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MOON of the

UNFORGOTTEN

A Captain Future Novelet By Edmond HAMILTON

Curt Newton and Otho plumb the perilous secrets of the Jovian Moon Europa--where

Ezra Gurney, friend of the Futuremen, has fallen prey to a mystic cult !

CHAPTER I

The Second Life

The machines hummed and whispered

and a man's life changed. He was an old

man, with an old man's burden of

weariness and sorrow. But now that burden

dropped from him and his years dropped

from him and he was young again.

He felt the hot blood burst along his

veins and the singing excitement in his

nerves, the pulse and throb of long-

forgotten youth. For youth was his once

more and once more a whole universe of

adventure lured and beckoned, far-off

worlds calling and calling to him.

And Ezra Gurney, he who had been old,

shouted a glad young cry that was answer

to that call.

* * * * *

A message went to Earth's Moon,

flashing across the millions of empty

miles. It went by a secret wave-frequency

that only a half-dozen people knew.

Back across the empty leagues of the

void, in reply to that urgent summons,

came a ship, driving hard for Europa,

moon of Jupiter. There was a man in the

small ship and one who had been a man

and two who were manlike but who were

not truly human.

The ship came down toward the dark

side of Europa with the rush of a shooting

star and landed in the rigidly restricted

Patrol area of Europolis spaceport. The

four came out of it and looked around in

the magnificent glow of Jupiter. Then they

heard the light running steps and the urgent

voice.

"Curt !" And again, with a desperate

gladness, "Curt, I knew you'd hurry !"

Curt Newton took the girl's tense

outstretched hands in his own. He thought

for a moment she was going to weep and

he spoke to her with an affectionate

roughness, not giving her time to be

emotional. "What's all this nonsense about

Ezra ? If anyone but you had sent that

message ..."

"Its true, Curt. He's gone. I think--I

think he won't ever come back."

Newton shook her. "Come on, Joan !

Ezra ? Why, he's been up and down the

System since before you and I were born,

first in the old space-frontier days of the

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Patrol and now with your Section Three.

He wouldn't get himself into any jam."

"He has," said Joan Randall flatly. "And

if you'll stop being comforting I have all

the data ready to show you--what there is

of it."

SHE led the way toward the low buildings

of Patrol headquarters. The four followed

her, the tall red-haired man whom the

System called Captain Future and his three

companions, his lifelong friends, the three

who were closer to him even than this girl

and the missing Ezra Gurney--Grag, the

metal giant, Otho, the lithe keen-eyed

android, and Simon Wright, who had once

been a human scientist but who for half a

lifetime now had been divorced from

human form.

It was the latter who spoke to Joan. His

voice was metallic and expressionless,

issuing from the artificial resonator set in

one side of his "body". That "body" was a

hovering square metal case that contained

all that was human of Simon Wright--his

brilliant deathless brain.

"You say," said Simon, "that Ezra is

gone. Where precisely did he go ?"

Joan glanced at Simon, who was

watching her intently with his lens-like

eyes as he glided silently along on the pale

traction beams that were his equivalent of

limbs.

"If I knew where I wouldn't hide it from

you," she said with an undertone of

irritation.

In the next breath she said contritely,

"I'm sorry. Waiting here has got me down.

There's something about Europa--it's so

old and cruel and somehow patient..."

Otho said wryly, "You need a double

hooker of something strong and cheering."

His green slightly-tilted eyes were

compassionate beneath their habitual irony.

Grag, the towering manlike giant who

bore in his metal frame the strength of an

army and an artificial intelligence equal to

the human, rumbled a question in his deep

booming voice. But Curt Newton only

vaguely heard him. His gaze had followed

Joan's out into the alien night.

This was not his first visit to Europa.

And he was surprised to find that Joan had

put into words exactly what he had always

felt about the silent moon, the old old

moon that was scarred so deep by time.

Here, on one side, were the modern

glare and thunder of the spaceport, busy

with freighters and one or two sleek liners.

Beyond the spaceport was Europolis, a

glow of light behind a barren ridge. But on

the other side, before him and behind him,

was a sadness of ancient rock and distant

hills, of brooding forest hung with shadow,

of great plains empty in the red glow of

Jupiter, dusty wastes where no herds had

grazed and no armies fought for a hundred

thousand years.

The woods and plains were scattered

with the time-gnawed bones of cities, dead

and forsaken even before the last

descendants of their builders had sunk into

final barbarism. A thin old wind wandered

aimlessly among the ruins, whimpering as

though it remembered other days and wept.

Newton could not suppress a slight

shiver. The death of any great culture is a

mournful thing and the culture that had

built the shining cities of Europa was the

greatest ever known--the proud Old

Empire that once had held two galaxies.

To Curt Newton, who had followed the

shadow of that glory far back toward its

source, the very stones of these ruins spoke

of cosmic tragedy, of the agelong night

that succeeded the blazing highest noon of

human splendor.

The functional gleaming Patrol building

brought his mind back to the present. Joan

took them into a small office. From a

locked file she drew a neat folder of papers

and placed it on the desk.

"Ezra and I," she said, "were called into

this case some time ago. The Planet Police

had been handling it as a routine matter

until some peculiar angles turned up that

required the attention of Section Three.

"People had been disappearing. Not

only people from Earth but other planets as

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well--and nearly all of them older people.

In each case when they vanished, they took

most of their wealth with them.

"Planet Police discovered that all these

missing persons without exception had

come to Europa. And here in Europolis

their trails ended."

Simon Wright asked in his toneless

voice, "Did they leave no clue as to why

they came to this particular moon ?"

"A few of them did," answered Joan. "A

few of them before they left talked a little

of something called the Second Life. That

was all--just the name. But they seemed

so eager and excited about it that it was

remembered."

She continued, "Since they were nearly

all aging people it seems obvious that the

Second Life they were hoping for was

some form of rejuvenation. A form of

rejuvenation that must be illegal in nature

or it wouldn't be carried on secretly."

