สำเนาบทสนทนา 🔗
WEBVTT
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Welcome, weirdos. I'm Darren Marlar. You've stepped into the horror
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fiction side of Weird Darkness. And it happens to be midnight.
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In the macabre. Martius Kemble stood upon the frozen surface
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of Pluto and swore aloud. He knew there were none
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to hear him, but just the same, he shouted into
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his plastic space helmet, until his ears were ringing, cursing
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all the planets and their diverse inhabitants in order. Most
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of all, Earth. You see, Martius Kimball was an example.
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He was an example to any others in the year
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of 2200 AD who would strive to rule the solar system.
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The planets were independent states, and they were to remain
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that way. For trying to change this, Kimball had been
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exiled to unexplored Pluto. Martius raised his mailed fists toward
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the mighty stars and ground out curses against Earth and
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all those upon it, wishing that he could call upon
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it in the wrath of Heaven and Hell, for it
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had been the men of Earth who had brought about
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his ultimate downfall. It had been the age-old story of
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a power-mad tyrant finding out the secret grudges of his
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subjects and working on them to inspire a frenzy of hate,
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to maneuver them into a war against unsuspecting neighboring nations.
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He had gained control of the whole of Mars in
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this way and had been reaching out for the moon
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system of Saturn when the full force of the planetary
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combine had come against him, scattering his forces. The counteroffensive
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had been led by Earth, and it had been an
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Earth ship which, after his short-lived escape, had parachuted him
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to the cold surface of Pluto. Is it any wonder
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that he should hate them? Marsha's Kimball looked fearfully around
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at the bleak, frozen landscape of Pluto, a cold hell
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hardly reached by the light of the sun. Then he
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began to laugh. Martius laughed into the little plastic world
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of his helmet, and the sound roared back into his
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own ears, and he laughed louder.
Load full transcript
Tears streamed down over
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the contact lenses in his eyes and caused the white
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mountains to gesticulate and beckon to him. He was beginning
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to see it all very clearly now. It wasn't his
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own laughter in his helmet. The White Mountains were laughing
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at him. The stars and sun were laughing, and all
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the people of all the planets. It was all concentrated
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into his ears by the curve of his helmet. They
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were spying on him to see what he would do,
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laughing because he could do nothing, their voices filling his head,
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asking who he was, what he was going to do now,
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mocking him. He would show them. Run to the Laughing
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White Mountains, cast them into an ocean, crush them beneath
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his feet. That would put them in their places. Do
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it now! Martius pulled himself to his feet. He knew
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that he had been running and had fallen, striking his
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helmet upon something hard, and that he had been laughing, crying,
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and cursing at the same time. The reverberating blow had
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shocked him into silence, and he was remembering the words
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of the doctor who had cared for him back on Mars.
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The doctor had said, You have a great mind, sire,
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and a very strong will. But there are some flaws,
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as in all men. If you should know defeat, your
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only hope will be death. Living, your mind would refuse
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to give up, beating itself into insanity against a blank wall.
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Now Martius knew what the doctor had meant. There were
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still the voices in his mind repeating over and over,
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Who are you? Who are you? Almost as if they
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were mocking the beating of his heart. There was something
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strange about the voices, Martius thought. It was as if
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there were some alien intelligence behind them. There were two
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of them, and they seemed to require an answer from him.
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It was with no great hope that he answered the
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voices by concentrating upon his name and present predicament. The
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thoughts of Martius Kimball did not go unheard. Unknown to
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the rest of the solar system, Pluto had its inhabitants.
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To Earth men, these would be very strange beings, not
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alone in appearance but in composition. Their heads were roughly triangular,
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widening upward from a pointed chin and resting on thin
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yet strong necks above equally strong and spindly man-like bodies.
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They were mainly composed of elements which became solid only
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at very low temperatures. Thus it was that One of
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these beings sat before a radio-like device and perspired in
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the extreme cold of the room. His long-pointed ears were
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depressed by the weight of a shiny metal cap, and
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his two large eyes held a look of worried consternation.
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The reason for his consternation was the thoughts of the
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ex-dictator of Mars. The wearer of the cap shot a
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series of rapid sounds at the other occupant of the room.
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He said, in effect, I have received thought emanations from
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the director of the great plane, rather garbled. The being
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is probably a giant from some other world, for his
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thoughts are alien, and he evidently considers it within his
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power to crush the mountains which house us. The other
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made a negative gesture with a slender hand. Don't you
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think it is more likely that it is a trick
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of the enemy to frighten us, Gore? They have tried
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such things before, you know. Gore was quiet while he
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peered into the eyepiece of an instrument. Then he replied,
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We will soon know. Tower 3 has made contact, giving
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us the exact location, and the Inquisitors have now gone
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to work on him. For a while, the two Plutonians
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busied themselves with their various machines. Then Gorr spoke again.
