01 - Crystal Circe by Henry Kuttner

In a world where dreamers and reality rarely coexist, Steve Arnsen cant shake the feeling that his friend Douglas OBrien might be the exception. As Douglas becomes increasingly obsessed with tracing the origins of a mysterious meteorite he discovered, Steve resolves to keep his friend grounded. However, Douglas‚As determination may lead them both into the most extraordinary dream of all. Will their friendship survive the journey? - Summary by EVKesserich

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Section one of the Crystals Circe. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Read
by Edith Kessick of Southern Ohio. The Crystal Circe by

(00:27):
Henry Kutner prolog. The stratoship from Cairo was late, and
I was wondering whether the newsreel, theater, or a couple
of drinks would make the time pass faster. It was
early dusk. Through the immense curved window wall of the
Manhattan Portroom, I could see the landing field with the

(00:49):
silvery ship being rolled over the tarmac, and the skyscrapers
of New York beyond. Then I saw Arnson. It was
Steve Arnson, of course, no doubt about that. No other
man had his great breadth of shoulders, his herculean build.
Ten years ago we had been classmates at Midwestern. I

(01:13):
remembered Rakel, laughing, handsome Steve Arnson, very well with his
pension for getting into trouble and out of it again,
usually dragging Douglas O'Brien, his room mate, along with him,
Like the helpless tale of a kite, poor Doug. He
was the antithesis of Arnson, a thoughtful, studious boy with

(01:34):
the shadow of a dream lurking always in his dark eyes.
An idealist was Douglas O'Brien, as his Celtic ancestors had been.
Strong friendship existed between the two men, the mental communion
of laughter and a dream. Arnson was looking up into
the darkening sky, a queer tensity in his posture. He

(01:58):
turned abruptly, came to a near me and sat down.
From his pocket, he took a small box. It snapped open.
His gaze probed into the unknown thing that was hidden
by his cupped hands. I picked up my drink and
went to Arnson's table. All I could see was the

(02:19):
back of his sleek, massive head. Then he looked up.
If ever I saw hell in a man's face, I
saw it in Arnson's. Then there was a dreadful longing
and an equally horrible hopelessness, the expression one might see
on the face of a damned soul looking up from
the pit at the shining gates forever beyond his reach.

(02:44):
And Arnson's face had been ravaged. The searing mask of
some experience lay there, branded into his furrowed cheeks, his
tightened lips, into his eyes, where a sickness dwelt. No,
this was not Steve Arnson, the boy I had known
at Midwestern youth had left him and hope as well, Veil,

(03:11):
he said, smiling crookedly, good lord of all people, sit
down and have a drink. What are you doing here?
I thought for words as I dropped into a chair.
Arnson watched me for a moment and then shrugged. You
might as well say it. I've changed. Yeah, I know

(03:34):
that what happened. There was no need to fence. His
gaze went beyond me, to the dark sky above the
landing field. What happened? Why don't you ask where Doug is?
We always stuck together, didn't we? Surprising to see me alone?

(03:58):
He lit a cigarette and brushed it out with an
impatient gesture. You know, Veil, I've been hoping i'd run
into you. This thing's been boiling inside of me. I
haven't been able to tell a soul. No one would
have believed me. You may. The three of us kicked

(04:18):
around together a lot in the old days. In trouble,
I asked, can I help? You? Can listen? He said,
I came back to Earth, thinking I might be able
to forget. It hasn't worked. I'm waiting for an airliner

(04:39):
to take me to Kansas Spaceport. I'm going to Callisto
Mars somewhere. Earth isn't the right place anymore, but I'm
glad we ran into each other veil. I want to talk.
I want you to answer a question that's been driving
me almost insane. I signaled the waiter and got more drinks.

(05:04):
Arneson was silent and til we were alone once more.
Then he opened his cupped hands and showed me a
small chagreen box. It clicked open. Nestling in the blue
velvet was a crystal, not large, but lovelier than any
gem I had ever seen before. Light drifted from it

(05:26):
like the flow of slow water. The dim shining pulsed
and waned in the heart of the jewel was I
tore my eyes away, staring at Arnson. What is it?
Where did you get the thing? Not on earth? He

(05:46):
was watching the jewel, sick hopelessness on his face. No,
not on Earth. It came from a little asteroid out
there somewhere. He waved vaguely toward the sky. It isn't charted.
I took no reckonings, so I can never go back,

(06:08):
not that I want to now. Poor Doug. He's dead,
isn't he? I asked. Arnson looked at me strangely as
he closed the box and slipped it back into his pocket. Dead,
I wonder, wait till you know the story veil about

(06:31):
Doug's lucky charm and the dreams and the Crystal circey
A slow horror of remembrance crept across his face. Out
there in space. Something had happened. I thought it must
have been frightful to leave such traces on Arnson. He

(06:53):
read my thought frightful. Perhaps it was quite lovely too.
You remember the old days when I thought of nothing
but raising hell. After a long pause, I said, who
was the Crystal Circe. I never knew her name, she

(07:17):
told me, but my brain couldn't understand it. She wasn't human,
of course, I called her Circe, after the enchantress who
changed her lovers to swine. Again, he looked at the
darkening sky. Well, it began more than two years ago
in Maine. Doug and I were on a fishing trip

(07:39):
when we ran into the meteorite Little fishing. We got
done then, you know how Doug was like a kid
reading a fairy tale for the first time. And that
meteorite chapter one. The star jamb it lay in the

