Chapters 7
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1 01 - Deadly City-Part 1 34:39
Fairman. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Kirk Ziegler. The End of the Deadly City, The End of the Deadly City. He awoke slowly. Like a man plodding knee-deep through the thick stuff of nightmares. There was no definite line between the dream state and wakefulness, only a dawning knowledge that he was finally conscious and would have to do something about it. He opened his eyes, but this made no difference. The blackness remained. The pain in his head brightened, and he reached up and found the big lump they'd evidently put on his head for good measure. A margin of safety. They must have been prudent people, because the bang on the head had hardly been necessary.
The spiked drink which they had given him would have felled an ox. He remembered going down into the darkness after drinking it, and of knowing what it was. He remembered the helpless feeling. It did not worry him now. He was a philosophical person, and the fact that he was still alive cancelled out the drink and its result. He thought, with savor, of the chestnut-haired girl who had watched him take the drink. She had worn a very low bodice, and that was where his eyes had been at the last moment, on the beautiful, tan breasts, until they wavered and puddled into a blur, and then into nothing. The chestnut-haired girl had been nice, But now she was gone, and there were more pressing problems.
He sat up, his hands behind him at the ends of stiff arms, clawing into long-undisturbed dust and filth. His movement stirred the dust, and it rose into his nostrils. He straightened and banged his head against a low ceiling. The pain made him sick for a minute, and he sat down to regain his senses. He cursed the ceiling, as a matter of course, in an agonized whisper. Ready to move again, he got onto his hands and knees and crawled cautiously forward, exploring as he went. His hand pushed through cobwebs and found a rough cement wall. He went around and around. It was all cement, all solid. Hell, they hadn't sealed him up in this place. There had been a way in, so there had to be a way out. He went around again.
Then he tried the ceiling and found the opening, a wooden trap covering a four-by-four hole, covering it snugly. He pushed the trap away, and daylight streamed in. He raised himself up until he was eye-level with a discarded shaving cream jar lying on the bricks of an alley. He could read the trademark on the jar and the slogan. For the meticulous man. He pulled himself up into the alley. As a result of an orderly childhood, he replaced the wooden trap and kicked the shaving cream jar against a garbage can. He rubbed his chin and looked up and down the alley. It was high noon. An uncovered sun blazed down to tell him this. And there was no one in sight. He started walking toward the nearer mouth of the alley.
He had been in that hole a long time, he decided. This conviction came from his hunger and the heavy growth of beard he'd sprouted. Twenty-four hours, maybe longer. That Mickey must have been a loo-loo. He walked out into the cross street. It was empty. No people. No cars parked at the curbs. Only a cat washing its dirty face on a tenement stoop across the street. He looked up at the tenement windows. They stared back. There was an empty, deserted look about them. The cat flowed down the front steps of the tenement and away toward the rear, and he was truly alone. He rubbed his harsh chin. Must be Sunday, he thought. Then he knew it could not be Sunday. He'd gone into the tavern on a Tuesday night.
That would make it five days. Too long. He had been walking, and now he was at an intersection where he could look up and down a new street. There were no cars, no people, not even a cat. A sign overhanging the sidewalk said, Restaurant. He went in under the sign and tried the door. It was locked. There were no lights inside. He turned away, grinning to reassure himself. Everything was all right. Just some kind of a holiday. In a big city like Chicago, the people go away on hot summer holidays. They go to the beaches and the parks, and sometimes you can't see a living soul on the streets. And of course you can't find any cars, because the people use them to drive to the beaches and the parks and out into the country.
He breathed a little easier and started walking again. Sure, that was it. Now what the hell holiday was it? He tried to remember. He couldn't think of what holiday it could be. Maybe they dreamed up a new one. He grinned at that, but the grin was a little tight and he had to force it. He forced it carefully until his teeth showed white. Pretty soon he would come to a section where everybody hadn't gone to the beaches and parks and a restaurant would be open and he'd get a good meal. A meal? He fumbled toward his pockets. He dug into them and found a handkerchief and a button from his cuff. He remembered that the button had hung loose, so he'd pulled it off to keep from losing it. He hadn't lost the button, but everything else was gone.
He scowled. The least they could have done was to leave a man eating money. He turned another corner into another street, and it was like the one before. No cars, no people, not even any cats. Panic welled up. He stopped and whirled around to look behind him. No one was there. He walked in a tight circle, looking in all directions. The windows stared back at him, eyes that didn't care where everybody had gone or when they would come back. The windows could wait. The windows were not hungry. Their heads didn't ache. They weren't scared. He began walking his path, veered outward from the sidewalk until he was in the exact center of the silent street. He walked down the worn white line. When he got to the next corner, he noticed that the traffic signals were not working.
Black, empty eyes. His pace quickened. He walked faster, ever faster until he was trotting on the brittle pavement. His sharp steps echoing against the buildings. Faster. Another corner. And he was running, filled with panic, down the empty street. The girl opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was a blur, but it began to clear as her mind cleared. The ceiling became a surface of dirty, cracked plaster, and there was a feeling of dirt and squalor in her mind. It was always like that at these times of awakening. But doubly bitter now, because she had never expected to awaken again. She reached down and pulled the wadded sheet from beneath her legs and spread it over them. She looked at the bottle on the shabby bed table.
