Kingpin Planet. John Russell Fearn
and the walls were crudely decorated. The surprising thing was that the edifice was built of timber—very roughly and amateurishly built, too—and not of the all-prevailing silver. Two windows gave adequate illumination, considering the tremendous power of the external sunlight.
“Be seated,” Doxa invited, with a flourish—and after some maneuvering of the odd chairs, the quartet managed to fix themselves up. Doxa waited until they were seated, then he gave a sign that promptly caused his six followers to sit cross-legged on the wooden floor. The resemblance to children playing some kind of game at a party could not be avoided.
“Now you shall have food, my friends,” Doxa decided, and going to the door of his dwelling he gave an all-powerful cry in his own language. This done, he returned and sat cross-legged at the head of his retinue.
“I appoint myself as leader, therefore I shall do the talking,” he said, with a cherubic smile. “We, the Asronians, have never had a leader before. Leadership comes by knowing something more than the next man, by being singled out for a certain purpose. I have been thus singled out; therefore, I shall be leader.”
At the close of this speech he looked around on his followers as though expecting dissent, but none came. Satisfied, he folded his arms and endeavored to look dignified. The effect was somewhat seriocomic.
“Speak, travelers from a distant world. What do you wish to know?”
“You speak of yourselves as ‘descendants’,” Abna said slowly. “What happened to your predecessors?”
“Originally,” Doxa said, “there was the most powerful race of scientists in the Universe on this planet. If that sounds ego—ego—” He hesitated over the word, then took a deep breath. “If that sounds egotistical, it is not meant to. They were geniuses, every man and woman of them. But too clever for their own good.”
Doxa paused and froze into silence as two women appeared with food on trays. Strangely enough, it was meat, though there had as yet been no sign of animals around. There were implements to eat it with, and a kind of wine. The trays were set down on the floor and the women departed.
“I trust our food is correct for your type of physique,” Doxa remarked anxiously, and waited while Abna tested it.
“Yes—excellent,” Abna smiled. “Our thanks to you, Doxa, though we are wondering where the meat came from.”
“A small animal much prevalent in the underground,” Doxa explained. “Our main staple meat diet. The animals multiply very rapidly, except when the giant beasts arouse themselves and enjoy an orgy of destruction.”
Since the four had not the least idea what Doxa was talking about, they let the matter drop and tackled the food. And very palatable it proved to be.
“You were saying,” the Amazon remarked, “that your ancestors were geniuses.”
“Ah, yes. Not so very long ago, either—certainly within the memory of the oldest of us here—the race flourished. This world and the neighbor world of Antara were thickly populated, and housed many wonderful scientific machines.”
“And then?” Abna prompted, as there was a long silence.
“Then something happened. On both Antara and here there was a devastating explosion, followed by devouring fire, which generated overwhelming heat. Antara was totally destroyed and is now nothing but a burned-out hulk. On this world the great cities and machines of metal were melted level with the ground, which accounts for our metallic crust. Out of the holocaust only a few survived. They were numb with shock, and no longer possessed of tremendous genius. A few of them babbled of an experiment to change the probability of electronic waves, but that fact did not mean anything to anybody.…” Doxa shrugged.
“The survivors soon died off, leaving behind the children who grew to maturity. Us!” he concluded, and gave his broad, infantile smile.
“Change the probability of electronic waves,” the Amazon repeated thoughtfully. “And did they succeed in doing this?”
“I believe not. Something went wrong, which accounted for the terrifying fire and wholesale destruction.…” Doxa became thoughtful for a moment and seemed to be making an effort to think and speak maturely. “It was, so to speak, an experiment by a race which had achieved absolute perfection. Absolute perfection had caused boredom, the lack of anything fresh to conquer. Being dissatisfied with this state of affairs, the idea of changing electronic probability was conceived—with diabolic results. The race just vanished.”
“And you made no endeavor to emulate the mighty feats of your ancestors?” Abna inquired. “You prefer to live as children, without a single responsibility?”
Doxa giggled. “We do, yes. We have constructed our dwellings, which, though crude, are serviceable in a climate that never alters. We have food and drink enough, so why should we saddle ourselves with responsibility and knowledge? Then there is always the feeling of elation, the feeling of perfect health, the absolute sureness that all is well.”
Obviously, Doxa had not tumbled to the fact that there was a curious radiation about the planet that caused this high-springing of the emotions. Even more obviously, he had never attempted to keep the feeling under control.
“And finally,” Doxa finished, “there is always the transport of the gods. If they smile upon us, there comes a time when we are lifted away to Paradise, never even tasting the anguish of death.”
His giggling ceased as he spoke and a curious expression came to his face. At the same moment the quartet looked up sharply, all of them sensing a mysterious tension in the atmosphere. They could not quite pinpoint what it was—even less where it came from, but one thing they did know.
Doxa was becoming transparent! Even as he sat there his solid little form misted, became ghostly, and then he was gone. His colleagues looked for a moment at the spot where he had been—their faces frozen into complete immobility, then with one accord they all scrambled from their squatting positions and bowed in deep obeisance to the blank spot where Doxa had been seated.
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