Purple Islands

by Dee Carter, Denis Hughes

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Alien Contact; Space Opera

Synopsis

To leave the earth in a vessel designed to ride the emptiness of outer space would certainly demand of its crew the very highest qualities of courage and determination. But if the journey was to be a one-way trip with the objective of establishing an offshoot of humanity on a distant world, then every mortal quality would have to be considerably strengthened. Such was the project launched by Doctor Helenus Smith. He selected his crew with apparently small regard for the obvious essentials, his motivations for doing so kept close to his chest. The trouble began when a nameless world interposed itself on their course, appearing from nowhere, and upon which they were unexpectedly forced to land . . .

Release date: May 31, 2018

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 145

Sample

When the advertisement appeared for the first time in the Personal column of a famous national daily it created quite a stir and not a little amusement of a derisive nature. In view of the controversial subject matter and the manner in which the text was couched the reaction of the general public was hardly surprising. Thousands, perhaps millions, of people read it. Many laughed outright; others studied it with more sobriety, wondering. Some, a few, took the whole thing as seriously as the advertiser intended they should. Among the latter was David Sherman.

Sherman saw it on the first day of its three-day insertion. He saw it when he was drinking a cup of coffee after breakfast in his Queensgate flat, and at that time he was in a receptive mood for such an item.

The advertisement read as follows: Emigration. The world of Earth is no longer a place fit for intelligent men and women to inhabit. Continued strife and world-wide shortages of food and all raw materials make the very act of existence a burden and a hardship. Do not hesitate to seize this opportunity, for it will never come again. A limited number of vacancies occur for the greatest adventure still open to living men and women. At no cost whatever you stand a chance of being among those selected to go in search of a better world beyond the limits of Earth and its atmosphere, there to found a new branch of the human race. Only qualifications necessary are courage, a desire to escape from the bonds of life on this weary planet, and a complete lack of personal attachments on earth. Nothing else is needed or asked for. Apply in first instance to Box 113109X284C.

Sherman let his coffee grow cold. He read and re-read the lengthy insertion. At first he decided it must be the work of some nut, and yet to pay for an advert like that in the particular paper chosen would be quite an item. He himself, a man who had already had an adventurous life as a journalist, soldier, air pilot and war correspondent in several different theatres of hostilities was inclined to look with relish on anything fresh that was offered. But at the same time he was not a man of impulsive action and so did not reply to the advert that day. It required a little thought even before he committed himself to the extent of making an inquiry.

The advertisement appeared on the two following days. The popular Press got hold of it and played it up with speculative articles designed to poke fun at the possibilities. One of the more serious dailies mentioned the matter in its leader—a warning note that irresponsible people had no right to stir up misgivings about the state of the world. Such madness could foster a dangerous element of defeatism among the people of the world, people who were doing their utmost to ensure lasting peace and to harness the enormous natural resources of the earth for the good of mankind. There was a little more in the same vein. It was read and digested by David Sherman, among others but he was not unduly impressed. To most men and women of average intelligence it had been clear for some considerable time that the nations of the world were indeed very sick. The slightest incident aroused a state of near-war. Constantly, in never-ending session, committees sat and wrangled over the petty quarrels that wracked the human race from end to end. The outcome of most of these well-meaning efforts was farcical, for the results were a foregone conclusion—deadlocks without end piling up for further antagonism and hatred. The future was indeed depressing, for no one in their right mind would have admitted that the world could stand the shocking drain of yet more warfare.

On the third day of the advertisement’s appearance David Sherman, after due consideration and with regard to all the difficulties inherent in any venture of such a nature, wrote a somewhat cautious reply to the box number specified. The answer reached him three days later, a neatly printed card asking him to present himself that afternoon at Suite 15 in a particularly well-known hotel in London’s West End.

“No alternative date,” he mused. “That assumes that I’m free, I suppose—or that if I’m not free enough to keep the appointment then I shan’t be worth considering.” He frowned in a mixture of puzzlement and vague good humour. “I wonder who the devil’s behind this business …?” he asked himself. But the only way to find that out was to visit Suite 15 and see for himself.