Curt nodded. "That sounds reasonable

enough. 'The Second Life'--the term is a

new one to me. However, Jupiter and its

moons retained the civilization and

science of the Old Empire long after the

other planets had relapsed into barbarism.

To this day odd scraps of that ancient

wisdom keep rising to plague us."

"Quite," said Simon dryly. "You will

recall the case of Kenneth Lester, also that

of the Martian, Ul Quorn. Europa in

particular has always had a reputation in

the System as a repository of knowledge

that has been lost elsewhere. It's an

interesting problem. It occurs to me--"

JOAN cut him short, genuinely angry

now. "Are you and Curt going to start on

that archaeological obsession of yours at a

time like this ? Ezra may be dead or dying

!"

Captain Future said, "Steady on, Joan--

you haven't yet told us exactly what

happened to Ezra."

Joan caught a deep breath and went on

more calmly.

"When we came here to investigate we

found that the missing people who had

arrived here had simply dropped out of

sight. The Europans themselves refused to

talk to us. But Ezra wouldn't give up and

finally got a lead. He found that the

missing folk had hired native mounts at an

inn called the Three Red Moons and had

ridden out of the city.

"Ezra planned to follow that lead out

into the hills. He made me wait here--he

said he had to have a contact here. I waited

many days before Ezra got in touch with

me through our micro-wave audio. He

spoke briefly to me and switched off--and

I've never heard from him since."

"His message ?"asked Curt tensely.

Joan took out a slip of paper. "I wrote it

down word for word."

Curt read aloud. "Listen carefully, Joan

! I' m all right--safe, well and happy. But

I'm not coming back, not for a while. Now

this is an order, Joan--drop the

investigation, and go back to Earth. I'll

follow you later !"

That was all.

Otho said sharply, "He was forced to

make that call !"

"No." Joan shook her head. "We have a

secret code. He could have said the same

words and yet could have let me know that

he spoke under duress merely by a certain

inflection. No, Ezra was talking of his own

free will."

"Maybe he fell for this rejuvenation

process, whatever it is ?" suggested Grag.

"No," said Simon decisively. "Ezra

would not do anything so foolish."

Curt nodded agreement. "Ezra has had

plenty of tragedy in his life that few people

know anything about. It's why he's always

a little grim. He wouldn't want to live a

second life."

"Second Life ?" murmured Otho. "The

name tells nothing. Yet there must be a

clue in it."

Captain Future stood up. "This isn't a

case for cleverness or subtlety. Ezra may

be in danger and we're going to work fast.

We'll go into Europolis and make those

who know something talk."

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Otho, his eyes sparkling, sprang to his

feet. Grag took a clanking step toward the

door.

"Wait, Curt." Joan's face was worried.

"You know the Patrol can't legally arrest

Europan citizens on their own world--"

He smiled without much mirth. "We're

not Patrol. We'll take the consequences if

any."

"It's not that," she cried. "I have a

feeling that since Ezra's vanishing you

Futuremen have been expected--and

prepared for."

Curt Newton nodded gravely. "Very

likely. However, we're not exactly

unprepared ourselves." He turned to the

others. "Simon, will you stay here and go

over Joan's data on the case till we return ?

And you, Grag--you'll remain to guard

them both."

Grag looked and sounded as upset as his

physical structure would permit. "But

there's no telling what kind of trouble

you'll run into ! You'll need me with you

!"

"Joan needs you worse. She's in every

bit as much danger as we are."

That was partly true. It was also true

that Grag's seven-foot-high clanking bulk

was somewhat too conspicuous for what

Curt Newton had in mind. Otho started to

say so and Curt stopped him by saying,

"Let's go."

He went out and Otho followed him,

chuckling.

"Save your humor," said Curt dryly.

"We may wish we had old Bone-crusher

with us before we're through."

They walked swiftly toward the slope of

the low ridge beyond which lay the city.

The thin dust blew beneath their feet and

the old wind sang of danger out of its long

long memories of blood and death.

CHAPTER II

The Inn of the Three Red Moons

THE city lay in a shallow bowl between

two spurs of a range so worn by the

scuffing ages that it was now little more

than a line of hills. Under the red glow of

Jupiter the lordly towers slept in a sanguine

mist that softened the scars of the broken

stone. The cool light filled the roofless

colonnades, the grand and empty avenues,

and touched with a casual pity the faceless

monuments that had long outlasted their

forgotten victories.

Curt Newton stood in a still and

shadowy street and listened to the silence.

On the near side of the ridge he could

see the outworld settlement near the

spaceport--infinitely farther away in time

than it was in distance. There were the

brilliant lights, the steel and plastic

buildings of today, crowned by the white

facade of the resort hotel. They had a

curiously impermanent look. He took three

steps along the winding way and they were

gone.

The paving stones were hollow under

his feet, rutted by the tread of a myriad

generations. The walls of the buildings

rose on either side, some mere shells with

the coppery planet-light shining through

their graceful arches, others still tolerably

whole with window-places like peering

eyes, showing here and there a gleam of

light.

Otho, moving catlike at Curt's side,

lifted his shoulders uneasily. "My back

itches," he said.

Curt nodded. "We're being watched."

There was nothing to show that this was so

but he knew it as Otho did, without

needing to see.

They came out into a wide square, from

which many streets led off. In the center

was a winged monument, so effaced by

millenniums of wind and dust that it had

the look of a grotesque skeleton, its eroded

pinions stark against the sky. Curt and

Otho paused beneath it, tiny figures beside

that hundred-foot bulk of greenish marble.

Nothing stirred in the square. The

deserted avenues stretched away, edged

with clotted shadow. The fallen palaces

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and shattered temples reared to unknown

gods stood still and brooding,

remembering the banners and the glory, the

incense and the crimson robes.

One or two of the streets showed life,

where flaring light marked the wine-shops

and the inns.

"Down there," said Captain Future and

they went on, their boots ringing on the

paving blocks.

They entered the street that Curt had

chosen. And as they walked a little crowd

began to gather, softly, unobtrusively, the

dark-faced men in dusty cloaks coming

without sound from the doorways, from the

mouths of alleys, from nowhere and

everywhere.

