LOST IN SPACE ADVENTURES
Foreword
Lost In Space, after all these years, remains a remarkably engaging and endearing show. Many of the episodes draw on themes from classical literature and folklore, and many address issues and themes far more sophisticated than it is sometimes given credit for.
Additionally, Lost In Space had a remarkably talented cast of stars, with significant previous fame and stardom under their belts. Guy Williams had achieved fame as Zorro, June Lockhart was already known as the archetypal mother from Lassie, Mark Goddard had two successful series in his resume, Angela Cartwright had spent years on Make Room For Daddy with Danny Thomas, Jonathan Harris had been in a number of shows, a character actor doing both drama and comedy – an accomplishment in itself – etc. etc.
The writers and producers likewise had any number of credits to them, both in television and movies. And Irwin Allen himself was already known as the light behind Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea.
The ingredients were there for a stunning, landmark TV series. That is what Lost In Space became . . . but perhaps not in the way everyone hoped. Some episodes became virtually notorious.
What I have done with these Lost In Space Adventures is to take specific episodes and rewrite them as serious science fiction short stories. This is more than just tweaking a few words of a script. These are complete re-imaginings of the stories. I have attempted to retain as much as possible the original plotlines, working with the original scenes, sometimes incorporating original dialogue, but trying to present more realistic and dramatic story. Not to say these are without humor! Dr. Smith in particular provides some light touches, and a bit of comic relief here and there keeps these from being dreary slogs, I hope. When appropriate, I have made a point of providing better visual presentations of some aspects – a couple of alien characters, in particular, and have rewritten some scenes and sequences of events to make (I hope) better sense and a more coherent storyline. Also, I have kept Smith much more the scoundrel than he became in the show, although he does provide a few light touches. My Zachary Smith may be amusing, but he is still dangerous. Nevertheless, the others still tolerate, even love him. He really is a remarkably complex character. I believe that his flaws derive from weakness rather than evil, as such, and this is something the others – especially the women – respond to. In the show, and here too, he has his moments when he can overcome his flaws and act both nobly and heroically.
I hope you enjoy what I have done with these.
A Visit To Hades
A Lost In Space Adventure
A brutal sun beat down on an odd little group. One of them was a young boy, perhaps 12 years old. He had reddish hair, cut short but insistently unruly, a splatter of freckles across his cheeks, and solemn blue eyes betrayed by a mischievous twinkle. Nearly any well-read man, woman, or child on Earth would have instantly pegged him as an endearing ragamuffin who had just stepped from the pages of Mark Twain, and would watch him sharply to make sure he didn't suddenly kick off his shoes, throw a bindle over his shoulder, and escape downriver on a home-made raft. The only reason no-one did this on a regular basis was that this engaging scamp was far, far, from Earth. His name was Will Robinson.
He and the rest of his family, plus a few others, were castaways on a world farther from Earth than can be easily reckoned. He patiently awaited the day when his father would announce that their spaceship, the Jupiter 2, was again full of fuel, repaired and spaceworthy, and ready to continue them on their mission to colonize one of the planets orbiting a star called Alpha Centauri.
The second party presented a stark contrast to the boy. Aside from being a human male, he was about as different from the boy as was possible. He was taller, much older – nearly enough to be Will's grandfather – with greying hair which took itself very seriously, and never allowed itself to be unruly. He was usually quite dour, rather than cheerful, and was largely indifferent to the boy's many interests and concerns. These differences did not, sad to say, end with the purely superficial. This older man, one Dr. Zachary Smith, was every bit the scoundrel that Will appeared to be, and far more. Smith was cowardly, pompous, self-centered, inconsiderate, avaricious (the reader is encouraged to consult a thesaurus to more completely catalog Smith's character flaws), while young Will was possessed of all the exemplary virtues in measures adequate to compensate for Smith's lackings.
Perhaps that is why such an unlikely pair were such stout friends.
A third unusual person trailed these first two. He differed in many significant ways from his companions, chiefly in that he was a robot, and was gifted with only those strengths and weaknesses of character which had been programmed into him by fallible human beings. Curiously enough, one of those fallible beings who had helped program this machine had left behind what was a terrible character flaw for a robot, in that he was entirely too human.
These three, then, were spending a part of the day scouting previously unexplored territory a mile or so south of where their ship was stranded. It was their intention to observe and document any previously undiscovered flora, fauna, or other indeterminate type of alien life. There was always hope that they might find some new thing which they could cultivate, hunt, or herd for food. Will was motivated in large part by simple curiosity and scientific enthusiasm, while Smith (although no stranger to the pleasures of the table) had a loftier fancy of winning fame and renown for his observations as a naturalist when (he never thought "if") he got back to Earth.
