Captain Future: The Horror at Jupiter

By Allen Steele

Blistering space warfare with the fate of the Solar System in the balance awaits CAPTAIN FUTURE and the Futuremen as they face Ul Quorn and his plans to unleash THE HORROR AT JUPITER.

Charged with the assassination of Solar Coalition president James Carthew, Curt Newton has been taken into custody by the Interplanetary Police Force and imprisoned on Earth. Yet even as he awaits trial for murder and high treason, his nemesis Ul Quorn has suddenly returned from a distant star, bringing with him an alien superweapon capable of wiping out life on entire worlds ... and he intends to use it against Earth!

Yet the Magician of Mars isn’t the only one with a scheme in mind. Captain Future and his strange crew, together with secret allies, are preparing to bring Ul Quorn and his renegade gang to justice. In orbit above the mightiest planet of the system, the two forces come together in fierce combat ... and only will survive!

The epic space adventure featuring Golden Age SF’s most famous hero reaches its conclusion in this fantastic adventure. SPECIAL BONUS: a NEW essay by Allen Steele on the history ... and future ... of Space Opera!

“Great read with clever plotting. Can’t wait to get my eyeballs on the conclusion.” — The Digest Enthusiast

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amazing Stories
• Release date: Sep 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005421298

Allen Steele

Before becoming a science fiction writer, Allen Steele was a journalist for newspapers and magazines in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Missouri, and his home state of Tennessee. But science fiction was his first love, so he eventually ditched journalism and began producing that which had made him decide to become a writer in the first place. Since then, Steele has published eighteen novels and nearly one hundred short stories. His work has received numerous accolades, including three Hugo Awards, and has been translated worldwide, mainly into languages he can’t read. He serves on the board of advisors for the Space Frontier Foundation and is a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. He also belongs to Sigma, a group of science fiction writers who frequently serve as unpaid consultants on matters regarding technology and security. Allen Steele is a lifelong space buff, and this interest has not only influenced his writing, it has taken him to some interesting places. He has witnessed numerous space shuttle launches from Kennedy Space Center and has flown NASA’s shuttle cockpit simulator at the Johnson Space Center. In 2001, he testified before the US House of Representatives in hearings regarding the future of space exploration. He would like very much to go into orbit, and hopes that one day he’ll be able to afford to do so. Steele lives in western Massachusetts with his wife, Linda, and a continual procession of adopted dogs. He collects vintage science fiction books and magazines, spacecraft model kits, and dreams. 

Book preview

The Horror at Jupiter

(The Return of Ul Quorn, Book IV)

by

Allen M. Steele

Table of Contents

Interlude

The Horror At Jupiter

How The Galaxy Was Won

Afterword

About The Author

About The Cover Artist

About The Interior Artist

Interlude:

Breaking News

"P

resident Carthew has been shot!"

The voice of the terran spacer who shouted this carried across the crowded bar. Even during off-peak hours, the Starman’s Club was busy. Located on the 1g-ring of Highgate North Africa, it was the most popular watering hole on the space elevator’s geo-orbit station, a place that welcomed only card-carrying vacuum jockeys; passengers who tried to walk in were redirected to one of the tourista bars elsewhere on the enormous station where the lights weren’t low, the drinks were watered, and the barmaids fully clothed. To be clearly heard in this place, you needed to have a loud voice, and whatever you said better be important because spacers don’t like to have their drinking interrupted by small talk.

News that President James Carthew of the Solar Coalition had just been shot was important, all right. But it was the next thing the terran yelled just a second later that made everyone drop  their cards, put down their drinks, and turn around in their chairs:

And it was Captain Future who shot him!

The uproar that followed all but drowned out the voice of the news anchor whose life-size holographic image stood within the projection stage on one side of the barroom. Beneath the floating red banner Breaking News and the purple scroll Pres. Carthew Shot In NYC, an attractive young aphrodite woman whose beaded white scalplock contrasted with her ebony skin addressed her audience — probably about ten or twenty million, and that was just counting the local viewership on Earth and the Moon — with a calm yet breathless urgency befitting this singular movement.