They were not the young men, the hot-

handed fighters. Most of them were grey

and some were bent and even the youngest

of them had an indefinable look of age, a

thing of the spirit rather than the flesh.

They did not speak. They watched the tall

Earthman and the lithe one beside him that

seemed to be a man. Their dark eyes

glistened and they followed the strangers,

borne with them like a ring of tattered

shadows shifting, flowing, thickening.

There was a coldness on Curt Newton's

flesh. It was an effort to keep his hand

away from the butt of his weapon.

"There it is ahead," said Otho quietly.

"The sign of the Three Red Moons."

The soft-footed multitude around them

swirled and coalesced into a silent barrier

across the windy street.

Curt stopped. He did not seem to be

afraid or even angry--merely curious. He

regarded the wall of men with a patience

equal to their own.

An old white-bearded man stepped

forward. He was shorter by a head than the

Earthman but he stood erect and there was

an ancient beauty in his high-boned face, a

deep grand sorrowful pride. His cloak was

as old as he, dun-colored with the sifting

dust but he carried it as splendidly as

though it had been fashioned of the purple

cloth of kings.

He said with an odd sort of courtesy,

"There is no passage here for strangers."

Captain Future smiled. "Come now,

father--surely a thirsty man may refresh

himself with wine."

The old man shook his head. "You do

not come for wine. Return to your own

kind--there is nothing for you here but

sorrow."

"It has been told to me," said Curt

slowly, "that others have come here

seeking joy."

"Does not all mankind seek for joy ?

That is why I tell you--return to your own

!"

CURT looked over the heads of the old

man and the other men who were old and

the men who should have been young but

were not. He looked at the sign of the

Three Red Moons and he said quite softly,

"Will you stop me, father ?"

The old man's eyes were very sad. "No,"

he said, "I will not stop you. I will only tell

you this, that no man nor woman has yet

been harmed nor will be harmed--but that

he who comes in search of death shall

surely find it."

"I shall remember," Curt said and began

again to walk forward against the crowd,

with Otho close beside him.

The ranks held unbroken, the rows of

silent hostile faces, until he was almost

touching them. Then the old man raised his

hand and let it fall again in a gesture of

finality. The crowd broke and the way was

open. Curt passed on and behind him the

men vanished one by one into the shadows

again, like old leaves caught by the wind

and whirled away.

Curt and Otho entered the Inn of the

Three Red Moons.

The common room was large, with a

vaulted roof of stone, black as though

carved from jet. Lights flared in the

corners and a score of men sat around

antique massive metal tables. They glanced

at the two strangers, then ignored them.

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Curt and Otho sat down in an empty

place and presently a dark girl came and

brought them wine and slipped away again.

They sipped the strong spicy brown

liquid. They might have been no more than

two spacemen off from the port for a

night's pleasure in old Europolis. And yet

they knew that eyes watched them, that the

inn was too quiet. Captain Future's muscles

quivered with anticipation and Otho's gaze

was very bright.

Presently Otho said in a language not

likely to be understood, "That young chap

at the next table hasn't taken his eyes off

us since we came in."

"I know." The dark fierce young face

and hungry glance were only too obviously

turned toward the strangers. Curt thought

that if anything happened it would be men

like this they would have to deal with, men

still free of the withering taint of age that

seemed to overtake the Europans in their

prime.

He beckoned to the girl again. "We're

minded to take a ride into the hills," he

said. "Can we hire mounts here ?"

The girl's face was expressionless.

"That is Shargo's province."

"And where may we find Shargo ?"

"Through that passageway. The

paddocks are behind the inn."

Curt laid a coin on the table and rose.

"Come on, Otho, it's getting late."

They crossed the common-room and

entered the passage. Without seeming to

notice Curt saw that the young man who

had watched them left swiftly by the front

door and that the others bent together in a

sudden murmur of guarded talk.

The girl glanced after them. Her face

held bitter resentment.

The passage was long and shadowy.

They traversed it swiftly, hearing nothing

to warn them of any danger. At its end it

opened into a court containing ruined

outbuildings and a stone-walled paddock in

good repair. The wall was high, for the

Europan beasts are good jumpers, and the

gate was of iron bars.

A man came toward them from one of

the ruined sheds. He was old and not

nimble. He wore the leather tunic of a

hostler and it was not even clean. But still

there was about him the same look that

Curt had seen before, the look of pride and

inward vision, as though he saw the flaunt

of silken banners in the wind and heard the

trumpets sounding far away.

Captain Future repeated his request for

two mounts.

He had expected refusals, at the least

arguments and evasions. There were none.

The old man shrugged and answered.

"You will have to bridle them yourselves.

In the day there is a young man here to

hold the brutes and rein them--but the

fools who wish to ride at night must catch

their own."

"Very well," said Curt. "Give us the

halters."

The old man produced two

arrangements of leather straps, bitted with

iron. "Get them by the combs," he grunted,

"and watch their forefeet."

He led the way to the paddock gate.

Curt looked around. The court was

empty. It was very still. Otho whispered,

"What are they waiting for ?"

"Perhaps they want us clear of the city,"

Curt answered. Another disappearance in

the shadowy hills would be preferable

from the Europans' viewpoint.

Otho nodded. "The trap could be at the

other end. These beasts have been there

before. They must know the way without

being guided."

"One thing sure," said Captain Future,

"they'll have to stop us somewhere."

The old man lifted the heavy bar of the

gate.

The paddock was not too large for the

herd of twenty or so Europan mounts that

it contained. They were huddled together,

drowsing in the Jupiter-light--serpentine

scaly creatures with powerful legs and tails

like wire lashes. Their narrow heads were

crowned with fleshy yellow combs. They

blinked and peered at the men with shining

wicked eyes as red as coals.

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"Take your choice," said the old

Europan, standing by the gate.

Curt and Otho went forward with the

bridles.

AT their approach the beasts hissed softly

and backed away. Their padded feet made

a nervous thumping on the ground. Curt

spoke softly but the herd began to shift.