Looking through a pair of binoculars, Dr. Smith suddenly gasped aloud. "Great Heavens. A bird. It appears to be a common Earthly grackle, although that is patently impossible. It is obviously a new species, and deserving of a new name. Hmm . . . it shall be called Quiscalus quiscula Smithensis." He jotted the name into the margin of a book he carried.
Will shook his head, grinning wryly to himself. Vanity had no part of him either.
The robot addressed Dr. Smith. "It would be more appropriate if you discovered a bird you could name Meleagris gallopavo Smithensis." Smith disregarded the comment, but Will grinned again. He knew the scientific name for a turkey.
"Come, let us follow and see if we can get close enough for a good photograph. There! See it? In the branches of that scrubby tree."
The terrain was rocky, with boulders and small buttes obstructing the view, but the branches of a single tree were visible above it all, fairly close by. Will and the robot dutifully followed Smith as he blazed a trail through the coarse sand.
A moment later, all thoughts of birds and trees were struck from them as they encountered a remarkable sight.
One of the buttes appeared to have been carved out into an arch. The opening of the arch was nearly six feet wide at the base, tapered up somewhat, then at the top was a nearly perfect circle. It looked for all the world like a keyhole. Such sights are not unheard of as naturally occurring formations in the desert, but what truly filled these three with a sense of awe was what stood within the arch. There they saw a stone pedestal, obviously crafted by an artisan other than Nature, and atop the pedestal, what seemed to be some kind of musical instrument.
"What is it, Dr. Smith?" asked Will.
"How remarkable!" he responded, approaching it warily. Any sort of artifact like this was almost certain to be the handiwork of some alien civilization, and aliens, as everyone knows, are an unpredictable lot. It was flat, an elegant "U"-shape, a thin cross-piece at the top, with six strings running between the base and the cross piece. "Upon my word!" exclaimed the doctor. "It seems to be something from Greek antiquity – it's a lyre."
"That makes two," announced the robot in a deadpan voice.
Smith whirled at this jibe. "Silence!" he ordered. "You tinplate tattletale!" The doctor returned his attention to the instrument. "How odd . . . I wonder what it's made of. It's so shiny. It seems to be some kind of metal. I wonder what the Athenians made theirs of?" He reached out a tentative finger to the thing.
"Warning! Warning!" called the robot. "It is not wise to tamper with unknown alien equipment, and my readings indicate that that is definitely of non-human origin!"
"Oh, do be still!" admonished Smith. "I just want to see . . ." He gasped as his finger touched the frame of the lyre. "It can't be . . ." he murmured, and picked it up off of its pedestal. Smith staggered a bit as he held it. "Silver! Solid silver! Why, it's worth a king's ransom!" He stroked the curved frame lovingly, almost lasciviously, as he imagined what it would be worth on Earth.
"But," he mused, "It is first a musical instrument. I wonder what sort of sound such a precious knick-knack makes . . ."
"Dr. Smith, I think you'd better leave it alone," cautioned Will.
"Don't be silly, boy. Anyone can see it's only a –"
"DANGER! DANGER!" squalled the robot. "Object is a key to an unknown alien dimension! You'd best –"
"Hush, I told you! I'll simply play a note or two –" Smith's fingers plucked two strings, then a third. The notes blended together eerily, and preternatural silence descended for a fraction of a moment in the still, hot air.
Will and the robot stared aghast, as sullen crimson light flared across the gateway, the ground rumbled, and Dr. Smith vanished from their sight. "Dad's not gonna like this!" Will shouted, turning to run back to the ship.
Dr. Smith screamed as he found himself seemingly engulfed in flame and falling. The wind rushed passed his ears, and after some unknowable time, Smith hit bottom. But the bottom of what?
Smith was surprised to find himself even alive. He was prone on rocks, and jagged shapes of stone poked up all around him. Cautiously he wiggled arms and legs, decided nothing was paralyzed or broken, and stood straight. Maybe nothing is broken, he thought, but I feel like everything is. In sudden panic he looked about, then saw the lyre and snatched it up.
"I seem to have fallen into some sort of cavern beneath the surface," he stated aloud, more to reassure himself than anything. "At least I still have this treasure."
Dull, reddish light filtered in from somewhere, and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Smith could see that he was in a sort of underground corridor. "At least I've fallen at the end," he mused, "Nothing behind me, only one way to go." Uncertainly, he peered upwards, hoping to see daylight filtering down from the surface through the same crevasse through which he had presumably fallen. All above was black. "Head for the light," he murmured to himself. "That will surely be the sun and the surface."
Carrying the heavy lyre in one hand, Dr. Smith shuffled along the way. The light was oddly constant, and cast disturbing shadows as he moved. Occasionally he gasped in fear as small figures seemed to dart across his path, and by the power of suggestion he even heard their scurrying. "Rats," Smith announced with disgust. He wondered what rats might find down here to eat, and could think of nothing encouraging.
