Colossus of Chaos By NELSON S. BOND IT was the evil spawn of lifeless space, drifting aimlessly until ITs sinister birthing place should come. And finding that abode for life, IT grew, sucking energy from Terra itself--gathering strength for that time when all should flee before ITs malign wrath. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] _Out of the darkness It came. Out of the grim, bleak, frore, incalculable depths of outer space, into the empire of light and warmth ... and life._ _It was like nothing known to Man. It was round, but not quite round; It was hard, but not altogether hard; It was cold, but not cold with the terrible, utter iciness of things which come from Beyond. It was in motion but It did not move of Its own volition, for It was quiescent, insensate. It let Itself be carried by the vagrant and unpredictable whims of a kinetic universe, confident that in a day ... or a century ... or a thousand, thousand centuries ... the fitful fingers of chance would find for It a bourne, a resting-place._ _Out of the night It came ... the endless, inpenetrable night which spans the void between star and star. Out of one cosmos into another; out of oblivion into waking horror._ _No eye beheld Its coming. None saw Its faint, thin, cool iridescence; no voice lifted to challenge Its arrival on the sixth satellite of the sixth solar planet. It dropped to earth unwatched, rolled a brief, sluggish way, then rested in a deep, soft, sandy pit._ _A gray hoar-frost rimed Its surface as the warmth of a friendly orb dispelled the frightful chill of space; a pale mist rose from Its petroid carapace and trembled into the air like a wan and restless ghost._ _It had found a home, a lair, a birthing-place. With a slow, ecstatic, burrowing motion It dug Itself still deeper into the nourishing sands. It had arrived. It grew...._ I "A dangerous place," said the heavy man with ominous deliberation. "A most dangerous place!" He raised his glass to his nostrils, passed it back and forth appreciatively, and rolled a single drop of the liqueur upon his tongue. A smile creased his full, red lips. "Excellent, my dear Captain!" he approved. "A most superior brandy. Allow me to congratulate you. Domrémy-Thol '98, I should judge?" Captain Burke, skipper of the IPS space-cruiser _Gaea_, basked in the sunshine of his passenger's approbation.