THE COLOSSUS OF MAIA
by Laurence Woods
(Author of "Strange Return," "Black Flames," etc.)



There, in the depths of space, floated the body of an Earthman, but it was the 
body of a giant sixty feet tall!



IN THE DISC of the tele-screen, the well-known features of Michael Boyer 
appeared; simultaneously throughout the nation a medley of ohs and ahs emanated 
from the lips of eligible, unmated young women. It was not exactly that Boyer 
was handsome--his hair was too sparse and his nose too thin. But there was 
something about those mobile features and clipped voice that excited women and 
brought forth infatuation. As for the males of the nation--for the most part, 
they rather liked him too, called him a right guy, spoke of him in terms of 
slight amusement, and let it go at that. No pantywaist, this Michael Boyer, at 
any rate.
"Cheerio," Boyer was saying with a belying grin. Then, for the veriest instant 
he hesitated, his face taking on a more serious expression. The tens of 
thousands of enraptured femininity leaned forward, breathing more rapidly. They 
knew what that hesitation, followed by the serious look meant: today's report 
would be a human interest story--something different.
"Our story begins on Ealth-Mars voyage number 668 on the Liner Peter Penguin, 
named after the cartoon character which was so popular a few years back. The 
first officer, Lt. Arthur Rockwell, is on duty in the control room. Fifteen days 
out; Mars will be reached in three days more. The ship has long since been 
rotated so that it approaches Planet 4 rockets-on, ready to splash-fire for 
deceleration 8. The controls are set; there is nothing for Rockwell to do but 
watch the dials and be prepared for an emergency breakdown--something which has 
not occurred for the past three years.
"Suddenly an alarm-bell rings from the gravitometer. Most of you have seen 
pictures of this device, if you haven't had occasion to look over a space-liner. 
But, for the benefit of those of you who may not, I'll describe it for you. lt's 
a small iron ball, about an inch in diameter, suspended in vacuo, centered in a 
large glass globe. Electro-magnets at top and bottom keep it there; along the 
equator of this transparent globe, at 90 degree intervals, are set four 
instruments: the two in the side, open to view, are photoselenic cells; 
diametrically opposite each of these is a lens. Two beams of ultraviolet light, 
crossing each other in the middle, constantly focus on their respective cells. 
But the light does not reach those cells because the iron ball, stationed in the 
center, blocks the flow of beams perfectly.
"This is the gravitometer. Can you picture it? Carefully adjusted to the ship's 
pull, and that of known astronomical bodies, the ball remains in the center of 
the sphere. But let some unknown body approach the ship, and its gravital drag 
will draw the ball in that direction; ever so slightly it will be drawn out of 
alignment. Immediately a tiny ray of light from one or the other of the beams 
finds its way past so that it falls on the cell. An automatic alarm is set off; 
thus the approaching body is sighted and avoided.
"Rockwell leaps to his feet, checks the oncoming direction of the body from the 
dials connected with the gravitometer, then trains the finder through a port. He 
sees a point of light, indicating the body which influenced the instrument; 
rapidly calculates; it will pass close to the ship, but not too close.
"He watches as it grows larger; a puzzled look comes over his face--can this be 
a meteor? He strains his eyes trying to make out the details."
BOYER'S FACE edged closer to the screen; his voice dropped. Throughout the 
nation his listeners likewise drew themselves closer unthinkingly.
"Suddenly his face turns white; he gasps, staggers back. Then he puts his eye to 
the finder's lens again as if unable to trust his senses. Yes, it is! He turns 
on the automatic cameras, rings for the Captain, and paces nervously about the 
room as he waits.
"In a moment Commander Benson appears, turns to the telescope at Rockwell's 
motion. He, too, stares intently and gasps. The two look at each other, then 
Rockwell whispers: `What did you see, sir?'
"The Captain starts to speak, then stops. `Impossible!' he murmurs as he turns 
again to the finder. `Impossible !' They shut off the camera, quickly wheel it 
into the darkroom. Again Benson turns to the finder. `Impossible!' he murmurs 
again and again, then, as Rockwell beckons him over to the chart-table where a 
fresh print has been laid out, `but it is there.'
The two both look out the port, for, by now, the thing has approached close 
enough to be visible to the naked eye. In a few moments, it will be observable 
to the passengers in the observation center. Rockwell whispers to Benson: `It's 
a body, sir, isn't it?'