Presently he began wondering about even stranger tricks of the shadows, thinking he saw figures painted on the sides of the cavern. After the third time of his eyes playing such a trick, he stepped closer to convince himself it was merely an illusion. He was quite surprised to find himself wrong.
"Amazing!" he exclaimed aloud. "These tunnels must once have been home to a primitive caveman type, and just as on Earth, they left a tale of themselves on the rocks."
He peered closely at the shadowy figures, and felt he understood much more than the simple drawing warranted. The stylized broad head of one figure was far too little to convey that it represented a policeman's cap, and its hands close together with the other figure's really gave no hint that they were accepting a bribe.
"Bah," he said. "Why, I'm seeing this like some sort of inkblot test. Anyway, I wasn't really speeding that night, and I paid almost as much as the ticket would have cost anyway."
The next cave drawing had an even deeper effect. Smith could not have said how he knew that the large hall depicted belonged to a certain medical school, or how he grasped the meaning of a shadowy scroll resting by a seated figure. "It wasn't really cheating!" he hissed aloud. "I knew it all! I just have a poor memory!"
Panicked, Smith ran back the way he had come, looking for the paintings he had disregarded before. Now as he examined them, he saw a car streaking through an intersection, leaving smoky destruction behind, a little boy pocketing a wristwatch in a store and quickly leaving, and furthest back of all, a very young boy demanding his father call the dog-catcher on the neighbor's pet, which had snapped at him.
"No!" he whispered. "It can't be! It's only my imagination . . ."
Smith laughed nervously, and the laughter echoed through the caverns, growing louder and louder. "No!" he cried aloud, when he realized this impossibility, and plunged headlong through the turning tunnels. More shadowy figures appeared on the walls, but he refused to stop and look at them now . . .
. . . until the tunnel ended. Larger and more ominous forms flitted about now, and one last tableaux was shadowed into the wall.
Look at it! whispers seemed to command.
"I won't!" he shouted to the darkness. But he did: somehow, Smith knew he had to. He saw the image of a space ship launching from Earth, six silent figures locked away in the suspended animation of their freezing tubes – six who had trusted him quite literally with their lives. And there, he himself on his real mission, his secret mission inside the ship, pressing a button here, throwing a switch there . . . all to ensure the Jupiter 2 and the Robinson party suffered a sudden and catastrophic death in space.
"I didn't want to!" he shouted to the darkness. "I had no choice! It was them or me –"
"Really, Dr. Smith, I'd bargained you were much tougher stuff than this!"
Zachary Smith awoke slowly and carefully for a second time. This time, he was lying on a couch instead of rocks, and a solicitous figure hovered over him.
"Just who the – who do you think you are, sir, to treat me like this? Torture me in that labyrinth out there, then frighten me half to death?"
The person hovering over Smith appeared amused. " 'Just who the –' " he mocked. "Well, well, the famous Dr. Zachary Smith. Nay, the legendary Dr. Smith. Believe me, I've been following your career for some time. In fact, I feel that I know you quite well. May I call you Zachary?"
"You may not!"
"Fine then, 'Zack' it is. Delighted to meet you in the flesh – ah ha, so to speak – Zack."
"Don't call me that! My mother always called me that and I hated it."
"Whatever you say . . . Zack, baby."
"Who – who are you, anyway? It's extremely rude to be so familiar."
"Manners were never my strong suit, I'll admit. Call me . . ." he pondered a moment. "Call me Morbus. What's in a name, after all? I've been known by a good many, especially back on Earth."
Smith perked up instantly. "Earth? Did you say Earth? My Earth? You know of it?"
"Oh, indeed, Zack baby. I know Earth far better than you can possibly imagine. It's one of my favorite places in all the universe. In fact, I'm one of Earth's favorite celebrities. Pity I don't get back there too often, lately. Not . . . in the flesh, so to speak."
"You speak in riddles, sir."
"Oh, I'm sure as clever a fellow as yourself could puzzle it all out. Maybe you have already."
Smith regarded his host warily. "I suppose I don't care much who you are, as long as you can get me back home."
"Ah, there's the spirit! But first, you have to do a favor for me. That's how the universe works, you understand. One hand washes the other." "I scrub your back, you – seems to me I heard a policeman say the same thing one unfortunate evening," thinking of the painting.
"Oh, he may have been an associate of mine as well. I have many connections on Earth you know, from all walks of life. In fact, it may be just a bit of vanity on my part, Zack baby, but you know? I've considered you one of my own for quite a few years now. Now it's time for you to really live up to your potential."
"And what might that be?" Smith asked suspiciously.
"What do you think, you idiot! Get me out of here!"
"Get you –?"
"Don't you understand yet, you buffoon? This place is a – a prison! And you hold the very key in your hands!"