There were three sleeping pills left in it. The girl's eyes clouded with resentment. You'd think seven pills would have done it. She reached down and took the sheet with both hands and drew it taut over her stomach. This was a gesture of frustration. Seven hadn't been enough, and here she was again, awake in the world she wanted to leave. Awake with the necessary edge of determination gone. She pulled the sheet into a wad and threw it at the wall. She got up and walked to the window and looked out. Bright daylight. She wondered how long she had slept. A long time, no doubt. Her naked thigh pressed against the window sill, and her bare stomach touched the dirty pane. Naked in the window, but it didn't matter, because it gave on to an air-shaft and other windows so caked with grime as if to be of no value as windows.
But even aside from that, it didn't matter. It didn't matter in the least. She went to the washstand, her bare feet making no sound on the worn rug. She turned on the faucets, but no water came. No water, and she had a terrible thirst. She went to the door and had thrown the bolt before she remembered again that she was naked. She turned back and saw the half-empty Pepsi-Cola bottle on the floor beside the bed-table. Someone else had left it there. How many nights ago? But she drank it anyhow. Even though it was flat and warm, it soothed her throat. She bent over to pick up garments from the floor, and dizziness came, forcing her to the edge of the bed. After a while, it passed, and she got her legs into one of the garments and pulled it on.
Taking cosmetics from her bag, she went again to the washstand and tried the taps. Still no water. She combed her hair. Jerking the comb through the mats and gnarles with a satisfying viciousness. When the hair fell into its natural blonde curls, she applied powder and lipstick. She went back to the bed, picked up her brassiere, and began putting it on as she walked to the cracked, full-length mirror on the closet door. With the brassiere in place, she stood looking at her slim image. She assayed herself with complete impersonality. She shouldn't look as good as she did, not after the beating she'd taken, not after the long nights and the days and the years, even though the years did not add up to very many.
She could be someone's wife, she thought, with wry humor. I could be sending kids to school and going out to argue with the grocer about the tomatoes being too soft. I don't look bad at all. She raised her eyes until they were staring into their own images in the glass, and she spoke aloud in a low, wondering voice. She said, Who the hell am I, anyway? Who am I? A body named Linda. That's who I am. No, that's what I am. A body, not a who. It's a what. 114 pounds of well-built, blonde body called Linda. Model 1931. No fender dents. Nice paint job. Come in and drive me away. Price tag. She bit into the lower lip she'd just finished reddening and turned quickly to walk to the bed and wriggle into her dress.
A gray and green cotton. The only one she had. She picked up her bag and went to the door. There she stopped to turn and thumb her nose at the three sleeping pills in the bottle before she went out and closed the door after herself. The desk clerk was away from the cubbyhole from which he presided over the lobby, and there were no loungers to undress her as she walked toward the door. Nor was there any one out in the street. The girl looked north and south. No cars in sight either. No buses waddling up to the curb to spew out passengers. The girl went five doors north and tried to enter a place called Tim's Hamburger House. As the lock held and the door refused to open, she saw that there were no lights on inside.
No one behind the counter. The place was closed. She walked on down the street, followed only by the lonesome sound of her own clicking heels. All the stores were closed. All the lights were out. All the people were gone. He was a huge man, and the place of concealment of the Chicago Avenue police station was very small, merely an indentation low in the cement wall behind two steam pipes. The big man had lain in this niche for forty-eight hours. He had slugged a man over the turn of a card in a pool room pinochle game, had been arrested in due course, And was awaiting the disposal of his case. He was sorry he had slugged the man. He had not had any deep hatred for him, but rather a rage of the moment that demanded violence as its outlet.
Although he did not consider it a matter of any great importance, he did not look forward to the six-month jail sentence he would doubtless be given. His opportunity to hide in the niche had come as accidentally and as suddenly as his opportunity to slug his card partner. It had come after the prisoners had been advised of the crisis and were being herded into vans for transportation elsewhere. He had snatched the opportunity without giving any consideration whatever to the crisis. Probably because he did not have enough imagination to fear anything, however terrible, Which might occur in the future. And because he treasured his freedom above all else, freedom for today, tomorrow could take care of itself.
Now, after 48 hours, he writhed and twisted his huge body out of the niche and onto the floor of the furnace room. His legs were numb and he found that he could not stand. He managed to sit up and was able to bend his back enough so his great hands could reach his legs and begin to massage life back into them. So elementally brutal was this man that he pounded his legs until they were black and blue, before feeling return to them. In a few minutes he was walking out of the furnace room through the jailhouse, which should now be utterly deserted. But was it? He went slowly. Gliding along close to the walls to reach the front door unchallenged. He walked out into the street. It was daylight, and the street was completely deserted.
The man took a deep breath and grinned. "'I'll be damned,' he muttered. "'I'll be double and triple damned. They're all gone. Every damn one of them run off like rats, and I'm the only one left. I'll be damned!' A tremendous sense of exultation seized him. He clenched his fists and laughed loud, his laugh echoing up the street. He was happier than he had ever been in his quick, violent life. And his joy was that of a child locked in a pantry with a huge chocolate cake. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, looked up the street, began walking. Then he grinned. He was sure they had not. He began walking in long strides toward Clark Street, and toward the still heart of the empty city. He was a slim, pale-skinned little man, and very dangerous.