"I don't think they like the smell of us,"

said Otho.

Curt reached out swiftly and caught one

golden comb. The creature plunged and

whistled as he fitted the rude bridle. Then

suddenly from behind them there came the

clang of the gate-bar dropping and he knew

that there would be no waiting for the

silence of the dark hills, that this, here and

now, was the trap--and that they were in

it.

Otho had spun around, holding his

bridled mount. He was cursing the old

man. Curt kept his grip on his unwilling

mount, turning with it to keep clear of the

clawed forefeet. The paddock walls were

high, worn smooth as glass by the rubbing

of many flanks. There was no escape that

way.

The herd was stirring uneasily, moving

with a hiss and flickering of scaly tails, a

quivering of muscles. Curt cried out a

warning to Otho but it was already to late.

A makeshift torch of flaming rags

whirled in over the gate, leaving a trail of

oily smoke. Curt heard the old man's voice

lifted in a cracked Hai-hai, urgent, shrill.

A second wad of burning cloth shot in,

dropping in the middle of the herd with a

burst of sparks. Instantly there was brute

panic, pent up and turned upon itself by the

paddock walls.

Plunging, trampling, screaming, the

penned beasts tried to flee the smoke and

the stinging fire. Curt's mount reared and

dragged him and he clung to its comb with

the grip of a man who knows he is lost if

he lets go. He dug his heels into the dusty

ground, twisted the brute's head until its

neckbones cracked and leaped up,

clamping his legs around the slender belly.

Dimly through the dust and turmoil he

saw Otho. An ordinary man would have

been trampled to death in those first

seconds. But Otho was not a man. Swift,

sure-footed, incredibly strong, the android

had imitated Curt's example and had

swung himself to the back of his plunging

mount, getting an iron grip on its comb.

It was only temporary escape. The

maddened beasts had turned to fighting

among themselves. Curt knew it was only

a matter of time and not much of it before

his creature would fall or be thrown. The

paddock was a swirling madness of leaping

bodies and tearing jaws and dust and noise.

Nothing could stand for long in that.

The old Europan remained beyond the

gate. He held another of the makeshift

torches in his hands, waving it slowly back

and forth so that all the beasts shied away

from the opening.

A solemn proud fine-cut old man. Later

he would be very sorry for this tragic

accident. He would know nothing more

than that two spacemen had drunk wine in

the tavern and had then gone staggering in

among the beasts and frightened them and

been most regrettably slain.

Even in that moment of fury Curt found

time to wonder what strange madness

drove these men--the madness of the

mysterious Second Life that urged them to

any length.

He was trying to reach the gate when his

mount stumbled over another that was

down and kicking its life out in the dust

and blood. He heard a wild yell from Otho

and a commotion by the gate. The straining

body under him staggered and fell.

Desperately he pulled the creature's head

back, forcing it up, forcing it on its feet

again, and suddenly there was a rush past

him of slaty backs and outstretched necks,

a squealing stampede outward and the gate

was open.

He fought his mount to keep it back.

Over the wall, Otho was riding a frantic

demon, twisting its comb until it shrieked.

In a matter of seconds they were alone in

the paddock and the herd was stamping

9

through the courtyard, scattering away

down the dark alleys.

The old man was gone, presumably to

cover in one of the sheds.

"The young one," Otho panted. "Stand

still, you son of a worm's egg ! The young

one that watched us inside the inn--he

drove the old man off. He opened the

gate."

The court was clear now. From the

shelter of a broken wall a figure leaped and

ran.

"Get him !" Curt yelled. "Get him !"

He sank his heels in the scaly flanks and

the creature hissed and went hard after the

running shadow.

CHAPTER III

The House of Returning

THEY caught him. They rode him down

in a narrow alley, the dark young man with

the fierce eyes, and he fought them but he

did not draw any weapon.

Curt had no time for pleasantries. He

leaned over and struck the young man hard

on the side of the jaw, and pulled the limp

body up before him.

"Out of the city," he said to Otho. "This

way, toward the hills. After that we can

talk."

They found their way out of the maze of

alleys into a broad avenue spanned by

massive arches, broken now, their heroic

carvings shattered by the slow hammers of

time. Curt and Otho sped beneath their

shadows, alone with the wind and the

blowing dust.

Beyond the arches there were no more

buildings but only the straight road that ran

into the hills between two rows of ancient

stelae, stark and rigid under the glow of the

great planet. Beyond the stelae there was

nothing, only the gaunt slopes and the

sighing in the stiff dry grass.

There had been no alarm behind them

and there was no pursuit. The warning

night was blank and still. Captain Future

led the way at random until he found a

place that suited him. Then he stopped and

motioned Otho to dismount.

The young man was conscious. Curt

thought he had been conscious for some

time but he had made no move. He was

breathless now from the jolting of the

beast. He crouched where Curt had set

him, shaking his head, gasping.

Presently Curt asked, "Why did you

open the paddock gate ?"

The young man answered, "Because I

did not wish for you to die."

"Do you know why we were supposed

to die ?"

"I know." He looked at them and his

eyes were hot and angry. "Yes, I know !"

"Ah," said Curt Newton. "Then you do

not worship the Second Life."

Otho laughed. "He doesn't need

rejuvenation."

"It is not rejuvenation," said the young

man bitterly. "It is death, the death of my

world and my people. Almost before our

beards are grown the Second Life take hold

of us and we forget the first life that we

have not yet lived. Our walls fall about us

stone by stone and we have not cloth to

wrap our bodies in and the great change in

other worlds does not touch us--but all

that is nothing so long as we live the

glorious life, the Second Life !"

He sprang up, glaring at Curt and Otho

as though he hated them, but it was not

their faces he saw. It was the sere and

sterile faces of men grown old before their

time, dead men on a dying moon.

"You of the other worlds are not like us.

Life goes forward for you. Men learn and

grow and the fields are rich and the cities

are bright and tall. Even your oldest worlds

have young minds--is that not so ?"

Captain Future nodded. "It is so."