Turn it up! someone across the barroom yelled, and as the news anchor’s voice gained volume, so did her size; now only her head and bust could be seen, filling a projection stage meant for the moonball games or dino tournaments usually seen here. A sudden hush fell across the room as people left their tables and crowded closer to hear:

"… shortly after 1005 GST, when Captain Future’s ship, the Comet landed on top of Government Tower in New York, for what high-placed sources say was a surprise meeting with the president requested by Captain Future himself. Just moments after he and his aides, the Futuremen, entered the president’s offices, Captain Future allegedly drew his weapon and shot President James Carthew at what’s been described by an eyewitness as ‘point-blank range’ —"

Oh my god. This from an old, gray spacer wearing the faded dungarees of a longshoreman. He killed the rest of his drink in one swallow and banged the glass down on the bar. I don’t believe it. Not for a second. Not Captain Future…

No one around him paid attention. They were transfixed by the holo. The anchor was replaced by stock footage of James Carthew, standing at a podium behind the seal of the President of the Solar Coalition, delivering a speech somewhere. Sources say that President Carthew is alive. However, he was unconscious when he was removed from Government Tower by a paramedic team and flown to an undisclosed medical facility. According to senior aide North Bonnell, the president remains in critical condition —

Carthew was replaced by a static holo image of Captain Future standing alongside the Futuremen: android Otho, robot Grag, and the drone-like cyborg known as the Brain. Obviously a posed publicity shot; the famed adventurer was wearing a light vacuum suit, helmet removed and cradled under his arm.

Captain Future, whose name is a classified secret, was immediately put under arrest by the president’s security detail, including senior members of the Interplanetary Police Force who happened to be present when the shooting occurred. He has been charged with attempted assassination, and has been taken to a maximum security facility to await further judicial procedures —

I tellya what kinda judicial procedure they oughtta have for ‘im, another barfly said, this one a young, pale selenite wearing the exoskeleton necessary for a lunar native, born and raised in the Moon’s lower gravity. Load ‘im into a gyro, fly ‘im out over the ocean, shoot ‘im in th’ backada head, ‘n dump ‘im into th’ drink. He turned his angry eyes toward the others. Ain’ I right, huh? Ain’ I right?

Be quiet, growled the old spacer, irritated by both the younger man’s verbosity and his recommended form of justice. I want to hear the rest.

Captain Future disappeared. What now appeared was an image of his famous ship, the Comet, gliding free of an orbital docking cradle (Hey, that’s my place! someone in the crowd exclaimed. Dock 16, where I work!). According to an unnamed source in the Carthew Administration, Captain Future was last seen five weeks ago, when he and his team were dispatched to Pluto for the negotiation of hostages taken at the Sputnik Planitia Penal Colony —

Another image. This time it was a figure dressed from head to toe in a featureless black bodysuit, with even his face concealed beneath a black head mask. Claiming responsibility for the hostage-taking and concurrent release of most of the prison inmates was an individual identifying himself as only the Black Pirate —

The pirate chief disappeared, replaced by a shot of another vessel. "Five months ago, the Black Pirate was also responsible for the hijacking of the deep-space cruise liner Titan King during its annual New Year’s Eve excursion to Saturn’s rings. Although all of the liner’s passengers and most of its crew were allowed to leave unharmed, the ship itself disappeared shortly thereafter. It reappeared in orbit above Pluto, whereupon the Black Pirate announced that it had been rechristened the Liberator and now belonged to the radical separatist organization Starry Messenger, which many believed to have been crushed five years earlier by Captain Future —"

Frack all ‘dat! snarled the young loonie. Who cares? What I wanna know is, whadafrack’re dey gonna do ‘bout dat moonrat Cap’n Future? I dink dey oughtta —

Shut up! the older spacer snarled, louder now. No one cares what you think!

At the present, the government has imposed a news blackout on any further information related to the shooting, pending further investigation by IPF. Commandant Halk Anders said in a brief statement –

Who’ya tellin’ me to shaddup? The young loonie turned to face the old moondog just a few feet away. Ya ol’ fart, nobody tells me ta —!

Well, I’m telling you! The longshoreman thrust a grimy finger in the loonie’s face. No one wants to hear your stupid opinions, so –

Frack you!

The first punch was thrown, and within moments, more fists were flying. It had been a few weeks, at least, since the last time there had been a bar brawl in the Starman’s Club, and the attempted assassination of President Carthew was as good an excuse as any. Someone threw a chair, and although its intended target ducked in time, the chair managed to take out the holo projector.

The last image anyone saw from the newscast was another image of Captain Future. This picture had him smiling at the camera; if anyone in the tavern had still been paying attention by then, they might have noticed that he appeared to be vaguely amused by the chaos that had erupted in his name.

But he wasn’t actually there, of course. And besides, the chaos that would soon occur elsewhere in the system would make the bar fight seem trivial by comparison.

The Horror at Jupiter1

THE HORROR AT JUPITER

The Return of Ul Quorn, Book 4

I

T

he moment he shot the president, Curt woke up.

Actually, he’d never been asleep. Even during those periods following his liberation from the Liberator, when Simon Wright and Ashi Lanyr spirited him off the spaceliner turned pirate ship, that his injuries caused him to lapse into semi-consciousness, part of him had remained awake and aware. But that part of him couldn’t communicate with those around him; his mind had been separated from his body, imprisoned within a battered cage of flesh and bone.