"Benson nods: `Yes, it's a body, but--
" `But it's too large.' Yes, floating in space is the body of a man, naked save 
for a ragged loincloth of some nondescript material. A young man, well-featured, 
brown hair, his blue eyes staring ahead sightlessly, his mouth set in an 
enigmatic smile. The features and build are decidedly Anglo-Saxon.
"But the most brain-staggering thing about this corpse is its size. It is fully 
sixty feet long from toes to crown, floating silently through the void in an 
orbit of its own.
"Now, from the ship, come cries; the passengers have seen it. Commander and 
officer stare at each other, a new thought in their minds. Whence came this 
thing? A planet of giants? A member of the crew of some extra-Solarian explorer 
from beyond the realm of stars? Or perhaps some unfortunate inhabitant of a 
world torn apart millions of years past in the endless vistas of the universe, a 
body floating aimlessly through the void ever since? Could any of these be the 
solution to the mystery?
"Several hours later, Rockwell looks up from a mass of calculations. `I've got 
it, sir,' he says simply. `It comes from the asteroids, from asteroid number 66. 
The given name of this one is Maia; its orbit goes straight there and apparently 
originated there.'
"What is known about Maia? This thought is uppermost in their minds. But little 
can be found. None has ever been known to have landed there; Maia is but a midge 
among the many thousand worldlets that make up the asteroids."
Boyer paused a moment, ruffling a sheaf of papers to which he referred at times. 
In the background, appropriate music swelled, then died.
"IT IS A MONTH later. A small ship is rocketing its way through the asteroid 
belt, dodging every little while as its reflectors warn of approaching danger. 
All around it space is filled with tiny glowing discs of light. Each is visibly 
moving; each close, dangerously close to the ship. Every once in a while one of 
these lights will seem to flare up, seem to grow tremendously as it comes 
directly at the craft. No human could possibly work the controls with the 
delicate swiftness required. But, as the danger approaches, an automatic reflex 
senses it; simultaneously comes the spurt of a rocket jet, just enough to shunt 
the ship aside thus to avoid the danger.
"Lt. Rockwell calls out, `Maia dead ahead; we'll land in an hour.'
"The other occupant of the scoutship comes forward. He, too, had been on the 
Peter Penguin when the monstrous corpse was sighted. Rockwell has been detailed 
to accompany Dr. Burton on this research-trip. Maia is close now; its disc can 
be made out plainly. A small planet, about twenty miles in diameter as Burton 
measures it.
"The ship decelerates, then swings in close and circles. They can see the 
surface unrolling before them. A strange little planet, containing an 
atmosphere, hills, mountains, rivers, seas, and oceans. Almost an Earth in 
miniature. But the highest mountain is only a few feet high; the oceans are 
shallow lakes, and the widest rivers are but tiny trickles. Vegetation is here; 
green moss and lichens. Is this world filled with tiny animals and microscopic 
fish?
"They come to a desert region. Here, for several miles (hundreds in proportion 
to the other land on the little world) barren ground rolls. It is broken here 
and there by canyons less than a foot deep at the most. Suddenly Burton seizes 
the other by the shoulder. `Look!' he exclaims, pointing.
"It is a cabin. A small, one-room building made up of mud and clay packed 
together to form a sort of adobe. And it is large, about ten feet high, quite 
Earth-size. Behind it is a deep pit where the materials were dug; before it is a 
cleared path leading to where a river flows through the desert. Along the banks 
of this river are plants--earth plants. Wheat, corn, flowers. Lining the bank 
for at least a mile on each side, this strange garden flourishes, although it is 
but a few feet thick.
"And now, in the desert, they see something else. A wreck. It is the remains of 
a small space ship. They circle and land beside the river, testing the 
atmosphere while so doing. It is breathable, but they will need air helmets and 
air condensors to make the required pressure.
"Rockwell lands first. He puts his feet on the ground, carefully takes a step, 
and goes up about thirty feet; his weight on this world is less than one pound. 
Burton quickly gets superweighted shoes for the two of them, but, even so, their 
weight is less than a half-dozen pounds and walking is unnecessary. All they 
have to do is to lift their feet off the ground and flap their arms--they can 
fly quite as well as if they were birds.
"`Look at that wheat,' calls Burton. It is giant wheat, towering at least twenty 
feet into the air. At length, they come to the clay hut, descend to the ground 
and enter. It is a one-room affair--a stove, two beds, a table, shelves 
well-stocked with a large variety of utensils and books. One is Iying open on 
the table--a diary." Boyer paused again, smiling slightly. "Tomorrow, at this 
same time, I shall reveal the amazing contents of this diary"--he held up a 
small volume so that all could see--"which contains the secret of the colossus 
of Maia."
