World of Mockery
By SAM MOSKOWITZ
When John Hall walked on Ganymede, a thousand
weird beings walked with him. He was one man
on a sphere of mocking, mad creatures—one
voice in a world of shrieking echoes.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
John Hall wiped away blood that trickled from his mouth. Painstakinglyhe disengaged himself from the hopeless wreckage of the control room.He staggered free, his lungs pumping with terrific effort to drawenough oxygen from the thin, bitterly cold air of Ganymede—that hadrushed in when his helmet had been shocked open.
Feeling unusually light he walked over to an enormous tear in the sideof his space-cruiser. A bleak scene met his eyes. Short, grotesquelyhewn hills and crags. Rocky pitted plains. And a bitter, wild wind blewconstantly, streaming his long hair into disarray.
He cursed through tight lips. Fate! He had been on his way to Vesta,largest city of Jupiter, when his fuel had given out. He had forgottento check it, and here he was.
Despondently he kicked a small rock in front of him. It rose unhinderedby the feeble gravitation fully thirty feet in the air.
Suddenly there were a dozen scuffing sounds, and a dozen stones wingedthemselves painstakingly through the air and began to descend in slowmotion.
Surprise struck, he gazed furtively about him. Momentarily his heartseemed caught in some terrible vise.
There was a sudden movement behind a close ridge. Momentarily JohnHall was rendered paralyzed. Then he backed slowly toward the ship andsafety behind a Johnson heat ray. The vague form abruptly materialized,etched in black against the twilight horizon of Ganymede. The effectwas startling. The creature stood upright, on two legs, with twognarled, lengthy arms dangling from its bony shoulders. Human? Thequestion registered itself on his brain, and the thing in front ofhim gave unwitting reply, as it moved to a clearer position. No, nothuman. Maybe not even animal. Two great eyes bulged curiously from adrawn, shrunken, monkey-like face. The body was as warped and distortedas the bole of an old oak tree. With pipe-stem arms and legs, bulgingat the joints. Its most natural position seemed to be a crouch, withthe arms dragging on the ground. Somehow this travesty of human formstruck him as being humorous. He chuckled throatily, and then stoppedwith a start as the same chuckle crudely vibrated back, echo-like.But it was no echo! No, that wasn't possible. John raised his handto scratch his head through force of habit; forgetful that this wasimpossible through the thick glassite helmet he wore. The tall,gangling creature in front of him watched closely for a moment, thenstretched one preposterously long limb up and scratched briskly on hisleathery skull in imitation of John Hall.
The answer struck him instantly. Why hadn't he thought of it. Thisanimal, this thing, whatever it was, was a natural mimic. Such athing was not unknown on earth. Monkeys often imitated the gesturesof humans. Parrots prattled back powerful expletives and phrases. Herather welcomed his new find now. It would be pretty dismal all aloneon desolate Ganymede with no one to talk to but himself, and thisstrange ani