THE FALL OF MERCURY (5)
By:
October 14, 2025
Leslie F. Stone was one of the first women science fiction pulp writers; her stories — including “The Fall of Mercury” (Amazing Stories, Dec. 1935), in which a Black hero uses super-science to destroy a white race bent on conquering the solar system — often featured female or Black protagonists. We are pleased to serialize this story for HILOBROW’s readers.
ALL INSTALLMENTS: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12.
CHAPTER V
OUR PRISON
We looked into a chamber of noble proportions, oval in shape, with walls painted a soft gray. Two round doors broke the walls on either side, hung with colored draperies. On the floor were strewn rugs of various designs in different colors, and about the room were set chairs, tables, divans, all the appurtenances of physical comfort in many sizes and shapes, as if built to suit people of various physical proportions.
It was not the room, however, that drew our attention first-off, but the people occupying it. There were people of our own worlds — representing five of the planets, or rather two major planets, a planetoid and two of the moons of Jupiter. I counted three Venerians at a glance, blue-skinned and red-eyed, identical with us in stature and form; five ungainly leather-skinned, heavy- minded, monstrously tall, bladder-lunged, spindle-legged Martians; two Erosian dwarfs, purple-skinned with great round heads, small thick legs and narrow chests. Then there was a single Ioian, gray-skinned with yellow eyes, as tall and slender as myself, with a face as beautiful as a god’s; and lastly there were two golden Ganymedians, with their odd lop-sided faces and roly-poly round bodies. We were the only representatives of our own home planet.
For the most part the company was seated in various chairs built to their own measurements, in groups or alone; and never have I seen a more apathetic crew. One would have thought our entrance would have attracted some attention, and though I saw eyes turn our way, there was no show of interest or welcome for us. Only one of the Venerians brightened for a moment at the sight of us. He even started to rise, thought better of it and dropped back to his former position, with hands clasped loosely in his lap. But his eyes did not leave my face. I started at the sight of him, thinking for a moment to have recognized my old friend, Tica Burno; but this man was grizzled and old, whereas Tica was younger than I, and I thought my eagerness to find my friend had deceived me. Yet it was he, as things turned out; but how changed!
On our entrance the heavy door behind us clanged shut and Forrest and I realized we had “arrived.” “Not a very happy gathering,” commented Forrest drily.
“What can be the matter with them?”
Forrest shrugged his shoulders, but added, “Isn’t that your friend, Tica Burno ?” bringing my attention back to the Venerian who had first taken my eye. I surveyed him again. Now the poor fellow was rising to his feet, extending a trembling hand toward me. It was Tica! I crossed to his side.
“Tica, Tica Burno, it is you, isn’t it?” I cried.
The man essayed a smile that wavered over his face; he started to speak, only to be halted midway by a sudden pealing of a bell, that sounded within the chamber. We looked up for the reason of the ringing, and I saw that the bronze door, through which we had come, was opening to admit one of the diminutive Mercurians. He was clothed in the ugly dress of his kind; his entire body was enveloped from head to toe in an odd suit that seemed as flexible as silk and having the transparency of glass.
For the first time it dawned on me that in this chamber was terrestrial atmosphere, or rather air having the same constituents of the atmospheres of our own worlds (Venus, Tellus, Mars and the moons of both Jupiter and Saturn have atmospheres differing but slightly in their percentage of oxygen; not so much difference as to make it noticeable to the many races of the Federation); whereas the inner world of Mercury contained the same air such as we had discovered on the outer surface. This was the reason for the air-lock through which we had been propelled. We were the only ones among the prisoners wearing air-suits, which the new entrant likewise wore.
The Mercurian took but a few steps into the room, and in the common language of the Federation called out, “Come with me. Geirur Ta, Vieru Ta, Jacl Sor and Cadam Ol. Your time has come.” In answer to the summons the four named prisoners, who were all Martians, detached themselves from their single, unnamed companion. They went through one of the two tapestry-hung doorways we had noted on first entering this prison, and were gone a moment. When they returned they were wearing air-suits. Grouping themselves behind the Mercurians, they followed him through the bronze door. It was the last we saw of them.
From the moment of the Mercurian’s entry the expression on the faces around US showed no more change than our own entrance had produced. They were like so many automatons living merely at the will of their masters. Their lack-lustre eyes and listless movements bespoke complete resignation. Only the man, who had been Tica Burno, exhibited any animation. His broken mind had awakened at the sight of my familiar face. With the clanking of the heavy door behind the Martians he said suddenly:
“They go, but do they return?”
“Where do they go, Tica Burno ?” I wanted to know.