He was also very clever. Eventually they would have found out, but he had been clever enough to deceive them, and now they would never know. There was great wealth in his family, and with the rest of them occupied with leaving the city, and taking what valuables they could on such short notice, he had been put in charge of one of the chauffeurs. The chauffeur had been given the responsibility of getting the pale-skinned young man out of the city, but the young man had caused several delays, until all the rest were gone. Then, meekly enough, he had accompanied the chauffeur to the garage. The chauffeur got behind the wheel of the last remaining car, a Cadillac sedan, and the young man had gotten into the rear seat.
But before the chauffeur could start the motor, the young man hit him on the head with a tire bar he had taken from a shelf as they had entered the garage. The bar went deep into the chauffeur's skull with a solid sound, and thus the chauffeur found the death he was in the very act of fleeing. The young man pulled the dead chauffeur from the car and laid him on the cement floor. He laid him down very carefully, so that he was in the exact centre of a large square of outlined cement, with his feet pointing straight north and his outstretched arms pointing south. The young man placed the chauffeur's cap very carefully upon his chest, because neatness pleased him. Then he got into the car, started it, and headed east toward Lake Michigan and the downtown section.
After traveling three or four miles, he turned the car off the road and drove it into a telephone post. Then he walked until he came to some high weeds. He laid down in the weeds and waited. He knew there would probably be a last vanguard of militia hunting for stragglers. If they saw a moving car, they would investigate. They would take him into custody and force him to leave the city. This, he felt, they had no right to do. All his life he had been ordered about, told to do this and that and the other thing. Stupid orders from stupid people. Idiots who went so far as to claim the whole city would be destroyed, just to make people do as they said. God! The ends to which stupid people would go in order to assert their wills over brilliant people.
The young man lay in the weeds and dozed off, his mind occupied with the pleasant memory of the tire-iron settling into the skull of the chauffeur. After a while he awoke and heard the cars of the last vanguard passing down the road. They stopped, inspected the Cadillac, and found it serviceable. They took it with them. But they did not search the weeds along the road. When they had disappeared toward the west, the young man came back to the road and began walking east, in toward the city. Complete destruction in two days? Preposterous! The young man smiled. The girl was afraid. For hours she had walked the streets of the empty city, and the fear Strengthened by weariness, was now mounting toward terror.
One face, she whispered. Just one person coming out of a house or walking across the street. That's all I ask. Someone to tell me what this is all about. If I can find one person, I won't be afraid anymore. And the irony of it struck her. A few hours previously, she had attempted suicide. Sick of herself and of all the people, she had tried to end her own life. Therefore, by acknowledging death as the answer, she should now have no fear whatever of anything. Reconciled to crossing the bridge into death, no facet of life should have held terror for her. But the empty city did hold terror. One face, one moving form was all she asked for. Then, a second irony. When she saw the man at the corner of Washington and Wells, her terror increased.
They saw each other at almost the same moment. Both stopped and stared. Fingers of panic ran up the girl's spine. The man raised a hand, and the spell was broken. The girl turned and ran, and there was more terror in her than there had been before. She knew how absurd this was, but still she ran blindly. What had she to fear? She knew all about men, all the things men could do they had already done to her. Murder was the ultimate, but she was fresh from a suicide attempt. Death should hold no terrors for her. She thought of these things as the man's footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned into a narrow alley seeking a hiding place. She found none, and the man turned in after her. She found a passageway, entered with the same blindness which had brought her into the alley.
There was a steel door at the end and a brick lying by the sill. The door was locked. She picked up the brick and turned. The man skidded on the filthy alley surface as he turned into the areaway. The girl raised the brick over her head. Keep away! Stay away from me! Wait a minute. Take it easy. I'm not going to hurt you. Get away! Her arm moved downward. The man rushed in and caught her wrist. The brick went over his shoulder, and the nails of her other hand raked his face. He seized her without regard for niceties, and they went to the ground. She fought with everything she had, and he methodically neutralized all her weapons, her hands, her legs, her teeth, until she could not move. Leave me alone, please!
What's wrong with you? I'm not going to hurt you, but I'm not going to let you hit me with a brick either. What do you want? Why did you chase me? Look, I'm a peaceful guy, but I'm not going to let you get away. I spent all afternoon looking for somebody. I found you, and you ran away. I came after you. I haven't done anything to you. That's silly talk. Come on, grow up. I said I'm not going to hurt you. Let me up. So you can run away again? Not for a while. I want to talk to you. I won't run. I was scared, and I don't know why. You're hurting me. He got up, gingerly, and lifted her to her feet. He smiled, still holding both her hands. I'm sorry. I guess it's natural for you to be scared. My name is Frank Brooks.
I just want to find out what the hell happened to this town. He let her withdraw her hands, but he still blocked her escape. She moved a pace backward and straightened her clothing. I don't know what happened. I was looking for someone, too. He smiled again. And then you ran. I don't know why. I guess. What's your name? Nora. Nora Spade. You slept through it, too? Yes, yes. I slept through it and came out and they were all gone. Let's get out of this alley. He preceded her out, but he waited for her when there was room for them to walk side by side, and she did not try to run away. That phase was evidently over. "'I got slipped a Mickey in a tavern,' Frank Brooks said. "'Then they slugged me and put me in a hole.' His eyes questioned.
