*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74199 ***





                         The Nobles Are Coming

                             By Gene Cross

                      Together they discussed the
                      Nobles--the old prospector
                    and the weary, frightened man.
                      Then--utter terror struck!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                   Fantastic Universe October 1954.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


    _When science fiction clasps hands with the horror story, pure
    and unadulterated, it's well to make certain you're being guided
    toward the abyss by competent hands. Gene Cross has the rare gift
    of lighting up his somber, ghoul-haunted woodlands by flashes of
    chilling lightning. By suggesting more than he tells he evokes the
    absolute ultimate in shuddery terror without venturing for a single
    moment beyond the rust-red hills of Mars._


I rested on reaching what seemed to be the top of the incline, and
leaned back against the wall of the cave. For a moment the silence was
unbroken. And then in the darkness there was a whisper of movement,
an unseen stirring that was stilled by my involuntary, voiceless cry,
"_What's there!_"

With only a blurred memory of having reached for it, I found my gun in
my hand.

"Don't shoot!" said a burry voice. "Allow me to introduce myself:
Mister J. J. Abrogado, A-b-r-o-g-a-d-o, Serbo-Croat prospector, at your
service!"

I lowered the gun hesitantly, letting it waver in the general direction
from which the voice came. It was a strange introduction, but the
possessor of the voice must have been as frightened by my bursting
suddenly into the cave as I had been on finding it already occupied.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"That's supposed to be my question," said Mister J. J. Abrogado. "Who
are you? And what was it that frightened you?"

"Sorry," I apologized. "My name's Ross. I'm an archeologist. I was on
a trip alone in my ground car when it broke down. Being no mechanic, I
couldn't fix it. I decided to walk back to Marsport. I walked all day
and most of this night, when--Well, listen!"

I bent my head to one side. Through the earphones of my headwarmer I
could hear from far away a vague presentiment of movement, a dim blur
upon the horizon of sound.

"The nightrunners," said Abrogado in recognition. "I thought it might
have been something else that frightened you." There was an unspoken
question in his silence.

"What?" I asked, wondering.

The cave was like a bottle of blackness. I could see nothing of my
companion, not even his head and shoulders which must have been thrust
rather sharply forward.

"The Nobles," said the prospector. "I thought perhaps you had seen a
Noble."

The presentiment of movement had become a distant murmur, and my hand
against the cave wall could detect a soft, smooth trembling.

"No, I didn't see a Noble," I answered. "In fact, I've never seen a
Noble."

"Nor I," said J. J. Abrogado.

There was silence again. It lasted for long minutes. There was nothing
in my universe but the solidity of cave wall and floor; and--in the
background--the growing murmur of the nightrunners.

"I've seen a man who saw a Noble, though," I said at last. "What was
left of him they brought into the base hospital at Marsport on a rubber
blanket, and placed in a tub. Nothing was missing, but he was peeled."

I might just as well have said 'shelled' or 'husked', as if something
had tried to turn him inside out.

The murmur was now the sound of a rising tide.

The man I had seen in the tub had been one of the few "missing men" who
had been found. The others had never been seen again. They had been
archeologists, exploring isolated Martian ruins or prospectors, seeking
precious metals....

As if aware of my thoughts, Abrogado said: "Most of the missing were
prospectors. I'm a prospector."

Instantly I regretted having contributed anything about Nobles to the
conversation. I remembered all the stories I had ever heard about
Martian prospectors gone mad. And here was one seemingly obsessed
with the fear of falling into the two-fingered hands of the strange
creatures from outer space.

My eyes were as accustomed now to the blackness as they would ever be,
and still I could see virtually nothing of my companion--except for a
slight lessening of the darkness mirrored in his eyes occasionally. But
that lessening gave me two items of information: He was about my height
and he was looking directly at me.

"The Nobles," said Abrogado in his toneless voice. "Man knows almost
nothing of them, as they can stop their hearts at will, and so are
never captured alive.