(08:01):
crater it had dug for itself, a round it arc
visible about the brown earth. Already, sumac and vines were
mending the broken soil. Warm fall sunlight slanted down through
the trees as Douglas O'Brien and Steve Arnson plodded toward
the distant gurgling of the stream, thoughts intent on catching

(08:23):
the limit. No fingering tendril of menace thrust out to
warn them, minder step, Arneson said. Seeing the pit, he
detoured around it and turned, realizing that O'Brien had not followed.
Come on, Doug, it's getting late. O'Brien's tanned, young face

(08:46):
was intent as he peered down into the hollow. Wait
a bit, he said, absently. This looks say, I'll bet
there's a meteor down there. So there's a meteor where
not fishing for meteor's professor. They're mostly iron anyway, Gold

(09:07):
now that would be a different matter. O'Brien dropped lightly
into the hole, scraping at the dirt with his fingers.
Wonder how long it's been here. You run along, Steve,
I'll catch up with you, Arnson's sighed. O'Brien, with his
vast enthusiasm for anything under the sun, was off again.

(09:31):
There would be no stopping him till he had satisfied
his curiosity about the meteorite. Well, Arnson had a new
fly he was anxious to use, and it would soon
be too late for good fishing. With a grunt, he
turned and pushed on toward the stream. The fly proved excellent.

(09:51):
In a surprisingly short time, Arnson had bagged the limit.
There was no sign of O'Brien, and hunger made itself evident.
Arnson retraced his steps. The younger man was sitting cross
legged beside the crater, holding something in his cupped hands
and staring down at it. A swift glance showed Arnson

(10:13):
that the meteorite had been uncovered and apparently cracked in two,
each piece the size of a football. He stepped closer
to see what O'Brien held. It was a gray crystal
egg sized, filled with cloudy frozen mists. It had been
cut into a diamond shaped, multifaceted jam. Where'd you get that,

(10:40):
Arnson asked. O'Brien jumped, turning up a startled face. Oh hello, Steve,
it was in the meteorite. Damnedest thing I ever saw.
I saw the meteorite had a line of fission all
around it. So I smacked the thing with a rock.
It fell apart, and this was in the middle. Impossible,

(11:01):
isn't it. Let's see. Arnson reached for the jewel. O'Brien
showed an odd reluctance in giving it up, but finally
dropped it into the other's outstretched hand. The gem was cold,
yet not unpleasantly, so a tingling raised up Arnson's arm

(11:22):
to his shoulder. He felt an abrupt, tiny shock. O'Brien
snatched the jewel. Arnson stared at him. I'm not going
to eat it. What the boy grinned. It's my luck piece, Steve,
my lucky charm. I'm going to have it pierced. Better

(11:47):
take it to a jeweler first. Arnson suggested, it may
be valuable. No, I'll keep it. He slipped the gem
into his pocket and he up the limit and I'm starving.
Let's get back to camp. Over their meal of fried trout,

(12:09):
O'Brien fingered the find, staring into the cloudy depths of
the gem, as though he expected to find something there.
Arnson could sense a strange air of withdraw about him.
That night, O'Brien fell asleep, holding the jewel in his hand.
His sleep was troubled. O'Brien watched the boy, the vaguest

(12:33):
hint of worry in his blue eyes. Once, Doug lifted
his hand and let it fall reluctantly. Once a flash
of light seemed to lance out from the gem, brief
and vivid as lightning. Imagination, perhaps the moon sank. O'Brien
stirred and sat up. Arnson felt the other's eyes upon him.

(12:59):
He said, soft, Doug, Yes, I wondered if you were
awake anything wrong. There's a girl, O'Brien said, and fell silent.
After what seemed like a long time, he went on,

(13:19):
Remember you said once I'd never find a girl perfect
enough to love. I remember you were wrong. She's like
Deirdre of the Tiha Day, like Freya, like Ran of
the Northern Seas. She has red hair, red as dying

(13:39):
sons are red. And she's a goddess like Deirdre too.
The Song of Solomon was made for her. Thou art
all fair, my love. There is no spot in thee
I sleep, but my heart waketh. It is the voice
of my beloved that knocketh, Steve, he said, and his

(14:00):
voice broke sharply. It wasn't a dream, I know it wasn't.
She exists somewhere, he stirred. Arnson guessed he was peering
at the gray jewel. There was nothing to say. The
frosty brilliance of the stars gleamed through the laced branches above.

(14:24):
The curious breath of the unearthly seemed to drop down
from the vast abyss of the sky, chilling Arnson's heart.
In that moment, he knew his friend was ensorceled superstition, foolishness.
He shook the thought away, but all the blood of
his northern ancestors rose up in him, the Vikings who

(14:47):
had believed in Queen Ran of the ocean, in trolls
and warlocks, and the water maidens who guard sunk in gold.
You're dreaming, he said, stubbornly, loudly than he thought. It's
time we got back to the city. We've been here
long enough. To his surprise, O'Brien agreed, I think so,

(15:13):
I've an idea I want to work on. And then
the boys shut up like a clam, relaxing almost instantly
into peaceful slumber. But Arnson did not sleep for a
long time. The stars seemed too close, and somehow menacing
from the black void. Eyes watched, not human eyes. For

(15:37):
all their loveliness, they were pools of darkest night, and
stars glimmered within them. He wished that O'Brien had not
found the meteorite end of Section one