She felt their demand and said, "'I was asleep in my hotel room.' "'They overlooked you?' "'I guess so.' "'Then you don't know anything about it?' "'Nothing. Something terrible must have happened.' "'Let's go down this way,' Frank said, and they moved toward Madison Street.' He had taken her arm, and she did not pull away. Rather, she walked invitingly close to him. She said, It's so spooky, so empty. I guess that's what scared me. It would scare anybody. There must have been an evacuation of some kind. Maybe the Russians are going to drop a bomb. Frank shook his head. That wouldn't explain it. I mean, the Russians wouldn't let us know ahead of time. Besides, the army would be here. Everybody wouldn't be gone.
There's been a lot of talk about germ warfare. Do you suppose the water, maybe, has been poisoned? He shook his head. The same thing holds true. Even if they moved the people out, the army would be here. I don't know. It just doesn't make sense. It happened, so it has to make sense. It was something that came up all of a sudden. They didn't have much more than twenty-four hours. He stopped suddenly and looked at her. We've got to get out of here. Nora Spade smiled for the first time, but without humor. How? I haven't seen one car. The buses aren't running. His mind was elsewhere. They had started walking again. Funny, I didn't think of that before. Think of what? That anybody left in this town is a dead pigeon.
The only reason they'd clear out a city would be to get away from certain death. That would mean death is here for anybody that stays. Funny, I was so busy looking for somebody to talk to that I never thought of that. I did. Is that what you were scared of? Not particularly. I'm not afraid to die. It was something else that scared me. The aloneness, I guess. We'd better start walking west. Out of the city. Maybe we'll find a car or something. I don't think we'll find any cars. He drew her to a halt and looked into her face. You aren't afraid at all, are you? She thought for a moment. No, I guess I'm not. Not of dying, that is. Dying is a normal thing. But I was afraid of the empty streets. Nobody around.
That was weird. It isn't weird now? Not—not as much. I wonder how much time we've got. Nora shrugged. I don't know, but I'm hungry. We can fix that. I broke into a restaurant a few blocks back and got myself a sandwich. I think there's still food around. They couldn't take it all with them. They were on Madison Street, and they turned east on the south side of the street. Nora said, I wonder if there's any other people still here, like us. I think there must be. Not very many, but a few. They would have had to clean four million people out overnight. It stands to reason they must have missed a few. Did you ever try to empty a sack of sugar? Really empty it? It's impossible. Some of the grains always stick to the sack.
A few minutes later, the wisdom of this observation was proven when they came to a restaurant with the front window broken out and saw a man and a woman sitting at one of the tables. He was a huge man with a shock of black hair and a mouth slightly open, showing a set of incredibly white teeth. He waved an arm and shouted, Come on in! Come on in, for Christ's sake, and sit down! "'We got beer and roast beef, and the beer's still cold. Come on in and meet Mina.' This was different, Nora thought. Not eerie. Not weird like seeing a man standing on a deserted street corner with no one else around. This seemed normal, natural, and even the smashed window didn't detract too much from the naturalness.
They went inside. There were chairs at the table, and they sat down. The big man did not get up. He waved a hand toward his companion and said, "'This is Meena. Ain't she something? I found her sitting at an empty bar, scared to death. We came to an understanding, and I brought her along.' He grinned at the woman and winked. "'We came to a real understanding, didn't we, Meena?' Meena was a completely colorless woman of perhaps thirty-five. Her skin was smooth and pale, and she wore no makeup of any kind. Her hair was drawn straight back into a bun. The hair had no predominating color. It was somewhere between light brown and blonde. She smiled a little sadly, but the laugh did not cover her worn, tired look.
It seemed more like a gesture of obedience than anything else. Yes, we came to an understanding. I'm Jim Wilson, the big man boomed. I was in the Chicago Avenue jug for slugging a guy in a card game. They kinda overlooked me when they cleaned the joint out. He winked again. I kinda helped them overlook me. Then I found Mina. There was a tremendous relish in his words. Frank started introductions which Nora Spade cut in on. Maybe you know what happened? She asked. Wilson shook his head. I was in the jug, and they didn't tell us. They just started cleaning out the joint. There was talk in the bullpen, an invasion or something. Nobody knew for sure. Have some beer and meat. Nora turned to the quiet Mina.
Did you hear anything? Nah, Wilson said with a kind of affectionate contempt. She don't know anything about it. She lived in some attic dump and was down with a sore throat. She took some pills or something, and when she woke up, they were gone. I went to work and... Mina began, but Wilson cut her off. She swabs out some joints on Chicago Avenue for a living, and that was how she happened to be sitting in that tavern. It's payday, and Mina was waiting for her dough. He exploded into laughter and slapped the table with a huge hand. Can you beat that? Waiting for her pay at a time like this. Frank Brooks set down his beer bottle. The beer was cold and it tasted good. Have you met anybody else? There must be some other people around.