"What? What key, dear sir?"
"That – that lyre! Smash the horrible thing! Smash it to bits and you and I will be free to roam the Earth again! Do it, and do it quickly!"
"What, this precious thing? Smash it? Never sir, you must be mad. It's worth a fortune, and if I may say so, quite a pretty instrument as well. Just listen –" Smith let his fingers trail over the strings of the lyre.
The effect on his host was startling. He screamed with a voice that made the very walls of the cavern shake, and ripped the lyre from Smith's hands.
"Can't stand their stinking MUSIC!" he shrieked. "Stinking MUSIC, all the time! Give me the raw noise of freedom and power!" Screaming incoherently, he began beating the lyre against stone and wall and floor, cacaphonous squalls uttering from the strings and the frame itself, until it seemed it must shatter into bits. After a few minutes, Morbus' fury subsided and he resumed his suave demeanor. With a sudden cry, he cast the lyre to the floor.
"You're no good anyway," he muttered at last. "You're already – get out!" he howled. "Come back with another! Should have known . . ." He contemplated for a moment, then eyed Smith thoughtfully. "Come back with that foolish girl! The blonde! Yes, Zack baby, I know you all up there! Not that other brat, I need more than a stupid child, I need – never mind what I need! Quit that half-witted staring at me!" Dr. Smith stared dumfounded at Morbus' bizarre tirade, nevertheless. Morbus snatched up the lyre, grimacing again as he did so, as if the very touch of it was painful to him, and hurled it at Smith. Dr. Smith yelped and held up his hands in front of his face as the instrument flew through the air. He felt it graze his fingers . . .
". . . gonna like this!" Will Robinson was shouting. "Oh, you're still here. That was weird."
"Indeed it was, young man. What do you mean?"
"Well, you played a couple notes on that thing, and there was a flash of light and it looked like you disappeared for a second, but now you're back."
"Don't be silly. Where could I have gone to?" In fact, that was a question greatly troubling Dr. Smith himself.
Walking back to the ship, Smith planned out his story for Judy, the blond Robinson daughter demanded by Morbus. He was sure he would be able to sway her, but he was more worried about Major Don West. West had been the pilot of the damaged spaceship, and a constant thorn in Smith's side. West was quick-tempered and suspicious; Smith was sure that any little escapade he would be able to coax the girl into would be scrutinized by him. It didn't help that the Major considered Judy his girlfriend. Smith only hoped that West would not be able to dissuade her completely.
"So you see, my dear," purred Smith, "this excellent gentleman is entangled in some sort of trap from which he cannot escape unaided. Evidently the locking mechanism is very fine and delicate, and requires the gentle touch of a woman. I offered myself, of course, but he took one look and rejected me out of hand. And he has assured me that if we help him, he will be delighted to aid us in getting back to Earth. I know, I know, Major," said Smith, holding up a hand as West started to speak. "Our goal is not Earth but Alpha Centauri. Consider it a small detour in your plans – a smaller and much more favorable one than this one which has detained us for far too long.
"Think of it, sir, a few minutes with my staunch new friend, a quick trip back to Earth, and in a week, you gallant pioneers can all be on your way again. As for me, I intend to remain on terra firma, and you, kind Major, will be rid of me. No, don't deny it," holding up a hand again. "I know you are not overly fond of me, and I should think you would be overjoyed to be shed of me. Now. Are we agreed?"
Don and Judy looked at each other resignedly. They knew one thing for certain: Dr. Smith was guaranteed to pester them for weeks to come about this unless they settled it quickly.
"What have we got to lose?" Judy asked.
"That's always a loaded question when Smith is involved," replied Don tartly. "But – we'll see what the situation is. I admit you're making some good sense, Smith, for a change. But I don't trust you and I especially don't trust someone I've never met who claims to be your buddy." He sighed. "Come on. Any hope of this being done before dinner?"
Smith led them back out to the archway, and found the silver lyre just as he had first seen it.
"Why, it's beautiful," cooed Judy.
One of the Smithensis grackles perched atop the arch glaring down at them. It cawed harshly once, then flew off.
"Well, Doctor?" demanded West. "What next? A raven quothing 'Nevermore'?"
"Spare us the clumsy avian allusions, Major. To be truthful, this happened the first time nearly by accident. The arch is obviously some sort of gate, so when the key is used, it seems sensible that we all be standing beneath it. Over here . . ."
The three crowded together under the stone, and Smith picked up the lyre. "Now let me see . . . I played three notes. First this one –"
plink
". . . then this one –"
plunk
". . . and this."
PLONK.
Nothing happened. Don West started shaking his head. "If you've dragged us all the way out here in this heat for the sake of some practical joke, Smith, I'll –"
"Hush, Major! I almost had it. It wasn't plink plunk PLONK at all. It was –"
thum THUM thummm
Three eerie notes reverberated under the arch.
