Countdown for blast off. X minus five, four, three, two, X minus one, fire. From the far horizons of the unknown come tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future. Adventures in which you'll live in a million could be years on a thousand maybe worlds. The National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine presents X minus one. Tonight the lights on precipice peak by Stephen Tall. We were sitting on the porch of the lodge, the three of us, Chuck Evers, Royston, and myself. Chuck was smoking one of those five-for-a-quarter stinkers he affects, but he let it go out as we sat in the darkness, stared across the narrow valley below us, then up again to the mountains of Bighorn Glacier, six miles away and 7,000 feet up in the thin cold air. There it is. You see? Where? Well, follow my hand. I'll line it up with a tall pine tree in the first ridge. You see? Very small, dull red. It's been up there for about five minutes. I didn't see anything before. You see? Moving along. Well, it seems to be the lip of Bighorn Glacier. Now give me the binoculars. Yeah, yeah, it's a glow, all right. Small but definite glow. You want to see it, Royston? Thank you. Well, that's that. You can see it, but still you can't. The glasses didn't pick up any outline. It's still just a glow. Spooks, that's what. Spooks. Spooks? Ah, yes, apparitions. Haunts, hobgoblins, ghosts, banshees. Well, at least these mysterious lights of Presipus Peak make no sound. Are you sure? How do you know that every coyote that you hear is really a coyote? And at any rate, if they make sounds, they're sounds of the country, a miserable country. Sir, you are speaking of the land I love. You don't like it. Why stay around? It is supposed to make me a man of vigor with red corpuscles and a need for cold shower baths. Actually, there is nothing wrong with me. I was simply born to sit and watch while great louts like you run and wrestle and climb and sweat. Ah, there the light shows again. You can see it with the naked eye. It's higher than it was before. It's moving along. It's going along Fifth Avenue Trail. Spooks don't need a route of ascent even on Presipus. All of a sudden the lights of Presipus Peak are getting solid. I've got a feeling they'll leave a sign. Sign? Ah, yes. Traces. Right. Traces. Tracks. Sports. The only mystery about those lights is we don't know who makes them. They're going to be a tourist attraction. Maybe that's a lead. Over the swamps of Louisiana where I wish I now were, I have seen balls of fire that were drifting. It is swamp gas, methane, slowly oxidizing, gluing. Could this up there on the mountain be something like? Almost impossible. Anyhow, balls of gases wouldn't follow a trail. Those blasted lights do. Take it easy, Chuck Boy. Tomorrow you can look for yourself, remember? At daybreak we go up to solve the mystery of the lights. Ghastly. To go out at dawn is as bad as eating raw flesh. But tap on my cap and door as you go by. I will wave to you from the window. We were down the slope from the lodge and across the valley before the sun rose. Chuck and I swung along the trail. Felt good having your nailed mountain boots hitting the ground in regular rhythm. Ahead of me, Chuck set the pace. An easy, loose, jointed shamble that ate up the mountain miles. We were a good team for climbing. I took a deep breath when we crossed the ridge. At the switchback, Chuck broke his stride and leaned his long frame against a boulder. Well, tonight we'll be up where the lights are. Punch me if you see one first. Lights, nuts, there'll be none while we're on the peak. Five bucks says so. Well, I'm not a rich man, but I love a sporting chance. Here's my five, it's a bet. Where will we put them? Well, here, here. I'll empty this out. I got a tobacco tin. Stick it in here. Okay. Here's my five. All right, we'll put it under the stone here. Nobody will find it under there. It's off the trail. All right, now, if there are lights, it's yours. No lights, it's mine. Right? Right. Going into the world above the trees is one of the good things of a peak climb. Corrie marmots whistled from their rocks. Coney scurried. Graybard Tomaghan crouched almost invisibly among the gaudy alpine fields of mountain sunflowers and tiny forget-me-nots. At dusk, we laid out our bedrolls and a level bit of tundra and the lee of a massive outcrop near Big Horn Glacier. We cooked a kettle of stew and heated the water for tea. Then Chuck walked away a few paces from the fire to empty the kettle. What's the matter? Stone turned under me. My ankle. Give me a hand. I got you. Set me down again. Okay. Now let's take off that boot and the sock. Oh. Oh. Well, I have a feeling, my friend, that I will not climb that peak in the morning. Get the sock off and let's see how bad it is. Well, we'll pack ice on it and tape it in an hour. Maybe it's a simple twist. Well, you know it isn't. Sure I know. I thought you wanted to be cheerful, that's all. It's like when I broke three ribs climbing to look into a bird's nest the day before we were tackling the east face of Long Peak. Then you would chin up. Well, I was different. I wasn't hurting. When the stars were out and the quarter moon rose from the plains, I got up from my bedroll seat by the fire. Chuck's ankle was taped and he was easing it