Uh-uh. Haven't met anybody but Mina. He turned his eyes on the woman again, then got to his feet. Come on, Mina. You and I got to have a little conference. We got things to talk about. Grinning, he walked toward the rear of the restaurant. Mina got up more slowly. She followed him behind the counter and into the rear of the place. Alone with Nora, Frank said, You aren't eating. Want me to look for something else? No, I'm not very hungry. I was just wondering. Wondering about what? When it will happen. When whatever's going to happen. You know what I mean. I'd rather know what's going to happen. I hate puzzles. It's hell to have to get killed and not know what killed you. We aren't being very sensible, are we?
How do you mean? We should at least act normal. I don't get it. Nora frowned in slight annoyance. Normal people would be trying to reach safety. They wouldn't be sitting in a restaurant drinking beer. We should be trying to get away. Even if it does mean walking, normal people would be trying to get away. Frank stared at his bottle for a moment. "'We should be scared stiff, shouldn't we?' It was Nora's turn to ponder. "'I'm not sure. Maybe not. I know I'm not fighting anything inside. Fear, I mean. I just don't seem to care one way or the other.' "'I care,' Frank replied. "'I care. I don't want to die. But we're faced with a situation, and either way it's a gamble.' We might be dead before I finish this bottle of beer.
If that's true, why not sit here and be comfortable? Or we might have time to walk far enough to get out of range of whatever it is that chased everybody. Which way do you think it is? I don't think we have time to get out of town. They cleaned it out too fast. We'd need at least four or five hours to get away. If we had that much time, the army, or whoever did it... Would still be around. Maybe they didn't know themselves when it's going to happen. He made an impatient gesture. What difference does it make? We're in a situation we didn't ask to get in. Our luck put us here, and I'm damned if I'm going to kick a hole in the ceiling and yell for help. Nora was going to reply, but at that moment Jim Wilson came striding out front.
He wore his big grin, and he carried another half-dozen bottles of beer. "'Mean'll be out in a minute,' he said. "'Women are always slower than hell.' He dropped into a chair and snapped the cap off a beer-bottle with his thumb. He held the bottle up and squinted through it, sighing gustily. "'Man, I ain't never had it so good.' He tilted the bottle in salute, and drank.
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2 02 - Deadly City-Part 2 34:08
The sun was lowering in the west now, and when Mina reappeared it seemed that she materialised from the shadows, so quietly did she move. Jim Wilson opened another bottle and put it before her. Here, have a drink, baby. Obediently she tilted the bottle and drank. "'What do you plan to do?' Frank asked. "'It'll be dark soon,' Wilson said. "'We ought to go out and try to scound some flashlights. I bet the power plants are dead. Probably aren't any flashlights either. Are you going to stay here?' Nora asked. "'Here in the loop.' He seemed surprised. "'Why not? A man'd be a fool to walk out on all this.' All he wants to eat and drink. No goddamned cops around. The life of Riley and why should walk out?
Aren't you afraid of what's going to happen? I don't give a good goddamned what's going to happen. What the hell? Something's always going to happen. They didn't evacuate the city for nothing, Frank said. You mean we can all get killed? Jim Wilson laughed. Sure we can. We could have got killed last week, too. We could have got batted in the can by a truck any time we crossed the street. He emptied his bottle, threw it accurately at a mirror over the cash register. The crash was thunderous. "'Trouble with you people. You're worry-warts,' he said with an expansive grin. "'Let's go get some flashlights so we can find our way to bed in one of those fancy hotels.' He got to his feet, and Mina arose also, a little tired.
A little apprehensive, but entirely submissive. Jim Wilson said, "'Come on, baby. I sure won't want to lose you.' He grinned at the others. "'You guys coming?' Frank's eyes met Nora's. He shrugged. "'Why not?' he said. "'Unless you want to start walking.' "'I'm too tired,' Nora said. As they stepped out through the smashed window, Both Nora and Frank half expected to see other forms moving up and down Madison Street. But there was no one. Only the unreal desolation of the lonely pavement and the dark-windowed buildings. The biggest ghost town on earth, Frank muttered. Nora's hand slipped into Frank's. He squeezed it, and neither of them seemed conscious of the contact. I wonder, Nora said, Maybe this is only one of them.
Maybe all the other big cities are evacuated too. Jim Wilson and Mina were walking ahead. He turned. If you two can't sleep without finding out what's up, it's plenty easy to do. You think we could find a battery radio in some store? Frank asked. Hell no! They'll all be gone. But all you have to do is snoop around in some newspaper office. If you can read, you can find out what happened. It seemed strange to Frank that he had not thought of this. Then he realized he hadn't tried very hard to think of anything at all. He was surprised also, at his lack of fear. He's gone through life pretty much taking things as they came, as big a sucker as the next man, making more than his quota of mistakes and blunders.
Finding himself completely alone in a deserted city for the first time in his life, he had naturally fallen prey to sudden fright. But that had gradually passed, and now he was able to accept the new reality fairly passively. He wondered if that wasn't pretty much the way of all people. New situations brought a surge of whatever emotion fitted the picture. Then the emotion subsided, and the new thing became the ordinary. This, he decided, was the manner in which humanity survived. Humanity took things as they came. Pile on enough of anything, and it becomes the ordinary. Jim Wilson had picked up a garbage box and hurled it through the window of an electric shop. The glass came down with a crash that shuddered up the empty, darkening street and grumbled off into silence.