"What is this?" shouted Don, as red light swelled up around them.
"Merely the entry to a cavern beneath the surface," Smith assured them, although not entirely certain on that point himself.
Again there was falling and wind shrieking, and a hard landing. "I survived it once already, children, I'm sure you'll be fine," he chastised them, as West started to gripe about the experience.
"Don't look at the pictures on the walls," advised Dr. Smith as they walked. "Your eyes will play tricks on you. And your mind too, I think."
Finally the three found the door. "Well, come in, come in!" exclaimed Morbus. "I hope you've not been bothered by my little friends out there. And excuse me, but I can't set foot outside of this door. In fact, I'm even rather uncomfortable standing here with it open."
The three visitors stepped inside quickly. "Why can't you leave?" asked Judy. "Some sort of phobia?"
"No, no, not at all. Quite simply, I am a prisoner, and this is my cell."
"Prisoner!" exclaimed Judy.
"You never told us that, Smith!" accused Don.
"Ah, well, what's in a name, as I said before. Perhaps 'Guest of the State' would be less offensive to your sensibilities."
"What did you do, anyway?" asked Smith, worriedly. "Murder? Counterfeiting?"
"No, nothing so melodramatic as that." He sighed. "I am what you would understand best as a political prisoner."
"Ah," concurred the three visitors.
"It's an old story, very old. One supreme leader, surrounded with adoring flunkies who never criticize, starts getting all overly-impressed with himself. Someone merely tries to make a few suggestions as to how things might be improved, and next thing you know you've gone from right-hand man to outcast. Me, and a few friends I had who wanted to run the place in a little more up-to-date style.
"Next thing you know . . . here I am."
"You're not from this planet, are you? I mean, all that never happened here, did it?" asked Judy. "There's no civilization on the surface. Is this some sort of prison world full of caves like this?"
Morbus laughed wryly. "Sweet child. Not terribly bright, are you? What gives you the notion this is a cave beneath the surface?"
"It's what Dr. Smith told us."
Morbus buried his face in his hand. "Oh, Zack baby, have I made a mistake about you? No. No, Blondie, the key and the gate are on the surface of the planet you're stranded on. That planet was selected precisely because it was uninhabited, remote, completely desolate. This place," he said, gesturing grandiosely around him, "This place is – more of a dimension of its own. A little pocket universe with no connection to yours, except that blasted lyre!" He paused a moment; his three visitors cringed as his temper flared at the mention of the instrument.
"So. The lyre is a key. You, Zack baby, discovered the right combination to play to open the gate. But it only works from the outside. I have only the power to send it back outside, and you three as well, if I choose."
Don held up a hand. "If you choose? How do we get out if you don't?"
"You don't, buddy, it's as simple as that. Unless you bust me out of this joint, you're my cellmates for a long, long time."
"Smith, I'm gonna twist your neck," hissed Major West.
"Wait!" cried Judy. "I'm here to – to open up a lock, I thought. What needs to be done?"
"The only way to burst this prison is to destroy the lyre! That can only be done from the inside. And – it can't be just anyone, or I or any of my friends out there would have done so already."
"Friends?" asked Smith. "Did you call those little horrors outside your friends?"
"Oh, in a manner of speaking. Not to worry about them, though. I can't go out there, and they don't visit me in here. Now where is –?"
"Right here," offered Judy. "It's very lovely," she said, plucking two strings together.
"Argh! Didn't I tell you! Oh no, not you I didn't. Zack baby, you should have warned them I can't stand that racket!"
"Racket?" asked Judy. "It's delightful, I think."
"Oh, you wouldn't think that if you came from where I did. All day long, nothing but that unending music! These things, and trumpets, and singing, and . . . ugh! It makes my skin crawl just remembering it.
"I used to get away as much as I could and think how nice it would be to have just one modern factory chugging away making – oh, anything. Anything with the sound of nice clean, efficient machines and factory whistles blowing, assembly lines rolling . . . But no, everything had to be done the old-fashioned way, thanks to our Mr. Know-It-All.
"But Zack baby, you, who earlier criticized my manners, here we are rattling along, and you haven't even introduced me to your friends. Blondie here is going to bust up that noisemaker and spring me, right?"
"Let us hope. Indeed my dear friends, allow me to present Mr. Morbus. Sir, this is Major Don West, and his, well, sort of fiancée, Judy Robinson."
West stuck out his hand and gripped Morbus' briefly. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Morbus grinned.
"Mr. Morbus." Judy extended her hand.
He smiled, bowed elegantly, and reached for her hand as if to kiss it. As soon as he touched her though, he jerked back as if shocked.
Interesting, thought Smith, just as when he touched the lyre.