"Yes. But on Europa what is there for a

young man ? Dust and dreams ! There is a

wall against us and after a while we learn

10

that we cannot break it down. Then we too

grow old."

He turned away. "Go back to your own

world. You have life. Keep it."

Curt caught him by the arms. "What is

the Second Life ?"

"Death," said the young man, "to those

who live it--and to those who would

destroy it. We know. We have tried."

A sharp light came suddenly into Curt

Newton's eyes. "Then there are others in

the city who feel as you do ?"

"Oh, yes--all of us who are still

young." He laughed. It was not pleasant

laughter. "We banded together once. We

went up to the valley, angry, full of hate--

we were going to make our world free.

And they shot us down in the pass--the

old men shot us down !"

He shook himself free of the Earthman's

grasp. "I have told you. Go back to your

own while you still live."

"No," said Captain Future softly. "We

are going to the valley. And you will guide

us."

The eyes of the young man widened. He

stepped back and Otho caught him from

behind, holding him helpless. He turned

his head from side to side and cried out,

"Three men, where a hundred of us failed ?

You don't know Konnur, the Guardian of

the Second Life. You don't know the

punishment. I am a proscribed man ! I am

forbidden the valley !"

"Proscription, punishment !" Curt

Newton's voice was heavy with contempt.

"You don't deserve your youth. Your

bones are already crumbling." He reached

out and slapped the young man's face,

lightly, deliberately, one cheek and then

the other.

"You will guide us to the valley. After

that, you're free to tuck your tail and run.

We can end the Second Life without such

help as yours."

Captain Future saw the flame of anger

leap in the young man's eyes, the dark

flush in his cheeks. He strained against the

android's grip and Curt laughed.

"So there's still a bit of pride left if a

man can find it ! Set him up here, Otho."

He swung up onto the scaly back of his

mount and received the Europan between

his arms, where Otho lifted him as though

he had been a child.

"Now," said Curt, "which way ?"

The young man pointed.

They rode on through the dark hills, and

after awhile the dawn came and found

them before the shadowy throat of a pass--

the dawn of pale far Sun that was only a

little lighter than the night.

Curt dismounted and stood holding the

bridle. He said to the Europan. "Go back to

the spaceport, to the Patrol base. Tell those

who wait there for us where we are."

A gleam that was almost a light of hope

began to show in the young man's eyes.

"And you ?" he asked.

Curt nodded toward the blind notch of

the pass. "We are going in."

"Perhaps," whispered the young man

softly, "perhaps it is true that you can end

the Second Life--you and those who wait

for you. We know of you even here, where

we know so little. I will go. And after I

have said your message I will go into the

city to gather those who fought once and

who can fight again !"

CAPTAIN FUTURE let go the rein. The

young man wheeled the squealing beast

around and sent it flying back toward the

city. Otho's mount ran with it.

"Let us hope," said the android dryly,

"that our boy doesn't come to grief along

the way."

He turned and walked with Curt up into

the darkness of the pass.

"If the Second Life isn't rejuvenation,

what is it ?" Otho asked. "Some kind of

pleasure-dream by artificial sensory stimuli

? No, Ezra wouldn't stoop to that."

"No, it isn't that," Curt said. "I'm

beginning to think that it's something more

pitiful and terrible than that."

It was quiet in the pass. The screes of

broken rock rose up on either side, with

here and there a stunted tree. An army

11

might have hidden there and been unseen

but even Curt's keen ears could detect no

sound of life.

And yet he was not surprised when, as

they reached the end of the pass, he looked

back and saw men closing in behind them.

He waited for them. They were

youngish men and strong but in their eyes

already was the shadow of decay. He could

see why the young Europan had called

these "the old men" too.

"I have come to speak to Konnur,"

Captain Future said to them.

The one who seemed to be the leader

nodded. "He is waiting for you. You will

give us your weapons, please."

They had weapons of their own and

there was not much point in arguing. Curt

and Otho handed them over. Then they

walked on and the men with the old eyes

came close behind them.

The valley was deep and there were

forests in it and a thin stream. Not far from

the pass was a massive house of stone,

very long and wide, that looked as though

it might have been a place of learning in

the days when the moon was young.

"There," said the leader, and pointed to

a gateway of which the valves were fine-

worked gold, bright as the day they were

hung there. Captain Future passed between

them with Otho at his side.

Inside there was the soft gloom of

vaulted chambers, cool and dim, with old

flagged floors that rang hollow under their

striding boots. The great house was only a

shell of stone, stripped of all but its

enduring bones. It was empty and very

still.

They waited and presently a man came

walking toward them down a long passage,

a tall man, erect and very proud. An aging

man but not dusty, not decayed. His eyes

were bright and clear, the eyes of a fanatic

or a saint.

Looking at him, Curt knew that he was

faced with the most dangerous kind of an

enemy--a man with a belief.

"You are Konnur ?" he asked.

"I am. And you are Curt Newton and--

ah, yes, the one who is called Otho."

Konnur made a slight inclination of his

head. "I have expected you. The man

Gurney was afraid the girl would send for

you in spite of his message."

"And where is Gurney ?"

"I will take you to him," said Konnur.

"Come."

He led the way down the long dim

corridor and Curt and Otho followed.

Behind them still came the grim-faced

men.

Konnur paused beside a massive door of

some tarnished metal and pushed it open.

"Enter," he said.

Captain Future stepped through into a

long low hall that might have held a

regiment. And he stopped with a queer

chill shiver running through him. Beside

him he heard Otho catch his breath.

There was a stillness on that place.

Above it and below it and through it was a

sound, a deep and gentle humming that

only made the silence greater.

Spaced along the hall were many slabs

of marble, mortuary couches hollowed

deep by the pressure of uncounted bodies.

Above each slab there stood a cowled

machine as ancient as the marble, of a

manufacture utterly foreign to any prosaic

mechanism of Earth. They had been kept

bright with loving care but even so a

number of them seemed worn out and

useless. It was the machines that made the

humming, the whirring song of sleep.

Men and women lay upon the slabs.

