:

  Herewith, as I promised you, a summary of the events that occurred during and after "Operation Moonshot" and my verbatim report of the strange statements made under deep hypnosis by Captain Paul Davenport, the astronaut who made our first successful circum lunar orbit and return last week.

  Before I go into it, I do want to remind you of the trust and confidence Air Force Intelligence has shown in me in the past, by way of preparing you for some conclusions later.

  After your urgent summons, I was briefed at Patrick AFB by Colonel Friend, project co-ordinator. He told me that the shot was made in total secrecy. Even Captain Davenport didn't know that he'd been selected to ride the bird until two hours before final countdown. When he was told, he was understandably elated; competition among the astronauts was keen to be the first to make the deep-space flight around the moon and back.

  Vehicle, as you know, was the Saturn C-l, with high-energy propellant second stage and steerable Centaur last stage. The capsule was a modified three-man re-entry vehicle command module, with the extra space taken up by an over-size stop-and-start solid-fuel rocket engine. All checked out perfectly during the forty-eight hour countdown. During the final countdown, when Davenport was being strapped into the contour chair in the capsule, he showed no symptoms of undue strain. He completed his check-off list with calm precision.

  Launching went according to schedule and the Saturn lifted off smoothly. The shot was programmed to make a high-speed run to the moon —something under thirty-four hours. Synergic ascent was to the southeast, out over the so-called Capetown Anomaly, the known gap in the V.A. radiation belt. As the capsule approached the moon at high speed, it would reverse itself, retro-rockets fired to slow it enough to enable it to slip into a tight orbit about the moon. As it began its transit of the far side, it would release a brilliant sodium-vapor flare
visible on earth. Transit of far side to take about fifty-one minutes. As it again came into earth view, it was to release a second flare, after which full thrust would be applied by the solid-fuel engine and the capsule would begin its sixty-hour journey back to earth and re-entry.

  All stages functioned as planned; signals came in loud and clear, including those checking the vital life-support system of the capsule. Every tracking station on earth followed it; the powerful radio-telescope at Sugar Grove locked on the capsule's special signal which would only cease for the fifty-one minutes during which the capsule would be on the far side of the moon.

  Exactly as programmed, thirty-four hours, fourteen minutes after all-burnt, the brilliant flare was seen on earth, and Davenport 's calm voice, delayed two seconds by distance, announced he was beginning transit of the far side of the moon, relaying technical information about TV cameras, electronic image-storers, etc. His voice faded and was silent for forty-nine minutes, twenty seconds, and then he came on again, still calm, loud and clear: "I have earth in sight. Firing flare." And the brilliant pinpoint of light was clearly visible in all telescopes.

  "Full thrust." His voice came across cislunar space. "Hello, you blue, beautiful old — " And at that instant his voice cut off. Simultaneously, all life-support system telemetering data ceased sending. His signal vanished from both the powerful Sugar Grove telescope and the Jodrell Bank receiver in England. Every device aboard the big capsule which had been sending smoothly, efficiently, stopped abruptly.

  Every effort to contact the capsule failed. Various emergency devices were triggered, including additional powerful flares stored in the capsule's skin. No results. The thought of the million-to-one accident —meteor collision—was uppermost in all minds. It would take a total and instantaneous disintegration of the capsule to destroy every emergency sender built into it.