Morbus' face flashed a moment of rage, but then he stood straight and regarded Judy smirkingly. "Well, well. Who would have thought it? You really are little Miss Goody Two-Shoes, aren't you? Even better." He turned to Don with a wink and a leer.
"No worries, Donny Boy, you know what they say, the waiting only makes it that much better later."
Don strode up to Morbus with fists clenched. "Listen up, buddy, you watch your mouth in front of her, not to mention him," jerking his thumb at Dr. Smith. "I dunno where you're getting your ideas from, but whatever goes on between the two of us, or doesn't, isn't any of your business. So button up that yap of yours before I do it for ya!"
Morbus laughed incredulously. "You? You really think you want to take a poke at me? You don't know what you're saying, little man."
"Just watch me," Don grated through clenched teeth.
Morbus laughed again, as at a foolish child. "Go ahead then. Look at me. Standing still. Arms out to my sides. Go ahead. Give me one of your best."
Morbus paused, eyes glittering. He licked his lips in anticipation. "What are you waiting for, Donny Boy? Chicken? I dare you, Donny Boy. Come on. Your sweetheart is watching. I double-dog dare you, Donny Boy."
"Stop calling me that!" Don shrieked, and aimed a sharp jab for Morbus' ample belly.
Don West's next thought was that his throat was caught in a cold iron claw. His arms flailed helplessly. Morbus' left hand – the one Don mistook for an iron claw – was pushing him down.
"On your knees, boy," growled Morbus. "On your knees." Helplessly, Don sank to the floor as ordered.
"Now say Uncle." Don opened his mouth, but nothing emerged. "Oh, too tight? Here, try that."
"Un– uncle . . ." Don wheezed.
"Actually, let's hear – 'Donny Boy says Uncle.' "
"You –"
The iron claw squeezed again. "Want to see who can stand this longer? Say it!"
Finally Don opened his mouth and gasped out, "Donny Boy says Uncle."
"See how easy that was?" Morbus released his grip and Don collapsed on the floor.
Dr. Smith started to wonder more extravagantly about the situation he was in, and nervously moved into the shadows, out of sight.
Judy, who had been watching in horror, now rushed over and dropped to Don's side, put her arms around him, comforted him wordlessly.
Morbus eyed the couple with amusement. "I really should apologize, shouldn't I? I don't think I will, but I should. Bring back some bad memories, did it? Yes, Donny Boy, I know all about the playgrounds and locker rooms and what those mean big boys did. But look at you, you're just so pick-on-able! And that's why you joined the Army, isn't it? So you could be a big man with a gun, and then an even bigger man who gave orders to men with guns. Then space training, and what a man you were then! Riding a satellite around the Earth with your finger on the trigger of the biggest gun of all, with ten barrels and a 100 kiloton bullet in each one. Oh, nobody was gonna mess with little Donny Boy then, were they?"
Judy hugged Don to herself. He was shaking with rage.
"Stop it!" he hissed. "Just shut up, you –"
Judy wiped a thumb under Don's eyes, mopping the unexpected tears. "Don't let him get to you," she whispered. "You know none of that's true, and I do too. He's just mean. And a liar."
"Oh, you did wonder about yourself, though, didn't you, Donny Boy? Keep wondering. A little introspection is good for the soul." Morbus smirked at his statement.
In his far corner, Dr. Smith turned his head away from the Major's ordeal. This can't go on, he thought.
"Come here, Donny Boy, let me make it up to you. Let me show you something. Maybe we can cut a deal. You're a decent fellow, after all. I do a little favor for you now, maybe you do one for me later on."
"Talk to Smith. He's more your type."
"Aha, he's already on my payroll, has been for some time now."
"What?" exclaimed Smith from the shadows. "I've never met you before this day, sir."
"Indeed you have, Zack baby. Well, maybe not face to face like this. Through one of my subsidiaries or agents, most likely."
"I hardly think –"
"Zack baby, are you telling me you never heard of Aeolus 14 Umbra?"
Smith shot to his feet and looked in panic at Don and Judy. "Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. What about them?"
"One of my best front groups. I mean 'subsidiaries.' They've only ever reported one failure back to me. It involved a certain doctor who was supposed to –"
"Silence!" ordered Smith boldly. Morbus alluded to that last horrible cave display Smith had seen. "Spare me your tales of woe for another day. Look at what you've done to that poor man," pointing at West.
The Major was back on his feet, but remained staring fixedly at the floor.
"Oh. All right. Come on, Donny Boy, come with me. Are you ready to play Let's Make A Deal?"
Wordlessly, Don let Morbus take him by the elbow.
"Up here. The Master Observation Deck."
Don looked up. A broad dais stood thirty feet above the floor, with narrow steps leading to the top.
"Up you go," ordered Morbus, poking West in the back.
Dispiritedly, Don began the climb. At the top was an array of monitors covering a ten-foot long console.
