Ghosts of Ganymede

8. Phantom from the Past

Star sipped the hearty black wine and stared moodily into the flames which danced on the stone hearth of the little cabin. "It must have been the mysterious Asterites who first discovered the uncanny life-forms," he mused. "They are entities of what seems to be black vapor, but they are actually composed of minute particles of black dust. Somehow or other, they are alive.

"Daylight arouses them, but when kept in darkness they lie dormant, apparently forever. In their dormant stage, the particles condense into perfect spheres, like black pearls. Like the ones you and your partner discovered sealed in an airtight alloy casket, buried within a basalt sarcophagus where the light of day could never penetrate."

"Devils of space!" swore Scotty, his numerous freckles dark against paling skin, eyes haunted. "So, when Big Bill stuck one in his pocket to flourish it around at the Spaceman's Rest— ?"

Star nodded somberly. "He as good as signed his own death-warrant.

Fortunately, he sealed the other six away in the alloy casket and hid them away in the cyclotron. Shortly alter he and you retired, the sphere disintegrated ... came apart into a floating vaporous cloud—and struck. At whomever was closest!"

Scotty's faded blue eyes were haunted by a nameless dread.

"He—he tucked the black pearl under his pillow," whispered the scrawny little Scotsman.

Sue Barlow stared at Star Pirate.

"But . . . why did it—kill?"

Star stirred himself, and poured another sip of the fiery black wine into his cup. "If my old friend, Dr. Zoar, the Martian scientist, were here," he grinned, "he'd use a lot of long words to say what can be said briefly. If a thing is alive, it has to feed on—something."

Phath goggled at him. "Chief! You mean—?"

The redheaded adventurer nodded grimly. "The vapor-devil can solidify some of its substance into a flexible tendril which possesses enormous strength. It must feed on the raw life-force of its victims, which otherwise disperses into the ether at the instant of death."

"But then ... where did it go?" asked the Scotsman.

"When I examined your room above the saloon, I noticed the window was open an inch. The vapor-beast drifted out of the window ... but it didn't go far. Long pent in darkness, all those millions of years, the phantom-thing had only enough strength to float a few alleys away, to Madame Ong's Cafe. There it allowed itself to be sucked into the ventilation-system, and reverted for a time to its harmless, dormant state, until at length the lights of Madame Ong's establishment, shining through one of the air-grills, aroused its ... appetite again."

Sue Barlow turned pale, shuddered, and bit her lip.

"After all those eons, it was ... very hungry," said Star Pirate in heavy tones. He then explained how he had employed the mechanism to suck the vaporous entity into the transparent bulb attached to the pump. An opaque black cloth was whisked over the bulb, as soon as Star made certain the pump had drawn all of the phantom-thing from the ventilation-system. Later, at Patrol headquarters, they removed the cloth—briefly—and saw the black pearl lying at the bottom of the glassy bulb, dormant, harmless—but only so long as it was deprived of the light which would otherwise release it to kill—and kill again!

They finished the bottle, and Scotty left the cabin only to return a few minutes later, lugging a rectangular box of queer, glimmering alloy. This he thrust, into Star's hands.

"Here—take the cursed, murderin' things, Mr. Pirate! I never want to see 'em again! Even if they ain't worth all those millions of credits I figgered to retire on, and set the lass up in a nice finishin' school and all, at least I know, in yer hands, they'll never kill again!"

"You can be certain of that," swore Star Pirate grimly.

The letter came two weeks later. It read as follows:

Dear McGuire—

Too dangerous to be worth anything as jewels, the "black pearls" are invaluable as samples of a hitherto unknown form of life, and because of their connection with that mysterious lost race, the Asterites.

So—I sold the six remaining pearls, and the alloy box, to the System government's big research facility on Pallas. The scientists there fully understand the danger the vapor-beasts represent to human life, if handled carelessly, exposed to light, and allowed to escape. Believe me, they will experiment most gingerly with the six remaining creatures, and will employ every conceivable precaution to see that they never harm a human being again.

Your friend,

Star Pirate

P. S. Enclosed is a check from the laboratory. It's not as big as what the jewellers on Mars might have paid for the pearls (if all they had really been was pearls), but it’s still sizeable enough to enable you to retire from space, and for Sue to go to that good school and buy those pretty clothes.

S.P.

And a check fluttered out of the envelope. Scotty snatched it from midair and stared at it with goggling eyes. It was made out to himself and to Sue, and the amount was more than most meteor miners earn in a full lifetime at their trade.

"Devils of space—!" whispered the skinny little Scotsman, a huge grin beginning to spread over his freckled face. Sue looked at the check, too, and smiled.

But she was not as jubilant as he: her eyes were dreamy ... as she thought of a tall, rangy, longlegged young adventurer whose mischievous green eyes sparkled under a curly mop of dark red hair ...