Jim Wilson went inside. "'I'll see what I can find. You stay out here and watch for cops.' His laughter echoed out as he disappeared. Mina stood waiting silently, unmoving, and somehow she reminded Frank of a dumb animal, an unreasoning creature with no mind of her own, waiting for a signal from her master. Strangely, he resented this, but at the same time could find no reason for his resentment, except the feeling that no one should appear as much a slave as Mina. Jim Wilson reappeared in the window. He motioned to Mina. "'Come on in, baby. You and me's got to have a little conference.' His exaggerated wink was barely perceptible in the gloom as Mina stepped over the sill into the store. "'Won't be long, folks,' Wilson said in high good humor, and the two of them vanished into the darkness beyond.
Frank Brooks glanced at Nora, but her face was turned away. He cursed softly under his breath. He said, "'Wait a minute,' and went into the store through the huge, jagged opening.' Inside he could barely make out the counters. The place was larger than it had appeared from the outside. Wilson and Mina were nowhere about. Frank found the counter he was looking for, and pawed out several flashlights. They were only empty tubes, but he found a case of batteries in a panel compartment against the wall. "'Who's there?' "'Me. I came in for some flashlights. Couldn't you wait?' It's getting dark. You don't have to be so damn impatient. Jim Wilson's voice was hostile and surly. Frank stifled his quick anger.
We'll be outside, he said. He found Nora waiting where he'd left her. He loaded batteries into four flashlights before Jim Wilson and Mina reappeared. Wilson's good humor was back. How about the Morrison or Sherman, he said. Or do you want to get real ritzy and walk up to the Drake? My feet hurt, Mina said. The woman spoke so rarely, Frank Brooks was startled by her words. Morrison's the closest, Jim Wilson said. Let's go. He took Mina by the arm and swung off up the street. Frank and Nora fell in behind. Nora shivered. Frank, holding her arm, asked, Cold? No, it's just all unreal again. I see what you mean. I never expected to see the loop dark. I can't get used to it. A vagrant whispering wind picked up a scrap of paper and whirled it along the street.
It caught against Nora's ankle. She jerked perceptibly and kicked the scrap away. The wind caught it again and spiraled it away into the darkness. I want to tell you something, she said. Tell away. I told you before that I slept through the—the evacuation, or whatever it was. That wasn't exactly true. I did sleep through it, but it was my fault I put myself to sleep. I don't get it. I tried to kill myself. Sleeping tablets—seven of them—but they weren't enough. Frank said nothing while they paced off ten steps through the dark canyon that was Madison Street. Nora wondered if he had heard. "'I tried to commit suicide.' "'Why?' "'I was tired of life, I guess.' "'What do you want? Sympathy?' The sudden harshness in his voice brought her eyes around, but his face was a white blur.
"'No, no, I don't think so.' "'Well, you won't get it from me. Suicide is silly. You can have troubles and all that. Everybody has them. But suicide?' Why did you try it? A high, thin whine, a wordless vibration of eloquence, needled out of the darkness into their ears. The shock was like a sudden shower of ice-water dashed over their bodies. Nora's fingers dug into Frank's arm, but he did not feel the cutting nails. Were there someone out there in the street? Twenty-five feet ahead of where Frank and Nora stood frozen, there burst the booming voice of Jim Wilson. "'What the hell was that?' And the shock was dispelled. The white circle from Wilson's flash bit out across the blackness to outline movement on the far side of the street.
Then Frank Brooks' light, and Nora's, went exploring. "'There's somebody over there,' Wilson bellowed. "'Hey, you! Show your face!' Quit sneaking around. Frank's light swept an arc that clearly outlined the buildings across the street, and then weakened as it swung westward. There was something or someone back there, but obscured by the dimness. He was swept by a sense of unreality again. Did you see them? Nora's light beam had dropped to her feet, as though she feared to point it out into the darkness. I thought I saw something. Jim Wilson was swearing industriously. "'There was a guy over there. He ducked around the corner. Some damn fool out scrounging. Wish I had a gun.' Frank and Nora moved ahead, and the four stood in a group.
"'Put out your lights,' Wilson said. "'They make good targets if the jerks got any weapons.' They stood in the darkness, Nora holding tightly to Frank's arm. Frank said, "'That was the damnedest noise I ever heard.' Like a siren? Frank thought Jim Wilson spoke hopefully, as though wanting somebody to agree with him. Not like anything I've ever heard. Not like a whistle, either. More of a moan. Let's get to that goddamn hotel, and— Jim Wilson's words were cut off by a new welling up of the melancholy howling. It had a new pattern this time. It sounded from many places. Not nearer, Frank thought. than Lake Street on the north, but spreading outward and backward, and growing fainter until it died on the wind.
Nora was shivering, clinging to Frank without reserve. Jim Wilson said, "'I'll be damned if it doesn't sound like a signal of some kind.' "'Maybe it's a language, a way of communication.' "'But who the hell's communicating?' "'How would I know?' "'We'd best get to that hotel and bar a few doors.' A man can't fight in the dark, and nothing to fight with. They hurried up the street, but it was all different now. Gone was the illusion of being alone, gone the sense of solitude. Around them the ghost town had come suddenly alive. Sinister forces more frightening than the previous solitude had now to be reckoned with. Something happened, something in the last few minutes, Nora whispered. Frank leaned close as they crossed the street to the dark silent pile that was the Morrison Hotel.
