Captain Future 27 - Birthplace of Creation (May 1951) by Edmond Hamilton Page A

of giant mountain ranges, cruel craters, and vast rock plains seamed by deep, narrow canyons.
    At the shadowy bottom of one of those canyons, Captain Future, Otho and the Brain were intent on the task of unearthing a mass of gleaming metal ore. Curt Newton and the android wore their spacesuits. The Brain, who needed no such protection, hovered beside them.
    Curt finally dislodged the mass of ore, and then straightened, leaning on his steelite bar. He looked down the canyon.
    “Where did Grag wander off to?” he demanded.
    “Depend on that crazy robot to stray away when there’s heavy work to do,” complained Otho.
     
    A MOON-HOUND PACK
    They started down the canyon in search of Grag. Then, as they squeezed through a narrow part of the chasm, they saw a giant figure approaching them. It was the massive, metal robot.
    Grag held a small gray animal that was struggling and squirming in his grasp. It was a moon-pup, a young individual of the fierce moon-hounds that are the Moon’s strange, non-breathing species of life.
    “Look, I picked up a maverick moon-pup!” Grag exclaimed. “I’m going to tame it and make a pet of it.”
    Captain Future interrupted sharply. “Where there’s one of those creatures, there’s more of them! We’d better get out of — listen!”
    There was no sound, of course, outside the short-range telaudio instruments by which they conversed. But Curt Newton had felt a faint vibration, a rushing murmur, from the rock beneath his feet.
    “Moon-hounds — a pack!” yelled Otho. “Look there!”
     
    IMPENETRABLE CREATURES
    Down the canyon toward them was coming a raging horde of gray, terrible beasts — wolflike quadrupeds with enormous fangs and talons. Their small eyes glared red as they charged.
    Moon-hounds could not be harmed by ordinary weapons. Their flesh was siliceous, its curious bodily metabolism maintained by their use of raw rock and metal elements as food. Atom-guns would not hurt them.
    “Back up the canyon, quick!” yelled Curt. “If those beasts get us down, we’re done for!”
    Curt and the three Futuremen rapidly retreated along the chasm, firing a volley of brilliant atomic bolts to discourage their pursuers. But the moon-hounds, finding that the bolts of force did not harm them, rushed forward boldly.
    Curt and his comrades squeezed back through the narrow part of the chasm. As they did so, Captain Future delayed a second to thrust something into a niche of the cliff. Then he darted hastily on.
     
    CAPTURED PUP
    Next moment, a soundless explosion rocked the chasm around them. Its force tore away great masses of shattered rock that crashed down from the precipitous sides and completely blocked the narrow chasm. The block formed an impassible barrier between the moon-hounds and the Futuremen.
    “That was too blamed close,” panted Curt Newton. “If I hadn’t brought along a couple of atomic blasting-cartridges to help us dig the ore, the pack would have been on our necks.”
    “And it was all Grag’s fault, for picking up that miserable moon-pup,” accused Otho.
    “You’d better leave the little beast here, Grag,” advised Captain Future. “You can’t make a pet of it. Nobody’s ever tamed a moon-hound yet.”
    “I’ll tame this one,” Grag insisted. “It likes me already. You can see that.”
     
    NEVER BEEN TAMED
    The little gray moon-pup, squirming frantically in his grasp, chose that moment to get his head free. The animal instantly tried to sink its powerful, jewel-hard teeth into Grag’s metal arm, actually scarring the steelite.
    “Yes, we can see how much it likes you,” jeered Otho. “Its affection is positively touching.”
    “It will learn better,” Grag affirmed. “Let me keep it, chief. I always wanted a pet.”
    Curt Newton understood. Grag, mighty man of metal, knew himself to be irrevocably different from ordinary humanity. That knowledge had nursed a certain inferiority complex in the mind of the intelligent robot. He felt a dim