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You are radiating sorrow, Bakar. What troubles you? Bakar sighed.
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I was thinking of the ancient pictures of Andi in
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the days when its orbit was much nearer the sun,
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and we, the inhabitants of Andi, were happy in our
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beautiful cities. Now the two remaining great nations hide, one
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from the other, beneath the mountains, and neither can break
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the defenses of the other, but still we try. What
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is the use of it? Careful, Bakar. Gor looked sternly
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at the other. The four may have you in the
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thought beam. You know that the four lead us along
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this path because it is the only choice, the path
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shown in the future machine. In the time you speak of,
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Gore went on, the people were no better off than
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we of today. Because they did not have the future machine,
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they had failures. They wandered from the way, and their
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failures turned them back to the course provided by the
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natural law. Now we know for what we are bound,
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and if we work toward that end, can know no failures.
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A strange light came into Picard's eyes, but he said nothing.
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Shortly thereafter, a voice drifted into the room. It was
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a mild voice. but it was also old and wise.
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The voice said, This is Nell, one of the four.
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The being on the plane has been probed and analyzed
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and has been found to be a creature of the
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carbon class from the inner worlds. He has sought to
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deceive us in the manner in which he has deceived
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his own, but we have seen it all. The being
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is of a race called Man, and is named Mashush-Kun-Bil.
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He is clothed in a type of space armor which
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embodies an air purifier, good for a period of time
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long enough to transport him to the fourth planet at
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half the speed of light, and is protected against cold
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by electric and tonic stimulants which do not produce heat,
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but only suspend the sensation of cold. Therefore, we may
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come in contact with him without fear of burns. SINCE
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THE FUTURE MACHINE INDICATES THAT HE MUST BE SENT BACK
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INTO SPACE, AND SINCE THERE IS NO PLACE FOR HIM
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IN OUR WORLD, HE WILL BE DISPOSED OF AT ONCE.
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TOWER TWO WILL DISPATCH TWO SHIPS. THE MAN WILL BE
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INSTRUCTED IN THE OPERATION OF ONE OF THE SHIPS AND
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SENT ON HIS WAY. THE PILOTS WILL RETURN TO THE
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OTHER SHIP. THAT IS ALL. FOR A LONG MOMENT, QUIET
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FILLED THE ROOM. GORE WAS UNEASY AS HE SAID, WELL, BAKAR,
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HAVE YOU NOT HEARD? It is your duty to dispatch
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the ships. Why do you hesitate? The car sprung to
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his feet. The small weapon clutched in his claw-like hand No,
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he insisted, I will not obey the machine. I am
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going to prove to you and to all that it
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can be wrong. You know of the soft places in
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the plain, Gore. It is a wonder that the man
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did not land in one of these, considering that there
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are more of these than solid ground. But he will
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weary of waiting for the ships, which he has been
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informed of, and begin to wander. He cannot go far
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before he is swallowed up, sinking deeper and deeper. Then
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we shall see if the future machine is always right.
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Gore said nothing. but a slight smile came to his lips,
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a rather ironic one. It was much later when Gore
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again spoke. He turned from his position as the thought
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receiver and said, News for you, Bakar. I have just
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received thought that the man is on his way. Bakar
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visibly started, and Gore continued, How many times have you
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complied with an order from the fore and pressed the
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button that informs second-in-command that you had done so? Force
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of habit caused you to perform it this time, Bakar.
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The order went on, through second in command. He added softly,
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The future machine never lies. Marcius Kimball stood upon the
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frozen plain and waited. A satanic smile lighted his face,
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and the cry for revenge was in his heart. He
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somehow felt that the thoughts had not lied, that they
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would send the promised ship. Then he would be free again,
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blasting back to quench his thirst for revenge against the Combine.
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His face became flushed, and the temperature within his suit
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became perceptibly greater as he formed his fanatical plans. While
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he waited, the leaders of the Combine in his mind
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suffered and died a thousand times. The coming of the
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ships was swift. One moment there was nothing, the next
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they rested upon the plain before him. Martius was surprised
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to note that they were very small as compared to
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others he had seen. So much the better, he thought,
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to elude the space patrol. He also marveled at the
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fact that the creatures coming toward him from the ships
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were lightly clothed, and that they could speak to him
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through his mind. Do not fear us, came the thought.
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You must come with us into one of our craft
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to learn of the controls. Inside the ship, Martius found
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that learning of the controls was much simpler than he
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had thought it would be. He sat in the pilot's seat,
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hands on the controls and eyes closed. A thousand times
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more effective than words, Thoughts came to him, and he
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flew the Plutonian ship through every condition and position that
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could ever be encountered, even though he never left the
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place at which the ship had come to rest on
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the plane. Mental instruction. It all ended with Martius Kimball,
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condemned dictator of Mars, soaring away from Pluto forever, still
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enclosed in his spacesuit because the air within the ship
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was never meant for the lungs of men, and heading
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toward Earth, toward the fulfillment of his evil plans. As
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the atmosphere of Pluto fell away behind him, Martius wondered
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that he felt no acceleration. That he remembered a faint
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something which he had detected in the thoughts of his instructor.