After all, he thought, there was no need to let himself in for anything too fantastic if he didn’t consider it worth the risk.

The printed card had said three-thirty p.m. The half hour chimes were ringing out from Westminster as Sherman went across the hotel foyer to the reception desk.

“Suite 15 …?” he said to the girl on duty.

She eyed him for an instant before replying. Her face was politely blank of expression, but he thought he read the ghost of a sceptical smile in her dark brown eyes.

“Certainly, sir,” she said quietly. “You have an appointment?”

“For three-thirty, yes.” He hesitated. “Er—tell me, in confidence of course, have there been many other people calling on Suite 15?” He used his most persuasive smile as he put the question.

The girl’s red lips quivered slightly in a quickly killed smile, the quality of which it was impossible to translate.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not at liberty to tell you. I think, perhaps, you’d better go up though—the gentleman is inclined to be irritable at lateness.” Then she relaxed sufficiently to smile. “In confidence,” she added, “there have been several others before yourself. Don’t say I said so, please.”

“Thanks, I won’t.”

Sherman turned away as a bellboy approached in answer to a summons from the girl.

“Take this gentleman to Suite 15,” she told him.

Sherman journeyed upwards in the lift. It was not the first time he had visited this particular haven of luxury and this re-acquaintance with its splendour was very pleasant. But his mind was busy with the possibilities of the immediate future. What would he find in Suite 15? Who was the person responsible for that odd advertisement? And what manner of people would have answered it besides himself?

“Your name, sir?” asked the boy, pausing at the door of an apartment and eyeing him curiously.

“Sherman. You needn’t wait, lad.” He tipped the boy, but the boy did not leave him.

“Orders, sir, if you’ll excuse me,” he said. “Have to see all visitors safely inside. Special rule with this gentleman, that is.”

“Oh.… No, wait, don’t ring the bell for a moment. Tell me this gentleman’s name.”

“Smith, sir,” came the too-pat answer. “Now, sir.…” He pressed the bell button and waited.

“All very mysterious, this,” murmured Sherman half to himself.” Very odd. Almost cloak and dagger, what?”

“Beg pardon, sir?”

“Er—nothing. Has Mr. Smith been here long?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir. Been on holiday.”

“Ah.… Never mind, someone’s coming, I think.”

“Yes, sir. That’ll be Mr. Maitland, I ’spect.”

The door opened to expose a tall, saturnine looking man in depressingly funereal clothes and the general air of the chief mourner. No smile of welcome lit his features, nor did he stand aside to let Sherman enter. Instead his high black eyebrows asked a wordless question.

Before Sherman could speak the bellboy did it for him.

“Mr. Sherman with an appointment,” he said tartly. “I’m handing him over to you now.”

The tall man in black switched his gaze to Sherman.

“Your card, if you please,” he said quietly. “There are certain precautions necessary as you can well imagine.”

“Er—yes, I suppose there are. Here you are then.”

“My name’s Maitland,” said the tall man. “This seems to be in order. Perhaps you will be good enough to step inside.”

Sherman stepped in, glancing round the little hallway of the suite. Maitland gestured briefly to the bellboy and closed the door.

“You will understand, Sherman, that we have been very careful to avoid any needless annoyance from sensation-seekers or gentlemen of the Press. It has not been easy and more than one crank has already been here. Naturally it was not possible to tell exactly what each person was like when they answered the advertisement—until we saw them.” He shook his head slowly, regretfully. “I must say a good many turned out to be most disappointing.” He paused, looking at Sherman with gloomy doubt. They were standing in the hallway, Sherman wondering what all this was leading up to and growing impatient in spite of his training.

Maitland said: “However, if you will come with me I feel sure it will be to your advantage. The field is narrow, I may add. The doctor will no doubt make up his mind without delay. He is, as you will discover, a somewhat impetuous individual, but first and last a philanthropist. Yes, I think that is the best term to use—a philanthropist. Come, Mr. Sherman.”