“Where but to the laboratories…” His strange tones filled his words with pregnant meaning. A knife-like fear clutched me. I was remembering the Mercurian’s dire warning: “We as your saviors have property right to your bodies, to do with them as we see fit!” Was this what he had meant? Were we to be victims for the laboratory knife for the erudition of our midget captors?
“To the laboratories for what?” I demanded of the remains of Tica Burno.
He shrugged shrunken shoulders. “For what? But to see what we are made of! I have been there, as have all of us. Some return, some never return. We are put in baths; hot rods are laid upon our skins; they probe us; they dissect us; and they suffocate us. For what? Do scientists tell the cavies, the guinea-pigs of Venus, for what?”
There was no answer to that. I was afraid. “Tica, Tica Burno,” I cried, “what have they done with you?”
“Huh? Why do you worry me so?” The quavering voice was suddenly querulous, puzzled. I looked into a blank face. What had they done to Tica Burno to make him — this?
Forrest spoke. I had forgotten him, “The strain is too much for the poor thing, Bruce. May as well leave him alone. See how they have tortured him.” He pointed to tiny scars all over the arms and throat of the victim. A newly healed welt showed above one ear. It was terrible.
“Come, we may as well explore the rest of this place. I’d like to get this heavy suit off.” Forrest drew me into the doorway through which the Mar- tians had gone for their air-suits; and we found ourselves in a narrow corridor, wherein were set a dozen or more tapestried doors. Peering into one we saw a bedchamber furnished with two long, comfortable couches, a table, chairs, a mirror and beyond a small wash-room. Each room was identical. Five were occupied, for on hooks behind the doors hung air-suits, and a meagre array of personal belongings were on the tables. Two of the rooms had two air-suits apiece, the third and fourth and fifth only one. A sixth room seemed deserted: and we decided to “move in.”
After removing our heavy suits and helmets we turned our pockets out, to find what they might contain for our comfort. Each had our light-torches, hammers and chisels naturally. Forrest had a collapsible razor, two packages of cigarettes, three cigars, matches, an automatic lighter, a fountain pen and some clean handkerchiefs. I had my pipe, a meager supply of tobacco, matches, and a bar of chocolate. I also had a knife, a nail-clip, a bunch of keys, a comb and a soiled handkerchief. Not a very expensive wardrobe to be sure.
Suddenly we looked at each other and laughed. It seemed funny that we were so concerned with our personal comfort at such a time, but that is man’s habit. Condemned men wish to die with a full stomach. We went so far as to try out the beds to determine the degree of comfort they afforded. They were soft and inviting, but neither of uS felt like sleeping. Forrest, the ever-fastidious elected to shave; but I was satisfied with merely washing up. We were both hungry, yet we decided against the chocolate. An idiosyncrasy, I suppose, to retain the best thing for the last. Instead of eating we both lighted up.
WE had just finished out ablutions when, for the second time since our arrival, the bell in the main chamber rang. Rushing to see what it announced we found dinner served in the main room. A table stood in the center of the floor set with a variety of steaming food. The assortment included the diets of all the races represented here. There was even fresh fruit. All the company were already seated, but on either side of Tica Burno were vacant chairs. He was more rational now than before. He spoke to me almost like old times, and pointed out which food he thought I would find most appetizing. I asked him how all these various foods were brought to Mercury, but he arched his brows in surprise. Where else but from the laboratories?
Yet, when I asked more about that, he seemed to lose the thread of our discourse. I tried to pump him about his arrival on Mercury, but again I ran into a blank wall. His eyes stared at me uncomprehendingly. Forrest shook his head sadly, but he had guessed what the poor fellow meant about the food coming from the laboratories. More than likely they had only to inspect the larders of the space-ships from which we had come, and build up the food artificially from chemicals. “It’s been done at home, so why not here?” he observed. I was dining on a slice of chicken, and it was difficult to believe that in had come from the laboratory and not off the bird.
With the meal ended we got up from the table and saw the floor open to receive it. When it had disappeared completely from view the floor closed in again as before. But for our surroundings and the circumstances that had brought us here I might have felt quite content with myself, but a glance around at our companions spoiled the effect of a good meal. I saw myself growing despondent and resigned as they, unless something should happen. I eyed the heavy bronze door of our prison speculatively, but guessed at the impossibility of moving that without an explosive. We were prisoners pure and simple.