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Something about increased momentum being induced into each individual atom,
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so that each retained its normal position to that of
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every other. But Martius was not the kind to spend
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much time on thinking of such complicated matters. Instead, he
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lapsed into an ecstasy of evil dreams. Dreams! in which
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he was again the mighty monarch, this time on Earth.
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As the little ship drove on through space, Martius pictured
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himself walking in on the members of the council. He
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would have gained his rightful place as ruler by then,
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of course, and chuckled at the expressions he imagined on
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their faces, mouths hanging open, eyes many times too large,
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and their heads hanging nearly to their belts. Someone was
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kneeling before him. It was the Martian member, and his
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eyes were tightly closed against the stinging tears of while
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his thin hands were clasped before him, praying to Martius
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to have mercy. Martius was about to order them strung
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end to end and dangled for the rest of their
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lives from an overhanging cliff when he became aware of
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his present surroundings with a start. Time to start decelerating. Sighing,
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he reached for the proper lever and pulled it back.
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For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ship seemed to
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shake itself and Martius was half lifted from his seat.
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It couldn't be The decelerating force should act equally on
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his body and the ship. How then could he be
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thrown forward? Something bumped lightly against his helmet and drifted
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on by. Only for a moment did he stare blankly
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at the little silvery sphere. Then the nose of the
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ship came away with a weird plopping hiss, and he
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was jerked through the opening by the force of the
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escaping air. In confusion, he tried to swing his body
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around so that he could see what had happened. He
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twisted his shoulders around, but his hips turned equally in
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an opposite direction. To halt one meant to halt the other.
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He tried kicking his legs back hard, but only succeeded
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in arching his body and wrenching his back. Desperately, he
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began kicking and squirming like a mad dancer. Each motion
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depended upon an equal and opposite motion of his body.
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In the midst of his struggles, his heel struck on
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something and started him spinning, head over heels. It was
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the
ship. The combined gravities of the ship and his
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own body had brought them together again, and he was
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revolving around the heavier object in a close orbit, and
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he was turning end for end now. Martius could not
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feel the motion. It seemed as if the universe were
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turning about his stationary body, rising at his head and
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setting at his feet. He saw the ship then, but
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it was no longer a ship. It dawned on him
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why the Plutonians had never ventured much nearer the sun,
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and why, after they had known all about him, they
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let him go. Receding from him was a perfect sphere
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of liquid mercury, once the hard hull of a spaceship
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covered with a thin layer of water that had once
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been windows with small pieces of solid material floating on
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the surface. It was only a natural law that it
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should revert to this form when deprived of the sub-temperatures
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of Pluto. Yes, Martius Campbell saw it all now, but
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too late. He remembered a demonstration he had seen when
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a child. A man had poured mercury into a mold
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and cooled it to near absolute zero. When withdrawn from
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the mold, it had been a little bell that gave
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a clear tone. Why hadn't he thought of it before?
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The cold bodies of the Plutonians enabled them to handle
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such metals as he would handle steel. They made their
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ships and machines of such things as mercury and ice,
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and perhaps a few materials unknown to man, but all
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of a low melting point. Why should they do otherwise,
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when the extreme cold of Pluto made those things as
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hard as steel? It was even doubtful if they could
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produce enough heat to melt steel or even glass, or
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if they could produce a substance able to retain such fires.
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A hot rage began to boil within him. The plutoniums
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had known it all along. With their science, they could
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have kept him alive until they learned how to build
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a ship that would not melt from the heat of
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the sun. Now, Martius Kimball's unretarded speech carried him through
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the orbit of the Earth while it was still many
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thousands of miles distant. He began to feel the boiling
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heat of the sun and realized what it would be
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like when the insulation of his spacesuit gave way to
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that awful heat. But he decided that he would never
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live to suffer it. better to let the vacuum of
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space draw his life from him quickly and painlessly. Slowly,
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he reached up to unscrew his helmet. He gave it
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a slight tug and twisted with all his might. The
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helmet did not budge. For a moment, he could not
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think clearly. Then it came to him. The air pressure
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within the suit was so great in relation to the
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vacuum of space that it bound the threads together with
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a friction that he could never hope to overcome. With
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fear-filled eyes, He watched the hot disk of the sun
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expand around him as he fell toward it. The system
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would soon be rid of Martius Kemble. Thanks for joining me.
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Find more horror fiction at weirddarkness.com slash midnight. I'm Darren Marlar,
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and I hope you'll join me again soon at midnight.
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In the macabre.