Colossus of Chaos
By NELSON S. BOND
IT was the evil spawn of lifeless space,
drifting aimlessly until ITs sinister
birthing place should come. And finding
that abode for life, IT grew, sucking
energy from Terra itself—gathering
strength for that time when all should
flee before ITs malign wrath.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Out of the darkness It came. Out of the grim, bleak, frore,incalculable depths of outer space, into the empire of light andwarmth ... and life.
It was like nothing known to Man. It was round, but not quite round;It was hard, but not altogether hard; It was cold, but not cold withthe terrible, utter iciness of things which come from Beyond. It was inmotion but It did not move of Its own volition, for It was quiescent,insensate. It let Itself be carried by the vagrant and unpredictablewhims of a kinetic universe, confident that in a day ... or acentury ... or a thousand, thousand centuries ... the fitful fingers ofchance would find for It a bourne, a resting-place.
Out of the night It came ... the endless, inpenetrable night whichspans the void between star and star. Out of one cosmos into another;out of oblivion into waking horror.
No eye beheld Its coming. None saw Its faint, thin, cool iridescence;no voice lifted to challenge Its arrival on the sixth satellite of thesixth solar planet. It dropped to earth unwatched, rolled a brief,sluggish way, then rested in a deep, soft, sandy pit.
A gray hoar-frost rimed Its surface as the warmth of a friendly orbdispelled the frightful chill of space; a pale mist rose from Itspetroid carapace and trembled into the air like a wan and restlessghost.
It had found a home, a lair, a birthing-place. With a slow, ecstatic,burrowing motion It dug Itself still deeper into the nourishing sands.It had arrived. It grew....
I
"A dangerous place," said the heavy man with ominous deliberation. "Amost dangerous place!" He raised his glass to his nostrils, passed itback and forth appreciatively, and rolled a single drop of the liqueurupon his tongue. A smile creased his full, red lips. "Excellent, mydear Captain!" he approved. "A most superior brandy. Allow me tocongratulate you. Domrémy-Thol '98, I should judge?"
Captain Burke, skipper of the IPS space-cruiser Gaea, basked in thesunshine of his passenger's approbation.
He swirled the liquor in his frosted glass, glanced about the tablewith a self-satisfied complacency that was almost ludicrous. Then henodded his head slowly, acknowledging the compliment bestowed upon hisjudgment in selecting the after-dinned liquor.
"Allow me," he corrected, "to congratulate you, sir, on a trulymagnificent palate. You have named the exact vine and season. But ...danger? You spoke of danger?"
The connoisseur glanced at the young lady across the table andpermitted his eyebrows to arch significantly.
"Perhaps it would be better to abandon the subject," he suggested."After all, I do not wish to cause Miss Graham undue alarm—"
The girl laughed. She did not seem, noted young Dr. Roswell, occupantof another seat at the captain's table, the least bit perturbed byGrossman's shadowy hint of menace. On the contrary, her already vividfeatures assumed new color at the scent of danger. Her gray-greeneyes brightened,