Morbus flicked some switches, and consulted what looked like an ordinary Earthly newspaper. "Oh ho, here we go, here we go, boy," and began flicking on switches.
He draped an arm congenially over Don's shoulder. "Confidentially, I don't think you and that ice-pop down there would make a good couple. I know I said a few harsh things, but I had to get your attention, you know? Really, I think you're too much of a man for her, I mean a real man, you know what I mean? In fact, you may be too much man for any one woman. Here, look at this."
He gestured across the monitors.
"You see what's going on, back on Earth right now? The Miss Universe Pageant! Look at them, Donny Boy, hundreds of girls from all over the world, the most beautiful girls in the world, all parading before your very eyes. Now how about it? You ready to play ball with me? You just sign on to my team, and you can have any one of them you like. Or any number of them. How's that sound to you, Donny Boy?"
West returned Morbus' ingratiating look with a cold glare.
"Or . . . have I read you wrong there, my friend? You have different tastes?" Morbus dropped his arm from Don's shoulders to his hips. "If you like, I can show you my private office while those two –"
Don pulled free and spat in Morbus' face. The iron claw took his throat again.
"I've slain nations for less than that, Donny Boy," growled Morbus. He sighed. "Oh, all right. For that, I'll apologize. Now let's be friends. No interest in the girls, eh? Well, let's
see . . ." He fiddled with the controls and another scene swept across the display.
"Power is a beautiful thing, Donny Boy, in the right hands. Power can bring peace, prosperity, and happiness to many people, even a whole world. Take a look at what could be."
Grudgingly, West looked. News reports showed crowds of millions, in different places all around the globe cheering their new leader, the one who had ended wars, ended famine, ended crime. The leader who now reigned over the entire planet.
"All the kingdoms of the Earth, as they say. Emperor Donny Boy the First has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" smirked Morbus. "Or do you prefer the military style? How does 'Generallisimo' suit you?"
"Go to –" Don checked himself.
Morbus chuckled. "Finally working it all out, are we? The World, the Flesh, and – well – modesty prevents me." He sighed again.
"Don't know what I'm to do with you now. Just sending you back seems so . . . anticlimactic. I feel like I should set you some impossible task or something. Some riddle game. Anything to keep you busy and panicking while Blondie works on smashing that lyre."
"I have a feeling that making sure you stay here is the best thing we could ever do, even if it meant we never got back out, ourselves."
"Oh, spare me the misguided martyrdom, Major! Really, that sort of attitude makes me downright sick to my stomach. Dear, dear. Can't live with you, can't live without you."
The two had descended the ladder and were again on the main floor. Judy was sitting in the corner with Dr. Smith, who was growing increasingly distraught and panicked.
"You didn't promise him anything, did you Major? There will be some catch to it! There always is, I know his type! Go ahead, Major, tell me I should, since I am his type! If we let him out, we'll be the ones trapped here for eternity!"
"We're trapped here anyway, Smith!" retorted Don. "Stalemate, Morbus. And it's your move. The way I figure it, at least we'll die someday. But you won't, will you?"
Anger flared redly in Morbus' eyes. "You will die anytime I wish, Donny Boy, all of you, and it won't be quick and it won't be pretty. You'll go out begging me to let the Pristine Princess die, and I won't."
Don hung his head in his hands. "If we smash that lyre, and that releases you, will it at least get us out of here? And back where we belong? Up by that gate, on the same planet with the Robinsons and the Jupiter 2?"
"Why Donny Boy, it almost sounds like you think I'd try and trick you somehow."
"I've heard stories about some of the deals you've done. And you can lay off the Donny Boy bit. You've overdone it so much I don't even care."
"Oh dear, what a shame. Well, that's one drawback in my line of work. Generally speaking, I'm stuck working with other peoples' material. I'm not exactly what you'd call the creative type. What would you prefer then?"
"Just plain Don is fine."
"All right, Just Plain Don–"
"Oh for – Knock it off. As old as you're supposed to be, you're very childish."
"Now that is truly hurtful and mean-spirited, Jus– oh very well. Don."
"So what about it? If we get you out of here, do we get back where we want to be? And no trick answers!"
Morbus looked sheepishly at the floor, like an endearing ragamuffin caught trying to escape downriver on a homemade raft. "Yes. Yes, then! Exactly where you were, exactly when you were. No tricks. It's all bother enough anyway."
"All right. Deal. What do we do?"
"Smash that disgusting thing on the rocks."
"The lyre?"
"What did you think I meant, Smith?"
"Don't tempt me. Oh. I meant –"
"Quite all right, just my job. You understand, Smith can't do it. He's got too much of me about him already. I'm surprised he can actually pick it up and fiddle with it."
"Bad puns up your line too, huh?"