"'I think I know what you mean.' "'It was as though there was no one around, and then suddenly they came.' "'I think they came and went away again.' "'Did you actually see anyone when you flashed your light?' "'No. I can't say positively that I did. But I got the impression there were figures out there, at least a dozen of them.' and that they moved back away from the light, always just on the edge of it. "'I'm scared, Frank.' "'So am I. Do you think it could all be imagination?' Those moans, maybe the first one. I've heard of people imagining sounds, but not the last ones. And besides, we all heard them." Jim Wilson, utterly oblivious of any subtle emanations in the air, boomed out in satisfaction.
We don't have to bust the joint open. The revolving door works. Then maybe we ought to be careful, Frank said. Maybe somebody else is around here. Could be. We'll find out. Why are we afraid? Nora whispered. It's natural, isn't it? Frank melded the beam of his light with that of Jim Wilson. The white finger pierced the darkness inside. Nothing moved. I don't see why it should be. If there are people in there, they must be as scared as we are. Nora was very close to him as they entered. The lobby seemed deserted. The flashlight beam scanned the empty chairs and couches. The glass of the deserted cages threw back reflections. The keys are in there, Frank said. He vaulted the desk and scanned the numbers under the pigeon holes.
We'd better stay down low. Jim Wilson said, "'Damn if I'm going to climb to the penthouse.' "'How about the fourth floor?' "'That's plenty high enough.' Frank came out with a handful of keys. "'Odd numbers,' he said. "'Four in a row.' "'Well, I'll be damned,' Jim Wilson muttered. But he said no more, and they climbed the stairs in silence. They passed the quiet dining rooms and banquet halls. And by the time they reached the fourth floor, the doors giving off the corridors had assumed a uniformity. Here they are. He handed a key to Wilson. That's the end one. He said nothing as he gave Mina her key. But Wilson grunted, for Christ's sake, in a disgusted voice, took Mina's key and threw it on the floor.
Frank and Nora watched as Wilson unlocked his door. Wilson turned. Well, good night all. If you get goosed by any spooks, just yell. Mina followed him without a word, and the door closed. Frank handed Nora her key. Lock your door and you'll be safe. I'll check the room first. He unlocked the door and flashed his light inside. Nora was close behind him as he entered. He checked the bathroom. Everything's clear. Lock your door and you'll be safe. Frank? Yes? I'm afraid to stay alone. You mean you want me to? There are two beds here. His reply was slow in coming. Nora didn't wait for it. Her voice rose to the edge of hysteria. Quit being so damn righteous. Things have changed. Can't you realize that?
What does it matter how or where we sleep? Does the world care? Will it make a damn bit of difference to the world where thy strips dark naked in front of you? A sob choked in her throat. "'Or would that outrage your morality?' He moved toward her, stopped six inches away. "'It isn't that. For God's sake, I'm no saint. It's just that I thought that you—' "'I'm plain scared. I don't want to be alone. To me, that's all that's important.' Her face was against his chest, and his arms went around her. But her own hands were fists held together against him until he could feel her knuckles hard against his chest. She was crying. "'Sure,' Frank said. "'I'll stay with you. Now take it easy. Everything's going to be all right.' Nora sniffled without bothering to reach for her handkerchief.
"'Stop lying. You know it isn't going to be all right.' Frank was at somewhat of a loss. This flare-up of Nora's was entirely unexpected. He eased toward the place the flashlight had shown the bed to be. Her legs hit its edge, and she sat down. "'You—you want me to sleep in the other one?' he asked. "'Of course,' Nora replied with marked bitterness. "'I'm afraid you wouldn't be very comfortable in with me.' There was a time of silence. Frank took off his jacket, shirt, and trousers. It was funny, he thought. He'd spent his money, been drugged, beaten and robbed as a result of one objective, to get into a room alone with a girl. And a girl not nearly as nice as Nora at that. Now, here he was alone with a real dream, and he was tongue-tied.
It didn't make sense. He shrugged. Life was crazy sometimes. He heard the rustle of garments and wondered how much Nora was taking off. Then he dropped his trousers, forgotten, to the floor. "'Did you hear that?' "'Yes, it's that.' Frank went to the window, raised the sash. The moaning sound came in louder, but it was from far distance. "'I think that's out around Evanston.' Frank felt a warmth on his cheek, and he realized Nora was by his side, leaning forward. He put an arm around her, and they stood unmoving in complete silence. Although their ears were straining for the sound coming from the north, Frank could not be oblivious to the warm flesh under his hand. Nora's breathing was soft against his cheek.
She said, Listen to how it rises and falls. It's almost as though they were using it to talk with. The inflection changes. I think that's what it is. It's coming from a lot of different places. It stops in some places and starts in others. It's so weird. Spooky, Frank said, but in a way it makes me feel better. I don't see how it could. Nora pressed closer to him. It does, though, because of what I was afraid of. I had it figured out that the city was going to blow up, that a bomb had been planted that they couldn't find, or something like that. Now I'm pretty sure it's something else. I'm willing to bet we'll be alive in the morning. Nora thought that over in silence. If that's the way it is, if some kind of invaders are coming down from the north, isn't it stupid to stay here?