Curt lost count of their numbers in the

uncertain shadows. They lay as though in

slumber, their limbs relaxed, their faces

peaceful. Around each sleeper's head was

bound a strap of some unfamiliar metal,

having round electrodes fitted to the

temples. The electrodes were connected,

not by wires but by tendrils of glowing

force, to the hooded mechanism above,

from which a somber light poured down.

Otho whispered, "There they are--all

the old ones who have disappeared from

other worlds."

12

Old men, old women--the sad, the

burdened, the careworn. They slept here on

the ancient slabs and Curt saw that in their

faces there was more than peace. There

was happiness, the joy of young days when

the sun was bright and the body strong and

tomorrow was only a vague mist on the

horizon.

There were many Europans also and they

too had found happiness under the

humming machines. But in their faces was

reflected a different joy--a lofty pride as

though behind their closed eyelids passed

visions of magnificence and strength.

KONNUR beckoned. "Here your friend

lies sleeping."

Curt stood beside the slab, looking

down into the face of Ezra Gurney. The

familiar face that to Curt was almost that

of a father--and yet it was not the bleak

face he remembered. The grimness was

gone, the scars of time and pain had

softened. The mouth smiled and it was the

smile of a young man, a boy who has not

yet lost the laughter from his heart.

"Waken him !" cried Curt.

And Konnur said, "Not yet."

Otho asked, "But--is it all illusion ? Is

he drugged or dreaming ?"

"No," said Konnur. "He is remembering

--returning--reliving. Everyone has times

within his life that he would like to live

again. The man Gurney has recaptured the

period of his youth. He is young. He walks

and speaks and feels, reliving every action

as he lived it then. That is what we call the

Second Life."

"But how ?" said Curt. "How ?"

"These instruments of the ancients,"

said Konnur, "enable man to remember--

not just as a vague flitting vision but to

recall with every one of his senses so that

he completely relives the remembered

experience."

Curt began to understand. Each

experience left a new neural path in the

synaptic labyrinth of the brain and the brief

retraveling of that path roused a partial

passing re-experience that was called

"memory."

The Twentieth Century psychologists

had speculated long ago that what they

called "redintegration" might seize upon

one single remembered impression and

evoke from it all the many sensory

impressions of which it had formed a part.

The subtle probing rays of these machines

accomplished "redintegration" in the

fullest sense.

"And the memories of the fathers lie

buried in the brains of the sons," Konnur

was continuing. "Those parts of the brain

formerly thought purposeless are a great

storehouse of ancestral memories, inherited

through some unimaginably subtle change

in the chromosomes that even the ancients

could not understand."

"So that you can reach back through

those layers of buried inherited memory ?"

exclaimed Curt. "How far back ?"

"Far and far," Konnur replied. "Back to

the days of our world's glory, indeed--and

is it wonderful that we prefer to live in the

great past of Europa and not in its sad

present ?"

Captain Future said soberly, "But that is

a rejection of the only real life. It is a

retreat, a dying."

"Yet it is glory and triumph and joy,"

said Konnur.

His hand reached out to touch the

humming mechanism. There was

something reverent in the gesture.

"We do not understand these machines

that give us the Second Life. The ancients

had the knowledge and it is lost. But we

can duplicate them bit by bit. You will see

that many of them are worn out, beyond

repair. We needed rare metals, the

radioactive substances that are the core of

the machine.

"They are found no longer on Europa

and so we needed money to buy from other

worlds, to build new machines. That is

why we brought these people here." He

nodded to the aging folk of Earth and the

other planets who had come to Europa to

live the past again.

13

Captain Future faced Konnur. He spoke

almost in the words of the young Europan.

"This is not life but death ! Your cities

are crumbling, your people are wasting

away. This poison of the Second Life is

destroying your world and must be stopped

!"

"And," asked Konnur softly, "will you

stop it ?"

"Yes ! I have sent for the other

Futuremen and behind them are the

Patrol--and some hundreds of your own

people, Konnur, the young men who prefer

to live one life rather than to die in two."

"It may be so," said Konnur. "And yet

who knows ? The man Gurney came here

to stop it. He changed his mind. Perhaps

you will change yours !"

Curt gave him a look of contempt.

"You can't bribe me with memories of my

youth. They're too close behind me--and

most of them were not pleasant."

Konnur nodded. "I would not attempt

anything so childish. There are other

memories. The whole System knows of

your long struggle to delve into the ancient

past, the lost cosmic history of mankind.

You, yourself, can live in that past.

Through ancestral memory, you can live

again in the days of the Old Empire--

perhaps even before it."

He smiled and added slowly, "You have

a thirst for knowledge. And there are no

limits to the learning you might acquire in

the Second Life !"

Curt stood silent and there was a strange

look in his eyes.

Otho laughed, a peculiarly jarring

sound. "There is nothing in this for me,

Konnur. I had no ancestors !"

"I know. The guards will care for you."

Konnur turned to Newton. "Well ?"

"No," said Curt, with a curious

harshness. "No ! I won't have anything to

do with it."

He turned and there was a solid phalanx

of men against him, barring his way.

Konnur's voice came to him softly.

"I'm afraid you have no choice."

Irresolute, with a whiteness around his

mouth, Curt Newton looked from Konnur

to the guards and back again and a tremor

ran through his muscles that was more of

excitement than fear.

Otho sighed.

The guards moved forward one short

step. Curt shrugged. He lifted his head and

glanced at Konnur, challenging him, and

Konnur pointed to an empty slab.

Captain Future lay down, in the

hollowed place. The marble was cold

beneath him.

Another man had come, an old man in a

threadbare gown who stood ready at the

controls of the machine. Konnur set the

metal band on the Earthman's head, fitting

the chill plates of metal over his temples.

He smiled and raised his hand.

The machine came humming into life.

A somber glow illumined Curt's face and

then two shining tendrils of force sprang

out and spun themselves swiftly

downward.

They touched the twin electrodes. Curt

Newton felt a flash of fire inside his skull

and then there was the darkness.