BOYER COUGHED slightly, ruffled the leaves of the Diary. "Much of this," he 
began, "is repetitive. I have, however, selected a series of annotations which 
give a complete story without going into too many unimportant details. There are 
no dates mentioned here--naturally, the writer would have little or no way of 
reckoning Earth-time on Maia. I now quote from the diary of Richard Lyman."
My name is Richard Lyman. I was a passenger on the small space-ship Astrodart, 
en route to Ganymede, third moon of Jupiter, along with my wife and 
seven-year-old son. We were passing the meteor belt when the ship was struck and 
thrown out of control. We finally crashed here on this planetoid; only my son 
and I survived. The air here is very thin, and breathing is difficult. Also, 
there is difficulty in walking because our weight is so slight as to be 
negligible. I have salvaged enough food from the wreck to keep us going for an 
indefinite period, and there is a small, two-foot stream nearby where we can get 
fresh water.
--I have managed to build a hut, making bricks out of clay mixed with water, 
thus making quite a credible little home. It is furnisheed with things salvaged 
from the wreck and we are living comfortably enough. David used to cry often, as 
he missed his mother. But I have taught him not to give way to tears; he must 
learn to aid me. He eats heartily, however.
--I have planted some corn and wheat recovered from the wreck, putting them 
along the banks of the stream. As yet, there has not been time to explore this 
world thoroughly, simple a matter as it should be due to the ease of moving 
about.
--The crops are growing amazingly fast. It is only a few weeks since they were 
planted and already they are full size. This little planet revolves on its axis 
every thirty hours by my watch, but I cannot tell how accurate the watch is in 
relation to Earth-time. The days and nights are warm enough--the days even hot; 
that will be good for the corn. It must be the thin atmosphere.
--I have just finished walking all the way around this world. It is only 59 1/2 
miles in circumference, and, due to the light gravity, it was no trouble at all. 
A strange world, this: there are continents and oceans just as on Earth, but all 
are so very small. I was able to sit on mountain tops and let my feet rest on 
valley floors. And they are real mountains, too--that is what is most difficult 
to grasp. When you see them and note the rock strata and geologic markings, 
exactly of the same type as on Terrestrial mountains, it is really breath-taking 
to realize that they are not the boulders that their size might indicate. I have 
actually waded across oceans, the deepest of which came up to my neck. And, 
strangest of all, is the life on this world. There are tiny, almost microscopic, 
fish in the water. The land is green with mosses and growths that bear a great 
resemblance to trees a few inches high. There are tiny animals as small as, and, 
for the most part, smaller than insects. I am afraid that I must have 
slaughtered thousands of them by accidently stepping on them. A bridge on this 
world would be a tiny twig set across a trickle. I wouldn't recognize it. It is 
like having a world all your own; I am actually growing to like it here.
--Dave is nine today. I brought a strange thing to account now. During all the 
time we have been here, he has been growing at a prodigious rate. He eats a 
terrific amount to keep up with it. I have to skimp quite often on my own meals.
I measured his height; he is actually eight feet tall. It is unbelievable, 
especially since he is perfectly proportioned. He has grown over four feet in 
the two years we have been here, seems to be trying to overtake the wheat which 
reached fifteen feet. I measured myself, too; when I came here, I was five feet 
eleven; now I am six feet four. This is strange--a man of 37 doesn't grow any 
taller, yet I am growing. It is quite slow as compared to David, but fast 
enough. I cannot understand it.
--We have extended our crops, managing now to get a little more to eat than 
before. We are now satisfactorily set for the first time, having found that we 
can eat some of the natural minute growths of this planet. To do so, however, 
would necessitate deforesting the globe eventually, so we content ourselves with 
our own food. It grows monotonous, but we have to bear it. There is no meat at 
all, so we are vegetarians. But we can fish; David walked five miles to the 
ocean (it only takes a few minutes) and set a net of cheese cloth. We got quite 
a number of whales. Yes, real whales, the size of minnows. We eat them as a rare 
delicacy, prepared like sardines.
--I HAVE BEEN teaching David as usual, intending to educate him as best I can. I 
am telling him about Earth and customs there. He remembers a great deal, of 
course; still, a child's impressions are sometimes quite a bit garbled and 
vague. He's a bright boy--an odd thing to say when he is taller than I am.