"What? Oh, sorry. Unintentional. Even I try to leave puns alone." Morbus eyed Don speculatively. "You do have a streak in you too, you know that? I wonder if even you could wreck the thing. Best just give it right to Judy Prude-y."
Don ignored this jibe. "Smith!" he called. "Come here with that thing. Give it to Judy."
Tentatively, Dr. Smith handed it over. "He's going to betray us, I know it," he whispered. "Anything can happen now."
Don ignored him, and instructed Judy, "It's all up to you now, honey. Just smash it as hard as you can against this pillar and we'll be home."
Judy nodded, swung back, struck the lyre against black basalt. It uttered the same jangling discord it did before for Morbus, but it didn't break. "Do it again," counseled Don. For a second time it shouted its disharmony, but remained intact.
"What the –" uttered Morbus. He strode over to Judy, pulled the instrument from her hand, tried smashing it once himself before dropping it. He grabbed her by the hair and looked into her eyes. "Oh, of all the –" he growled. He turned to Don in fury. "She's angry with me! Doesn't like the way I treated you earlier and thinks I deserve to stay. And on top of that, I think she somehow likes it here with you. She has to want to break it, you see.
"Oh . . . fiddlesticks!" he exclaimed. "Just can't tell with women, can you? I've had some great successes with women, but others have been terrible stumbling blocks. This one's a block."
Morbus and Don looked at each other. "Women," they said together, shaking their heads.
Morbus' face, already ruddy-complexioned, slowly grew darker and redder. His eyes flashed hot with fury. "Still stuck!" he howled. "Well, I'll be –" He threw his head back and roared like some wild beast.
"You!" he raged at Judy. "Time for you to learn what's what. I'm not hanging around here another thousand centuries watching you sit there with your prissy little knees pressed together. You get to visit my private office today!" He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her, screaming, along the floor. Don raced behind, pounding on Morbus' back. He may as well have been hitting a brick wall.
Dr. Smith stood watching in an anguish of indecision and terror.
"No!" he finally shrieked. "Not her, never, you – you fiend!" He grabbed the lyre and swung it a desperate blow at the basalt column.
He felt the frame of the lyre split into pieces in his hands, there was a surging bubble of red light, and he was engulfed in a silence that was deafening.
His next awareness was of being extremely uncomfortable, and Smith cautiously opened his eyes. He mouthed a brief shriek. "This same blasted tree," he spat. He was high in the air, wedged in the branches of the tree which graced the clearing by the gateway.
"He cheated me out of Earth after all," Smith growled.
The lyre still was in his hands, hanging together by its strings. Next to him, a Smithensis grackle eyed him curiously, gave him one savage peck atop his head, and flew away. Looking about, he spotted Don and Judy on the ground, on their backs, just starting to shake their heads as they recovered consciousness.
"Don," whispered Judy. "Has something very terrible just happened?"
"I don't know, hon. Depends how much we imagined and how much was real. He – he was some kind of mind reader, alright. Beyond that, well, G– . . . who knows?"
A familiar and frightening voice addressed Dr. Smith from somewhere. "Good old Zacky, I never suspected you capable of such a thing. One pure, unselfish act, motivated by nothing but love. Who knew? How disgusting you humans can be! Ah well, free at last, free at last, thank – well, thank you, Smith, I suppose. Hmph. You could have waited just another ten minutes or so.
"Oh, you're still on my payroll, Zack baby, don't fret about that. And this little escapade is surely worth a bonus. I am capable of gratitude, despite what you may have heard. I'll see that you get the usual fee for services rendered." The voice trailed off with a warm chuckle.
"Whatever that creature really was, he's gone," muttered Smith to himself. "And I have this," admiring the broken instrument. "I'm sure it can be repaired, and will be worth a fortune back on –"
His musings were interrupted as another bubble of red silence engulfed him. A real explosion this time, it flung him directly at the stone arch. Smith squeezed his eyes shut in terror, and prepared to feel his bones shatter. He felt sharp edges ripping into his skin. Something was shattering to bits, he could tell, but not his bones.
He blinked, saw himself atop a pile of jagged rocks – the remains of the stone portal. Blood spilled onto the sand, but his first thought was for the precious lyre. "Bah!" he cried, dismayed. Along with the arch, the lyre had been shattered by the impact, shattered beyond repair into dozens of fragments. "Usual fee, indeed, Mr. Morbus! Bah!"
A Smithensis grackle perched in the rubble of the arch and cawed laughingly as Smith picked up the broken bits of the lyre. At least the precious metal would be worth something once he got home, and he started counting them for inventory. As he reached the end of his tally, cold dread gripped his heart. "The usual fee?" he whispered. "The usual fee?"
Dr. Zachary Smith dropped to his knees, turned his head to the sky and screamed. Thirty pieces of silver slipped from his fingers to the bloodstained ground beneath him.