before him as best he could. That's not so bad for a foot. It only hurts when I try to walk on it. Well, I'm going to have a look before we turn in. My five spot says there won't be any lights, but the technical crew may be monkeying around somewhere. Well, take it easy. I'll just skirt along the edge of the glacier. Back in half an hour. You take it easy. I know Big Horn Glacier. Its crevices are so consistent they're shown on maps. I carried an ice axe, but I didn't figure to use it. And I'd worked my way for a number of minutes along the edge of the moonlit ice sheet. I suddenly got the idea that I should cross it. The glacier had a good snow covering. The going was easy. The view was something few men see. I automatically avoided the big ice cracks. I knew where they were. And then I slipped through a snow roof and fell. I wasn't hurt. The moonlight from the crack above showed my ice axe beside me. It was a lucky fall, except for the fact that I couldn't get out again. Time after time, I tried to dig hand and foot holes into the splintering ice wall. And I was freezing my fingers, making no headway. Cold was beginning to bite into me. So I settled myself on my heels quietly and tried to decide what to do. That was Chuck beginning to call. I knew if I answered he'd probably try the ice himself. So I kept quiet. And after a while he stopped calling. And then suddenly a dark silhouette showed in the narrow crack of sky above. Are you injured? I'm okay. Just drop me a rope and I can walk up the wall. Mine the snow ledge. I didn't and look at me. A joke? Here's the rope. Hey, what kind of a rope is this? I never saw anything like it. It's warm. Have you got it now? Yep. Here I come. Hang on. Hang on. Okay. Over the ledge. Hey, did you hold that rope in one hand while I was climbing up? Yes. Well, thanks. Lucky for me, somebody has sense enough to walk around ice cracks. Shake. Shake? Oh, shake hands. You must not mind the glove. It is for your protection. The hand is not yet cooled. Cooled? What in the world? Your friend with the swollen foot is concerned for you. Come, I have made an easy way. I've climbed mountains up and down the Rockies, but I confess following this fellow I felt like a tenderfoot. The man's odd voice instilled in phrases tantalized me. And I knew they were not entirely strange. There was the question of his hot hand. I dropped back a couple of paces. The man was setting his booted feet into a line of holes that had not been on the glacier earlier. Get swear to that. And as we approached the edge of the glacier, I could see him clearly, for he was surrounded by a dim red glow which grew brighter with each step. In a few moments, it was as if he were outlined in flame and I could feel a warmth radiating from him. I wondered why the snow didn't melt under his tread. It's the boots. They insulate. Oh. Oh, oh, I see. Thank you. Hey, you not only light up, but you pick brains. Both good tricks. A joke? I guess so. Only here on earth are there jokes. We can never be sure about them. We, huh? I thought a gag like this would take cooperation. How many of you boys are in on it? We are four. We had left the ice. We were threading along the little ledge that gave onto the boulder field. I noticed that the ruddy glow had faded completely. The man up ahead was now simply a dark silhouette. We reached the tundra and spotted Chuck's tiny fire. He sat next to it. The tape-footed ankle eased on a pack sack before him. Well, you took your time. I fell in a crevasse. And I owe you five bucks. Oh? Oh. You should put the more important statement first. But we can take that up later. I see we have company. Oh, yeah, yeah. This is Chuck Evers. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name. I am called Zell. Zell? Yes. Well, it's different anyway. That is because I am different. He can read your head like a crystal ball. And he lights up like a neon sign. Easy, boy. You slipped on the ice before. Sit down. Let's quit being funny. Let us all sit and I will tell you why I am Zell. I will do it because I know when you repeat my words that you will not be believed. Now listen. You listen. You came up to climb the peak. But also you came to see what caused the lights. If you had not had misfortune, you would have climbed the peak. But there would have been no lights. We would not have come. Hey, there's a light back up there where we were. You see? That red light on the glacier? Well, yeah. Yeah, moving across. That is Zorr. We grew in the same membrane. He is erasing our trail across the ice. Yeah, very smart. We can tell tales down there, but there won't be any proof, huh? That is correct. Chuck Evers, you are wondering about the statement that we grew in the same membrane? Well, yeah. Yeah, I was thinking that... I should have said that we are twins. Holy... You're right, John. It is telepathy. You weren't out of your head. The truth is simple. We have told it before, but no one ever believes. And it has not seemed wise to support our facts. We, Zorr and I, with our companions, Jim and Zett, are explorers. But we do not explore mountains. Here we rest and allow ourselves to behave normally. We explore in towns and cities where people gather. It is strenuous. We cannot tolerate it for long. Then we must go into seclusion and renew