--It is now three yeare since we landed here; three Earthyears, that is. I have 
to go on the basis of my watch which is still running well. A year on this 
asteroid, I have calculated, must be around 1587 Earth days, but I cannot be 
sure. Life has become very dull save for my teaching David. He has grown 
astoundingly, now being ten feet high. I am six feet eight; the plants grew to 
twenty feet, then stopped. I think I am beginning to solve the enigma of our 
growth.
--It is due to the gravity or rather, the lack of gravity. On this world, we 
weigh practically nothing. Actually, I weigh a little over a pound--although the 
term has no meaning here. Now, what about growth: why do we grow to only six 
feet on Earth? It is because, among other things, our weight slows down our 
body. The glands of growth are impeded by this. Growth is a constant battle 
between gravity and the glands; somewhere in the twenties we stop. This growth 
is controlled by the pituitary gland at the base of the brain and aided somewhat 
by other organs. On Earth, this gland is powerful enough to enable us to reach 
six feet in twenty years; that is, of course, in round numbers. Now David is 
growing; his glands are working at Earth speed and as strong as if he were on 
Earth. But he isn't; the gravity here is so small as to be negligible, thus his 
glands have it all their own way; his growth is unimpeded by weight. He will 
continue to grow at a terrific pace till he is mature. How tall he will be then, 
I hesitate to calculate.
As for myself: why do I keep growing although I matured long ago? It is because 
the other glands also have something to do with growth. They help to rep]ace my 
worn out body cells by growing new ones. Cells are always being worn out, a 
natural process. But, with the loss of gravity, even this renewing of cells is 
able to cause one to grow taller. Of course, it is nothing likie the pace at 
which David is growing. My height will never be beyond that of the Earth giants.
--What about the natural inhabitants of Maia: why aren't they gigantic, too? It 
is because they evolved here; a tiny creature is more natural to a tiny world. 
They are about the same size in relation to Maia as Terrestrials are to Earth. 
To them, Maia is as large as Earth, its atmosphere as thick, its oceans as deep 
and as wide. It is we who are out of proportion. The idea is amazing, but 
perfectly logical.
MICHAEL BOYER looked up. "Lyman was stretching the case, quite a bit, of 
course," he smiled. "If the fauna and flora of Maia was in proportion to the 
size of Maia as Terrestrial flora and fauna are to Earth's diameter, then he and 
David could not have discovered them with a microscope. To go on with the 
diary..."
--We have been making a map of Maia, getting great delight out of naming the 
various places. There is, for example, David Ocean and Richard Ocean, Triangle 
Continent and Lyman Continent. We have given romantic names to everything. One 
large body of land we named Tuttle Continent after the man who discovered this 
world. I might mention here that our cabin is situated in the middle of 
Astrodart Desert, close by the River Nile which flows from Gnome Mountains to 
the David Sea.
--We both sleep outdoors at night; indeed, David can no longer come inside; he 
is too big.
--David has extended our crops. He has proceeded to cut a canal a mile long 
diverting another river to ours. This work took only a few days. He is quite 
strong even for his size and it is easy for him. He says that he will need 
plenty of food, setting out also to plant wheat and corn seeds by all the rivers 
and waters nearby. lt will go hard with the native vegetation.
--Four years. We expect fully to live our lives here. No space ships visit the 
asteroids--they would never come to this world save by accident. Why do I keep 
this diary, I wonder?
David is now thirteen feet tall, even though he is only eleven years old. As for 
myself, I am seven feet tall. Not much difference now, though; I am used to 
seeing my son grow. He is taller every morning; it is detectable at once.
Our life has settled down to a dull routine. David is busy at the present time 
exploring the ocean bottoms. All he has to do is stand in the middle of the 
oceans, hold his breath, and plunge his head under water. He can thus observe at 
first hand the contours of the sea bottom; he thinks he has discovered several 
lost continents.
As for myself, the only kick I get out of life is lying for hours on my stomach 
at the edge of the desert where the forest comes right up to it. I have a 
magnifying glass in hand and stare through it at the tiny animals going about 
their business. Most of them are insect-like, but I am sure some of them are 
mammals or reptiles. However, they resemble none on earth.
--Seven years have passed since the wreck. Three since I last made a note in 
this book. I had almost forgotten about it. But I decided to keep it up. David 
is a full twenty-five feet as best as I can measure; I am eight. He no longer 
lives with me; he is afraid of doing damage to the cabin and the crops. He 
emigrated to Triangle Continent on the other side of the world; there he lives, 
having uprooted most of the native plants there and flattened out the ground. 