In this state, Curt had been like a phantom, observing everything going on around him, yet incapable of communicating his thoughts — his real thoughts, the reflections of his own mind — to Simon and Ashi. Even after they’d carried him back to the Comet and made good their escape through the wormhole the Brain opened using the hyperspace drive aboard the Liberator, it was as though he existed in a dreamlike fugue, with everything around him surrealistic and detached from reality.

To his horror, Curt found his words and actions were no longer under his control; from inside his psychic cell, he watched himself go do things he didn’t want it to do, listened to himself say things he didn’t intend to say. Over the course of the next several hours, it seemed as if he was in a long, strange trip through a reality over which he had no control. He’d been saved from Ul Quorn and his followers by his mentor and the first woman he loved; as the Comet made the spacetime jump back to Earth’s solar system, he lay supine within the autodoc, his injuries mended as the ship raced from Pluto to Earth at nearly the speed of light. Somehow, Curt didn’t think it odd that he’d demand a meeting with President Carthew as soon as he returned; this was a dream, after all, and dreams don’t require logic or explanation. Yet, as the Comet approached Earth, the dream gradually assumed the form of a nightmare, becoming more sinister with every passing minute. By the time the Comet entered Earth’s atmosphere and — with his own hands now at the controls — touched down on the rooftop landing pad of Government Tower in New York, Curt realized that what he was experiencing wasn’t mere fantasy, but reality.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Some invisible puppeteer manipulated his actions, whispering to him with Ul Quorn’s soft, steady voice. Leave the Comet. Ignore everyone except to acknowledge their presence. Go straight to the presidential suite. Enter James Carthew’s office. Walk to his desk. When the president stands up to greet you, tell him that you have a message from me. Then, draw your plasma-beam pistol and …

Curt squeezed the trigger, and concentric rings of light cascaded from the barrel of his gun, silently expanding as they crossed the short distance between him and the president. The rings hit Carthew at point-blank range, so close that he was knocked off his feet. The leader of the Solar Coalition fell back, hitting the plate-glass window behind his desk so hard that it appeared for a moment as if the window would shatter and the president would plummet 250 floors to the 5th Avenue Canal far below.

Instead, Carthew slid down the window, collapsing on the thick carpet. As he did, his aide North Bonnell gave voice to Curt’s horror: Oh my god … Captain Future has killed the president!

In that instant, Curt snapped out of the dream-state in which he’d been. Suddenly, he had control of his body and mind again. Too late. The gun was in his hand, and President Carthew lay on the floor on the other side of the desk … apparently dead.

Curt’s mouth fell open. I don’t —

Someone slammed into him, one of the IPF agents assigned to the presidential security detail. Curt’s gun was knocked from his hand as he went down beneath the IPF officer. Another agent kicked it out of his reach as he yanked his particle-beam pistol from his belt holster and trained it on Curt.

Stay down, Newton! Stay down or —!

Get the hell away from him! This from Otho, who’d been standing near Curt — but not near enough — when he’d drawn his plasmar and shot Carthew. That’s Captain Future, you idiot!

I don’t care if he’s Sarge Saturn! The terran IPF agent holding the gun on Curt raised his weapon to take a dead bead on the albino android. Step back and get your hands up, or so help me I’ll blow your ass away!

Otho took the threat seriously and did as the agent demanded, slowly lifting his hands away from his gun belt, yet the look in his catlike green eyes was deadly. From where he lay pinned down by the aresian agent who’d tackled him, Curt could see Otho’s right hand moving slowly towards his shoulder, where his saber was sheathed across his back.

Grag was in motion as well. In three heavy-footed steps, the giant robot was on the IPF officer who’d tackled Curt. His big metal hands reached down, grasped the agent by the back of his jacket and the back of his trousers, and yanked him off Curt. As effortlessly as if he was tossing out a bag of garbage, Grag pitched the officer across the office. He landed on a couch and lay still, knocked cold.

Grag, stop … you too, Otho. Curt’s voice was weak, muffled by pain and the carpet against his face. Don’t —

Everyone, stand down! Simon snapped. President Carthew isn’t dead!

The Brain’s voice, seldom raised, broke through the confusion. He hovered nearby with Ashi Lanyr and Joan Randall on either side of him. Both women turned to stare at the cyborg. President Carthew isn’t dead, Simon repeated, a little more calmly now. He’s only unconscious. Curt’s gun was only set for stun, not kill.

How do you know? North Bonnell demanded.

I know because I set it myself, Simon replied.