ourselves. Yeah, I know what you mean. Ten days in Denver and I feel like I've been staked with a short rope. I got to get away. Your problems are simply a matter of preference. Ours are physiological. We cannot long maintain metabolic balance in the company of people. Thus, Jim and Zett are now back in the world you inhabit. When they must rest, then our turn comes. I will show you. This is a rock. You may call it granite. To me, it is food. So eat it in good health. Thank you. Among people, this would be conspicuous. You are not adapted to get oxygen from rock. We are. Well, I'll admit that's a tougher cereal than I'd want to try. But the point of the joke still escapes me. There is the matter of my body glow. I can control my body temperature, raising it and lowering it as I choose. The greatest difficulty when I am among you people is to keep myself down to human body heat. Normally, it is much higher than yours. And when, due to exercise and metabolic speed up, excess energy is accumulated, it is satisfying to us to radiate it. Much as you get released by deep sighs, by long breaths, by stretching your limbs. Unfortunately, when we radiate rapidly in air, we glow. It has made us conspicuous. Yet your unawareness of us is a marvel. For creatures so well supplied with adaptation for sensation, you are indeed blind. You sound like an old professor I had once. I didn't understand him either. Zor is waiting by the glacier. We have plans for this time. When you return to the settlement below, it would perhaps be wisest not to explain the lights. We both sat silently beside the dying fire. When we looked up toward the upper reaches of the glacier, two gleaming spots, dull cherry red moved steadily across the ice. They were visible for brief minutes and slowly faded. To descend Trespass Peak, even if only from Bighorn Glacier, is no fit task for a cripple. Still we knew it had to be done. So in the early morning we set about it. Where the going allowed it, I simply backpacked Chuck. We made use of every ledge, because Chuck could repel himself down spots he could not climb or be carried. We were both mountain men and tough, but by mid-afternoon we knew we'd had enough. We were lucky though. We ran into Hiney Cobb, the ranger, heading down trail with two pack horses. We stopped only once. The big switchback. I got down from my horse, pried up a stone, took the tobacco can from under it and gave it to Chuck without a word. Back at our camp on the lakeshore, Chuck and I weren't disturbed by questions. When men fail on the peaks, they tell their own stories in their own time. Chuck's ankle showed quick improvement, and in a couple of days he was hobbling about. Only young Royston came to visit us. You have not been back to the lodge. Perhaps you are afraid to show your faces. People talk your arm off up there. Not many of them have the gall to come snooping around here. You cannot offend me. I was concerned for you. I was interested, so I came. Did you see the lights? No. Nary a light. I told you they wouldn't show up and anybody was up there. You collected five bucks from me, betting on the other side of the fence. You were the man who was so sure there'd be some sign. I do not understand. You are both confusing everything and you are both lying. There were lights on the peak when you were there and I have a feeling you saw them. They were quite a show from here. Well, this is the place to see them from. Closer up you lose perspective. Well, I must go. Friendship means nothing to you, so I will take my small hike back to the lodge again. Actually, I came to say that tomorrow I leave this miserable place and go home. I have endured all the health I can stand. No, that's a different story. We're sorry to see you go, fella. In regards to the swamps, ten to one when you get there you'll wish you were back. This I very much doubt. Goodbye, John. Goodbye. Well, there's a funny fella. Hey, what are you doing? Just feeling the stone step where he sat. I thought so. He really liked us, but this time he was careful not to shake hands. Did you notice? Yeah. In spite of himself, he had reached his limit of control. His temperature is going up. Yeah, I guess it is. He never could see a joke. And remember how he'd say something and then wait as if he didn't understand it and then all of a sudden it would come to him? He'd wait to pick our brains for every new word. You mean Royston? Royston is a name out of a hat. When that lad really goes home, he'll go with his buddies up there on that peak. I wonder which he is. Zim or Zet? You have just heard X minus one presented by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine, which this month features Man in the Jar, the story of Vane who did not bottle live people indiscriminately. He had to have a sound business reason. Galaxy Magazine on your newsstand today. Tonight, X minus one has brought you The Lights on Precipice Peak, a story from the pages of Galaxy written by Stephen Tall and adapted for radio by Ernest Kenoy. Featured in the cast were Jim Bowles as John Drinkhart, Joseph Helgeson as his fellow climber Chuck Ebers, Ted Osborne as Zell and Kurt Benson as the man who called himself Royston. Your announcer, Fred Collins. X minus one was directed by Kenneth McGregor and is an NBC Radio Network production.