CHAPTER IV

The Unforgotten

ONE by one disjointed far-separated

slices of his past suddenly came real and

living again to Curt Newton. Each one was

farther back in the past. And he did not just

remember them. He lived each one with

every one of his five senses, with almost

all his conscious being.

Almost all--but not quite. Some inner

corner of his mind remained aloof from

this overpoweringly vivid playback of

memory, and watched.

He was striding with Otho and Grag and

the gliding Simon upon a night-shrouded

world. In the heavens flamed the vast

stunning star-stream of Andromeda galaxy

14

and out of the darkness ahead of them

loomed the mighty Hall of Ninety Suns...

He was in the bridge of the Red Hope,

Bork King's ship. That towering Martian

pirate stood beside him and the brake-

rockets were crashing frantically as they

came in fast, fast, toward the red sullen

sphere of Outlaw World...

He was running, running toward the

ships. The whole world beneath him was

rocking and shaking, the sky wreathed in

lightnings and great winds moaning. He

was back on Katain, that lost world of time

that was rocking now toward its final

cataclysmic doom...

"Back farther--farther--" whispered

the faraway voice, and the humming note

of the machines seemed to deepen.

"You will do as I say, Curtis !"

Curt stood, rebelliously facing the

implacable gaze of Simon Wright, in the

corridor of the Moon-laboratory under

Tycho. He was only a fourteen-year-old

boy and he felt all a boy's resentment of

restrictions, of fancied injustice.

"All I've ever seen is this place and you

and Otho and Grag," he muttered. "I want

to go to Earth and Mars and all the other

worlds."

"You will someday," said Simon. "But

not until you are ready. Grag and Otho and

I have reared you here, in preparation for

what is to come. And when the time arrives

you will go... "

He could not see very clearly nor could

he understand. He had only an infant's eyes

and an infant's mind.

It was the big main room of the Moon-

laboratory. A man and woman lay

sprawled on the floor and other men with

weapons stood over them.

Simon Wright, his lens-eyes facing

those men, was saying tonelessly, "You

will pay for this very quickly. Death is

coming now."

There was a rush of feet. Grag and Otho

burst into the room. A terrible booming cry

came from the metal giant and he leaped

forward.

To Curt's infant eyes it was a whirl of

staggering figures, a spurt and flash of

light--and then Grag standing with Otho

over the broken bodies of the men.

The scene darkened--but the aloof

untouched corner of Curt's adult mind

knew that he had seen the death of his own

parents and their avenging by the

Futuremen...

"Back beyond his own memories !"

whispered the voice. "His father's and his

father's father's..."

He was in an ancient 20th Century

airplane. Curt felt--felt, even though he

knew it was a 20th Century ancestor who

had really felt it--the pressure as he swung

the plane around to dive toward its target...

He was on the sun-parched deck of an

old sailing-ship, becalmed, its sails

hanging limp and dead. He started toward

the stern...

He was one of many men, men clad in

bronze and leather, carrying long spears.

They were running into a rude village of

huts and somewhere there was a

shrieking...

Under a somber sky on a sere brown

hillside he stood as a skin-garmented

savage. The chill wind ruffled the dead

grass but he saw the movement down on

the slope that was not of the wind and he

raised his heavy stone axe more alertly...

"Farther--"

Thunder shook the night sky and

reverberated across the city of glittering

pylons in the nearer distance as one by one

the great liners came swinging majestically

down.

Curt Newton--or the faraway ancestor

whose memories he now relived--spoke

with casual interest to the grave robed man

who was walking with him toward the

starport terminal.

"We'll see what kind of officials Deneb

is sending us this time ! I must admit these

bored sophisticates from the capital, with

their patronizing attitude toward our Earth

and its System, get on my nerves !"

"But after all we're only a tiny part of

the Empire," the other reminded.

15

"Administrators who have to think of

worlds across the whole galaxy can't

consider our little System as too

important."

"It is important ! Even though it has

only nine little worlds it's as important as

any part of the Empire !"

"Perhaps it will be someday. The

Empire will last forever and someday--"

EVEN as the scene changed the watching

corner of Curt's mind knew that for a

moment he had actually lived in the

legendary Old Empire...

"Back farther still--farther--"

He could hear them singing the song

through all the ship. The old song that was

like a banner streaming, the song that they

had sung for generations in the mighty

ships that went on and on through the

intergalactic void.

"How many, many centuries since the

last of the First Born died--the First Born

who raised us from the dust ! How many

centuries since we men went forth !"

He heard and he looked ahead through

the port and there was nothing but the

same eternal scene--the vast maw of

oceanic deep space with the hosts of the

far-flung galaxies mere drowned points of

light.

All except the one galaxy ahead, the

mighty wheel-shaped continent of stars

that slowly, slowly, kept growing into a

universe of fire and splendor.

"By the arts that the First Born taught

us, by the sacred behest that they laid upon

us, we go forth to create the cosmic dream

they dreamed !"

The blinding revelation came only to

that little part of his mind that was still

Curt Newton--the revelation of that first

epic coming of men to found the Empire of

old, to fulfill the command of the

mysterious First Born.

If he could hear that song a little longer,

that marching-song of the elder human

race as it followed its destiny from far

beginnings ! If he could hear but a little

more--

"Now !" spoke the voice and light

crashed destroyingly upon the whole

scene--and he was Curt Newton wholly

and lying upon a cold slab and waking--

waking...

It was cruel, that awakening,

unendurably cruel--to have gone so far

and yet not far enough ! He heard himself

cry out, an incoherent fury of demand for

the machine to hum again, to send his

memories plunging back along the endless

track of time.

Then his sight cleared and he saw Otho

watching him, his green eyes calculating

and ironic. He saw Konnur, smiling.

Curt stripped off the metal band and

stood erect. His hands were unsteady and

somehow he could not meet Otho's gaze.

He tried to speak but the words did not

come and in his mind, already fading, was

still the burden of that song and the

blinding light of galaxies untouched and

new, ready for the conqueror.

He shivered and Konnur said as though

he knew quite well what was passing in the

Earthman's thoughts, "Remain here then.