Ezra Gurney had been standing beside the president’s desk when the shooting occurred. He kneeled down beside Carthew and carefully pulled back an eyelid, then gently lay a couple of fingertips against Carthew’s neck to check for a pulse. Yup, he’s still with us, the marshal said. I imagine he’s gonna be rather sore when he wakes up, but he knew this might happen if Curt came in. He—

"He … what? Bonnell stared at the elderly lawman, both angry and astonished. Are you saying that the president knew there was a chance that Curt might try to kill him? Gurney nodded, a wry smile appearing beneath his handlebar mustache. That only infuriated Bonnell even more. How did he know … and why didn’t anyone tell me?"

If you’re going to blame anyone, then blame me, not Ezra. The Brain floated a little closer, his carapace’s miniature jets hissing softly. I determined that Curt was being subjected to a form of subconscious psychological manipulation —

He’s been brainwashed, you mean, Otho said, impatient with Simon’s tendency to become long-winded. Ul Quorn got to his head.

It … must have happened … while I was his prisoner. Although it seemed as if every muscle and bone in his body was aching, Curt slowly sat up. I don’t remember —

Don’t move, mister. The IPF officer who still remained conscious hadn’t lowered his weapon but was still pointing it at Curt. You’re under arrest for the attempted assassination of the President of the Solar Coalition. You have the right to remain —

Aw, knock it off, willya? Ezra glared at him. Cap’n Future is no threat to the president. If y’all been paying attention, you’d know that already.

I’d like to know what’s going on myself. Curt stayed seated on the floor, prudently keeping both hands in plain sight. I mean, I’ve been here the whole time, but it’s been like I was asleep and everything’s been kind of a dream. He put his head in his hands. A really weird dream.

So I deduced from your behavior, said the Brain. "From the moment you regained consciousness aboard the Comet, I couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t yourself. It was suspicious enough when I couldn’t get through to you via our Anni link, but when you came out of your cabin in your dress uniform … which you almost never wear … with your plasma-beam gun back in its holster, even though I haven’t seen it since Ul Quorn’s men disarmed you on Pluto … well, that’s when I figured out what Ul Quorn was up to."

Let me guess what happened next, Curt said, gently rubbing the back of his neck. After we landed but before we opened the hatch, you came up behind me and managed to change the setting on my gun from Lethal to Stun.

That’s right.

So you told Ezra, Joan said, and he told President Carthew, I suppose —

Your supposition is correct, Simon continued. Ezra nodded in agreement. "The three of us talked it over amongst ourselves as soon as the Comet was close enough to Earth for rapid communication, and the president agreed to go along with the plan Ezra and I quickly put together."

And that was …?

Let him continue with the assassination attempt, only make sure that he couldn’t actually kill the president.

That’s taking a big risk, isn’t it? Joan’s voice sharpened, as did her eyes.

If I hadn’t been able to change the pistol’s setting, I would’ve told Ezra as soon as we disembarked from the ship, and he would’ve ordered his men to take Curt down before he even entered the building. So, the only risk was the president cracking his head on the floor when the plasmar knocked him out. Simon’s eyestalks swung toward James Carthew, who still lay unconscious on the floor. A very brave man, our president … I’ll vote for him again, if he decides to run for a third term.

So why didn’t you tell us what you were doing? Otho had let his hands relax, now that the IPF officer was no longer covering him. Just as well. Men had lost hands and even heads believing that their guns could move faster than Otho’s sword. Human nerves were no match for android reflexes.

I couldn’t risk having any of you react to Curt as if you believed he might be an active threat to the president. It was possible that, if he realized that failure was imminent, Curt may have been programmed to take his own life instead. That way, at least Ul Quorn would be rid of Captain Future, even if he couldn’t take out the president as well. So we had to let it play out and hope that Curt would snap out of it the moment he’d fulfilled his task.

Yeah … in which case, I would’ve continued living just long enough to be shot by these gentlemen. Curt glanced at the IPF officer standing nearby, still holding the gun on him. I think you can put that away now, don’t you?

Stand down, Simmons, Ezra said to the officer, and the IPF officer immediately lowered his gun and returned it to his holster. Good. Now go see how Jinn Tar is doing. The marshal turned to Grag. "Play a bit rough, don’t you?

Who said I was playing? For just a moment, the unblinking red ovals of Grag’s eyes glowed a little more brightly. Grag was the gentlest ‘bot in the system, but only when Curt or any of the other Futuremen weren’t in danger.

I’ll try to keep that in mind, Ezra replied, then both he and Grag looked around when they heard a groan from nearby. Forgotten for the moment was the intended target of the attempted assassination. Regaining consciousness, James Carthew found himself waking up on the floor. It was clear