Captain Future 25 - Moon of the Unforgotten (January 1951) Read Free Page B

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 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 3: 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 takes 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 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