You can order the others away and remain

here and follow your own dream. There are

no limits to the memory of man."

"Yes," said Curt to himself and not to

Konnur. "One limit--the beginning, the

time before ever there were men, before

the First Born. Who--and where and how

?"

"Learn," said the quiet voice of Konnur.

"Send the others away when they come

and remain and learn."

From a great distance then there came to

Curt the sudden sound of fighting in the

pass.

For a moment he stood motionless,

caught between that song of lost eons and

the pitiless present. Then, savagely, like a

creature driven against his will, he moved.

He tore the metal band from Ezra Gurney's

head and shook him and shouted, "Wake

up, Ezra ! Wake !"

The guards had started forward. Otho

said sharply, "Wait ! If you touch him

16

now, it will only mean complete

destruction for you all."

Konnur listened to the sound of fighting

in the valley. He sighed and motioned the

guards to halt.

"Yes," said Konnur, "let us wait. There

is always time to die."

Ezra Gurney was looking up at Curt, his

eyes bewildered and full of

uncomprehending pain.

Captain Future turned away. He said

heavily, "Konnur, go and tell your people

to lay down their weapons. There is no

need for bloodshed."

"Perhaps," said Konnur, "it would be

better for us to die fighting for the Second

Life."

Curt shook his head. "The Second Life

must be ended for Europa. By bringing in

these folk from other worlds you have give

the Planet Police and the Government

power to act and they will act very swiftly.

But..."

Konnur's eyes blazed. "But ?"

"It need not be destroyed. Go now and

speak to your people."

Konnur hesitated. His gaze was fixed on

Curt's. Then, abruptly, he turned and went

away. Curt took Ezra Gurney's hand. He

said gently, "Get up, Ezra. It's time to go."

The old man got slowly to his feet and

then sank back, sitting on the edge of the

slab, his face between his hands.

PRESENTLY he said, "I couldn't help it,

Curt. It was a chance to go back to the time

when I was young, to the time when we

were together and all that had not yet

happened..."

Curt did not need to ask whom he meant

by "we". He was one of the few who knew

Ezra's tragedy, the loved brother whom he

had long ago been forced to slay as an

outlaw in space.

He took hold of Ezra's shoulder.

"Sure," he said. "Sure, I understand."

Ezra looked up at him. "Yes," he

muttered. "I think you do. Well..." He

stood up, groping for something to say,

something normal and expected. "Well, I

guess there's nothing else to do but go and

face Joan. Is she angry ?"

"Not now," said Otho, grinning, "but

she will be !"

Ezra smiled back gratefully but his heart

was not in it.

They went out of the place of the

sleepers, down the long passage to the

outer chambers. The noise of strife had

ceased. They heard a tumult of many

voices shouting and then Grag came

striding mightily through the tall gates.

He bellowed, "Are you all right, Curt ?

I knew Otho would get you into a jam !"

Simon Wright glided beside him and

behind them a press of eager dusty young

Europans crowding like wolves.

"Shall we destroy them now ?" they

shouted. "Shall we break the machines ?"

"No !" Curt told them. "Hold your

tempers ! And listen. Konnur ! Where is

Konnur ?"

They thrust him inward through the

crowd.. They had handled him roughly but

even so he had not lost his dignity nor his

pride. He stood waiting.

Curt Newton spoke slowly, so that

everyone should hear and understand.

"This, is my proposal. There are many of

the old ones who have lived so long in the

Second Life of memory that without it they

would die--and the secret itself is too

valuable to be lost.

"Therefore I offer this solution--that the

machines shall be removed to one of the

small uninhabited moons of this system

and that those who wish to shall go with

them. It would be a sort of quarantine,

under the authority of the Planet Police,

and the Second Life would be gone forever

from Europa. Does that meet with your

approval ?"

He looked at Konnur, who had no

choice and knew it, but who did not care as

long as his beloved dream was safe.

"It is well," he said. "Better than I had

hoped."

"And you," demanded Curt of the

young Europans, "what is your word ?"

17

"They had many words among

themselves. They shook their fists and

argued, hungry for destruction, but at the

last the young man who had come with

Curt and Otho from the city stepped

forward and said, "As long as the Second

Life goes forever from this world we will

not oppose you." He paused, then added,

"We owe you that much. If it had not been

for you we would never have broken free."

Curt felt a great relief, greater than he

should have had for the mere saving of a

bit of antique science. Again he avoided

Otho's gaze and even more the cold

penetrating glance of Simon Wright's lens-

eyes.

He said to Konnur, "It is done then.

Waken the sleepers and let them have time

to think and choose. I will see that the

arrangements are made to trans-ship and

settle all those who wish to go."

He took Ezra by the arm, shaking him

from the reverie into which he had sunk

again. "Come on," he said. "We're finished

here for good."

* * * * *

They were walking across the spaceport,

the six of them, the Futuremen and Joan

and Ezra, heading for the ships under the

red glow of Jupiter. And Simon Wright

said something that had been on his mind

to say these days during which Curt had

labored to finish the removal of willing

exiles to a remote and barren moon.

"Was it out of pity for them, Curtis--or

did you wish to live the Second Life again

yourself some day ?"

Curt answered slowly. "I'm not sure. It's

too dangerous a thing to meddle with

overmuch and yet--much knowledge

could be gained that way. If a man could

be sure of himself, of his own mind..."

He shook his head and Simon said

dryly, "The last thing a man is ever sure of

is the strength of his own mind."

Otho looked up at Grag.

"But you really ought to try it some

time, Grag."

"The Second Life ?" rumbled Grag.

"Why, now, come to think of it maybe I

should."

"Certainly," Otho told him. "It would be

a fascinating experience to learn how your

ancestral pig-iron felt in the forge."

Grag turned on him. "Listen, android--"

Curt's voice cut them short and their

step quickened as they went on toward the

ships.

But Ezra walked last, slowly, the

shadow still on his lined old face as he

looked back--back to the remembered

past, the bright lost days, the forever

unforgotten.