Sherman began to wonder whether this was not the craziest set-up he had ever experienced. The more he saw of it the more curious it became. For one thing it seemed impossible to associate Maitland with anything remotely connected with spatial emigration, which was virtually what the advert had offered. Whether his superior, the doubtfully named Dr. Smith, would live up to such ideallistic levels remained to be seen. But Sherman still wondered.

And then Maitland was opening a door on the other side of the little hallway. Beyond was a large, splendidly furnished apartment. The sole occupant was a small, wizen little figure hunched up in a vast lounge chair so big for his size that at first Sherman hardly noticed him. Then he became aware of the keen grey eyes that scrutinised him with apparently merciless shrewdness. He saw the figure of a very small man then, dressed soberly in expensive clothes but badly in need of a haircut, for his snow white hair reached almost to his shoulders as he sat.

Maitland said: “This is Sherman, the last on our list I fancy. Mr. Sherman, let me introduce you to the greatest benefactor the human race is ever likely to see. Doctor Helenus Smith. By his good work and great generosity a chance still remains for the people of this world to make a fresh start, turning their backs on all the evil arising from world strife and looking forward, ever forward, to new worlds!”

Sherman stared curiously, for the transformation in the sober-faced Maitland was startling. His dark eyes were bright and his hands quivered with rising emotion.

Suddenly the little white haired man in the chair spoke. His voice was sharp and edgy, imperative, too:

“That’s enough, Maitland!” he snapped. “You are late, Mr. Sherman. I do not like lateness. No excuses if you please. Come and sit yourself down over here where I can see you plainly.”

Sherman advanced across the floor, feeling rather like a rebellious schoolboy being called out in front of the class to be made a fool of—or an example. He was thinking now that this whole thing had been a big mistake. Maitland and Smith were surely bigger cranks than some of the people who must have answered the advert. But he could hardly back out without giving them a chance of defending themselves.

He sat down in the chair that Smith indicated. And now he had a better opportunity of studying the doctor in the light of what little had been said and his own misgivings.

Doctor Helenus Smith—if that was his real name—was a small man, one of the smallest men he had ever seen outside a freak show. As if to complete the picture Sherman was building up the doctor suddenly jerked himself out of his chair and started pacing backwards and forwards over the deep pile carpet, his hands clasped behind his back, his head with its shaggy mane of snow white hair thrust forward. He did not look at Sherman; and Maitland had melted into the background like the human chameleon with which Sherman compared him.

“You are a brave man, Sherman?” The question was shot at him swiftly as Smith came to an abrupt halt and whirled to face his visitor.

“I’ve been in some pretty tight corners during the past few years,” admitted Sherman uneasily. “As to being brave … I suppose I have an average amount of courage.”

“Yes, we are sure of that. I took the opportunity of checking on your record as a war correspondent, my friend. How old are you?”

“Thirty-one, sir. And healthy. But——?”

“Be patient! Be patient! How do you think I have made my way in life without a fund of patience? You are naturally anxious to know more about what lies behind my advert in the paper. But first I must know more about you, Sherman. A great deal more, you understand?”

“I guess it’s natural, sir. But couldn’t you give me just a hint of what you have in mind? How many people you intend to include in this emigration scheme? What kind of people they are? That sort of thing …? I’m burning with curiosity, to be honest.” Sherman ventured a smile, testing this quaint little man with every word and expression, watching him like a hawk—just as the doctor himself was watching. It was something like a battle of wits.

Smith, too, permitted himself a smile. “Impulsive youth!” he said lightly. “That is the type we need, eh Maitland? A fine physical specimen, too. Handsome and well proportioned. Little else matters, I think.”

Maitland materialised with a tray of drinks, offering it to Sherman. Sherman accepted one.

“Yes …” mused the doctor, wagging his shaggy head from side to side. “I think you’d be a good addition to our little band of fearless pioneers!” He stopped and shot his head forward again like an eager bird. “You have no ties here on earth? No emotional attachments or entanglements? They are apt to cause so much trouble and unsettle a man bent on true adventure.”

“. . .