He's planted his own fields all over the place so that the planet looks like a 
vast farm; the desert cabin and river crops are mine. To irrigate his great farm 
he has dug many canals across his land from the seas; thus we still manage to 
get enough food. He is still young, only fourteen years old. I am sure that he 
pines for more company but he does not reveal this to me; I am used to being a 
hermit.
--In these years I have been making a catalogue and classification of all the 
different forms of life on Maia. I've rigged up a simple microscope out of 
several lenses salvaged from broken astronomical instruments. With this, I have 
discovered and classified thousands of varieties of flora and fauna, made 
studies of their life-habits. One must do something; I haven't found any 
intelligent beings yet.
--IT IS DAVID'S eighteenth birthday. He is here with me tonight, or rather, 
outside in the desert, sleeping. I measured him today; he lay flat on the ground 
and I walked from his head to his toes with a measure. He is a little over 
forty-three feet tall. In order for us to converse, he must whisper; even that 
is deafening. He has to lie down for me to yell in his ear; the result is that 
we do not talk much. He has succeeded in making his grain reach a height of 
forty feet by selective breeding and careful planting. I shall not try this 
myself as I have difficulty in harvesting my huge stalks anyway. He tells me I 
am becoming old; I believe him; the hermit's life does not agree with me.
David is quite moody. He is tired of being alone, says there is no hope for him 
or anything to live for. If a rescue ship did come, it could take me, but never 
him. He would be unable to live anywhere except Maia, and there is no joy in 
living here. He wants to commit suicide, but he will not do so because of me. I 
fear for him when I am gone.
--It is over fourteen years since we have been stranded here. Earth is like a 
dream. But, the time has passed quickly, now that I look back on it. I am 
old--very much older than I would be on Earth, I know. Haven't been feeling well 
for a long time--I have a bad cough and a dull pain in my heart. David is very 
anxious about me, with me all the time. He is a regular colossus, too--over 
sixty feet tall.
I fear I have not long to live. David looks up at the sky strangely, sometimes. 
Especially at that tiny green star that is Earth. There is something in his 
mind, but he will not tell me what it is. My chest pains again.
MICHAEL BOYER closed the book softly. "That," he whispered, "is the last entry. 
There is, however, a little more.
"We must go back with Rockwell and Burton to Maia. They have just found the 
book; have just read the final entry. In the cabin are to be found the notebooks 
of which Richard Lyman speaks, the notebooks wherein he painstakingly and 
scientifically classified the flora and fauna of the asteroid.
"They search about the cabin from a position in the air. Suddenly, behind the 
cabin, Rockwell sights something. They descend; it is a cemetery. Here are 
several rude mounds and improvised head pieces. On pieces of metal are scratched 
names --the names of the passengers who had been killed in the first crash of 
the Astrodart. Over to one side is a mound larger than the rest; just before it, 
they notice long cuts in the ground. Rockwell studies one of them; it is in the 
form of the letter "R". He propels himself into the air so as to look down upon 
the ground, calling Burton as he does so. There, around the mound, cut in 
letters six feet long, is the name RICHARD LYMAN.
"What has become of the son? They search around for a clue; at length they find 
another cut in the ground--an arrow pointing out into the desert.
"Out there they come upon more writing, cut into the face of the planet in 
letters ten to fifteen feet high. It is the last message of David Lyman: `Father 
died yesterday; I buried him in the cemetery. I do not want to live any more; 
there is nothing here for me without him. I cannot take life calmly the way he 
did; I am young--but I cannot enjoy the rights of youth to companionship, love, 
or adventure. Never could I be rescued; I am too large. Already, I find it hard 
to breathe because of my great size and I am still growing.
"`The horizon is so close here I am always afraid of falling off. I am going to 
end it all tonight when Earth comes out--I shall run across the desert and leap 
with all my might. My body will take an orbit that someday will bring it within 
that of Mars. Perhaps someday a space ship will find me; then maybe they will 
take me home. I would rather die on Earth than live on Maia any longer.' It was 
signed David Lyman.
"Rockwell and Burton follow the footprints across the desert, the prints of bare 
soles nine feet long. Soon they see where the prints become farther and farther 
apart, as if the maker had been running and bounding. Then, finally, they come 
to the last set; deep down they are dug, and much dirt is thrown back as if a 
tremendous being had made one vast terrific leap there. A leap out into the 
realm of the airless void-- a leap," and here Boyer's voice caught a little, 
"that would bring a son of Earth back to his native home."



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