"We can only be sure that they are stately, regal creatures, fifteen
feet high who walk always with grace and dignity. Proud, sensitive,
steeped in tradition--that is the impression one gains of them. But
it's hard to understand how such remote, godlike beings whose lives
should be devoted to beauty remain continually preoccupied with death.

"But then, standards vary, and what Earthman can say what is truly
beautiful, what is truly ugly? Perhaps the Nobles evoke strange
and somber rhythms from human diaphragms, play great symphonies of
attenuated delight upon the nerves of living creatures."

Whatever else Abrogado had to say was submerged in a great flood of
sound. Outside, a hundred thousand ostrich-like creatures were racing
madly through the night, their thick legs drumming against the desert
sands. The cave was filled with the echoing thunder of their passing.

If it hadn't been for them I would have flung myself out of the cave
to avoid sharing for another moment the company of the mad prospector.
But nothing could stand before the impact of that terrible explosive
migration, which had mystified zoologists for so many years.

Actually, I was being needlessly alarmed. After all, I was armed.
What did I have to fear from a moonstruck old man? Nevertheless, I
had an uneasy picture of him standing near, waiting for the turmoil
to subside, his face gaunt and shadowed by a heavy beard. For once I
wished I had the Noble's ability to see in the dark.

Minutes passed while the drumming drained slowly away.

"I'm glad that's over," said Abrogado. "I have some questions to ask
you. I have been isolated in the desert for many months. You are the
first human I have seen for a long while."

"Go ahead," I said, absently.

I was wondering just how the missing prospectors had been trapped. I
pictured Nobles crouching in a cave, waiting for one of the poor devils
to enter. But that wasn't likely. Their bodies were formed of large
cartilage-like sections which were too rigid to permit them to crouch
or kneel. Physiologically, they had but two choices: to draw themselves
up to their full height of fifteen feet, or to lie flat upon the
ground.

In reply to Abrogado's questions, I chatted lightly about the new shops
and homes, and the population figures as shown in the latest census of
Marsport.

Abrogado asked: "Have you seen the new interstellar ship?"

"_The Stellar Missile?_" I nodded; "Yes, I've seen it. They're still
putting the finishing touches on it--painting, insulating, and so on."

The existence of the great ship, long under secret construction, had
just been revealed to the populaces of the Inner Worlds. It was being
constructed on Mars as it would be easier to lift from the red planet
than from Earth. The nose of _The Stellar Missile_ was pointed outward
in the general, but specifically unknown, direction of the home planet
of the Nobles.

"What star is it investigating first?" asked Abrogado.

"Oh, a very likely star," I said, "considering the evidence. Sirius."

"So it is Mira?" mused the other. "I know little of astronomy, but it
doesn't seem a likely star to me."

I touched the open face of my watch, feeling the hands. I knew that in
a few minutes it would be--not dawn, but daylight. Because of its light
atmospheric envelope there is no true twilight, or dawn on Mars. The
sun just suddenly waxes into brightness in about the same length of
time as it takes the glow in a television tube to wane into darkness.
And so, in a few minutes, I would see my companion for the first time.

"I have an idea," I said, "as to how we can deal with the Nobles when
we find them."

"Yes?" asked Abrogado.

"Mind if I sit down?" I asked. I loosened my harness, unbuckled my
belt. "Have you heard of J-bombs?" I said, and dropped.

Before I struck the floor my gun-weighted hand had leapt out, and
the silence was shredded by a staccato blast of sound. I jack-knifed
upwards, holding the trigger tight against the butt emptying
destruction into the night with desperate haste.

My gun brought its stuttered sentence to a halt and, as if a period
were being added by the pen of chance, there was the metallic
punctuation of a heavy object dropping to the ground.

Then, miraculously, the interior of the cave brimmed with radiance, and
objects stood out in stark relief. There was a glint of brightness on
metal: A gun of strange design lay directly before me.

And above me the explosion-pocked body of a Noble hung suspended from
the ceiling by suction-cupped feet. It dripped blue blood upon the
rocky floor, its eyes vacantly staring.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74199 ***