I walked from one group to another of our fellow prisoners, trying to find one whose attention I could divert, but for all my trouble I received in return only blank stares. They just refused to be lifted out of their lethargy. Were their experiences in the laboratories so horrible as to have erased all memory, all self-consciousness? I went back to Forrest who had stayed beside Tica Burno. The Venerian was mumbling something about sleep, and turning his back upon us, entered the doorway opposite the one opening into our chamber. Others were also rising and going through the doors, and Forrest and I realized the meaning of their concerted exit as slowly the light in the chamber began to fade away from around u5, flowing from walls and ceiling, lingering more brightly around the exits by which our fellows were disappearing. We understood. It was an invitation to retire. The day of Mercury was at end.
Following suit we retired to our room. We were no sooner undressed and abed when the light about us began to die away. I tried to see where it went, but there was simply a gradual wasting away until it was dark. I composed myself for sleep, not expecting to really close an eye, and I was surprised to find that I slept through the “night,” for I did not awaken until the room was bright with light again. Forrest was already up.
Habit made us shave; then together we went into the common room to find “breakfast” served as before on the table in the middle of the chamber. The food was scarcely different than what we had the night before. There was chicken again, the same vegetables, fruit and coffee for us. I could never stomach the gruels eaten by the Martians while the fish food of the Venerians is too reptilish for my taste. The Erosians seemed to subsist entirely on a hard yellow bread-cake wholly indigestible to other races. However, like us, the Ionians and Ganymedians enjoyed a diversified diet of meat, vegetable and fruit diet.
Several hours after the table was removed the same Mercurian in his transparent air-suit of the previous night appeared after the ringing of the warning bell. This time he called forth the three Venerians, including Tica Burno, and the remaining Martian. Of the thirteen prisoners, whom we had found on entering the chamber, there were left only five beside ourselves. None of the four of the previous day had returned, although later a single Venerian came through the heavy door. He shook as from ague and blubbered softly, paying no attention to his fellows. Once more we dined, and still the food was the same; then the light faded and we knew another day was gone.
The next day Forrest was among those called! With him went the remaining Venerian, the pair of Erosians and a single Ganymedian, leaving me alone with the Ionian and remaining Ganymedian. You can picture my feelings when Forrest went to get his air-suit. I went with him trying to insist that he should not go, that somehow the pair of us would fight off all of Mercury if necessary, but Forrest would not hear of such a thing. He pointed out what small chance we had for rebellion, and ended with the hope that perhaps he would be the one to return in a few hours. Even then I was ready to accompany him, but when we returned to the main chamber I found that an invisible net had been thrown about me and I was forced to stand by while my friend passed through the bronze door and out of my sight — perhaps forever.
With the closing of the door my bonds released me and sadly I went back to our room to take off my air-suit once more. I flung myself on my bed, but was too restless to stay there. I approached the Ionian, tried to make him speak, to tell me of something that went on in the laboratories. A glimmer of understanding sprang to his eyes, then faded again. It was the same with the Ganymedian. There was nothing to take my mind off our plight; I could only picture what horrors Forrest must be facing at that moment.
The hours passed, somehow, although I was close to a nervous breakdown; then the heavy door opened and Forrest in company with the Ganymedian returned!
His face was white, and his hands trembling somewhat, but he told me they had not tortured him. That is not physically; but he had been put in a cabinet and forced to empty his mind to his captors. Evidently they were not quite so adept as reading the mind as they had tried to make us believe they were. They wanted to know everything worth knowing about earth. In fact, they had sought to drain his mind of all it held.
“These little devils are planning something that does not bode well for the Federation, Bruce,” he told me thoughtfully. “I can’t say exactly what it is, but, while I was in that cabinet, I caught faint telepathic messages that they did not know were escaping them; and those messages told me that our worlds have much to fear from them. If only we could get out of here. This world is a beehive of industry, and that industry is being directed to harm our worlds…”
“Why should not the two of us escape when they open the door again. If we stand on either side of the door and…”
Forrest laughed at the foolhardiness of my plan. “We couldn’t make two steps before they would apprehend us. Only a miracle can save us, Bruce.”
We were both silent as we ate our evening meal; then we were retiring and the third day of our incarceration passed. The next day the Ionian and Ganymedians were removed from our prison, and we were left alone, certain that the fifth day would see our end. It was that night there came a break in the sameness of our existence. A new arrival.
RADIUM AGE PROTO-SF: “Radium Age” is Josh Glenn’s name for the nascent sf genre’s c. 1900–1935 era, a period which saw the discovery of radioactivity, i.e., the revelation that matter itself is constantly in movement — a fitting metaphor for the first decades of the 20th century, during which old scientific, religious, political, and social certainties were shattered. More info here.
SERIALIZED BY HILOBOOKS: James Parker’s Cocky the Fox | Annalee Newitz’s “The Great Oxygen Race” | Matthew Battles’s “Imago” | & many more original and reissued novels and stories.