Even if we are tired, we ought to be trying to get away from them. I was thinking the same thing. I'll go and talk to Wilson. They crossed the room together, and he left her by the bed and went on to the door. Then he remembered he was in his shorts and went back and got his trousers. After he'd put them on, he wondered why he'd bothered. He opened the door. Something warned him, some instinct, or possibly his natural fear and caution coincided with the presence of danger. He heard the footsteps on the carpeting down the hall. Soft, but unmistakably footsteps. He called, Wilson, Wilson, that you? The creature outside threw caution to the winds. Frank sensed rather than heard a body hurtling toward the door.
A shrill, mad laughter raked his ears, and the weight of a body hit the door. Frank drew strength from pure panic as he threw his weight against the panel. But perhaps an inch or two from the latch the door wavered from opposing strength. Through the narrow opening he could feel the hoarse breath of exertion in his face. Insane giggles and curses sounded through the black stillness. Frank had the wild conviction he was losing the battle, and added strength came from somewhere. He heaved, and there was a scream, and he knew he had at least one finger caught between the door and the jam. He threw his weight against the door with frenzied effort, and heard the squash of the finger. The voice kited up to a shriek of agony, like that of a wounded animal.
Even with his life at stake, and the life of Nora, Frank could not deliberately slice the man's fingers off. Even as he fought the urge, he called himself a fool. He allowed the door to give slightly inward. The hand was jerked to safety. At that moment another door opened close by, and Jim Wilson's voice boomed. "'What the hell is going on out here?' Simultaneous with this, racing footsteps receded down the hall, and from the well of the stairway came a whining cry of pain. "'Jumping jeez,' Wilson bellowed. "'We got company. We ain't alone.' He tried to get into my room. "'You shouldn't have opened the door. Nora O'K?' "'Yeah, she's all right. Tell her to stay in her room, and you do the same.
We'd be crazy to go after that coot in the dark. He'll keep till morning.' Frank closed the door, double-locked it, and went back to Nora's bed. He could hear a soft sobbing. He reached down and pulled back the covers, and the sobbing came louder. Then he was down on the bed, and she was in his arms. She cried until the panic subsided. while he held her and said nothing. After a while she got control of herself. "'Don't leave me, Frank,' she begged. "'Please don't leave me.' He stroked her shoulder. "'I won't,' he whispered. They lay for a long time in utter silence, each seeking strength in the other's closeness. The silence was finally broken by Nora. "'Frank?' "'Yes.' "'Do you want me?' He did not answer.
"'If you want me, you can have me, Frank.' Frank said nothing. "'I told you to-day that I tried to commit suicide. Remember?' "'I remember.' "'That was the truth. I did it because I was tired of everything. Because I've made a terrible mess of things. I didn't want to go on living.' He remained silent, holding her. As she spoke again, her voice sharpened. "'Can't you understand what I'm telling you?' I'm no good. I'm just a bum. Other men have had me. Why shouldn't you? Why should you be cheated out of what other men have had? He remained silent. After a few moments, Nora said, "'For God's sake, talk, say something!' How do you feel about it now? Will you try to kill yourself the next chance you get?
No, no. I don't think I'll ever try it again." Then things must look better. I don't know anything about that. I just don't want to do it now. She did not urge him this time, and he was slow in speaking. It's kind of funny. It really is. Don't get the idea I've got morals. I haven't. I've had my share of women. I was working on one the night they slipped me the Mickey, the night before I woke up to this tomb of a city. But now, tonight, it's different. "'I feel like I want to protect you. Is that strange?' "'No,' she said quietly. "'I guess not.' They lay there silently, their thoughts going off into the blackness of the sepulchral night. After a long while Nora's even breathing told him she was asleep.
He got up quietly, covered her, and went to the other bed. But before he slept... The weird wailings from out of Evanston Way came again, rose and fell in that strange conversational cadence, then died away into nothing. Frank awoke to the first fingers of daylight. Nora still slept. He dressed and stood for some moments with his hand on the door-knob. Then he threw the bolt and cautiously opened the door. The hallway was deserted. At this point it came to him forcibly that he was not a brave man. All his life he realized he had avoided physical danger, and had refused to recognize the true reason for so doing. He had classified himself as a man who dodged trouble through good sense, that the truly civilized person went out of his way to keep the peace.
He realized now that that attitude was merely salve for his ego. He faced the empty corridor, and did not wish to proceed further. But stripped of the lifelong alibi, he forced himself to walk through the doorway, closed the door softly, and moved toward the stairs. He paused in front of the door behind which Jim Wilson and Meena were no doubt sleeping. He stared at it wistfully. It certainly would not be a mark of cowardice to get Jim Wilson up under circumstances such as these. In fact, he would be a fool not to do so. Stubbornness forbade such a move, however. He walked softly toward the place where the hallway dead ended and became a cross corridor. He made the turn carefully, pressing against one wall.
There was no one in sight. He got to the stairway and started down. His muscles and nerves tightened with each step. When he reached the lobby, he was ready to jump sky-high at the drop of a pin. But no one dropped any pins, and he reached the modernistic glass doorway to the drugstore with only silent screaming in his ears. The door was unlocked. One hinge squeaked slightly as he pushed the door inward. It was in the drugstore that Frank found signs of the fourth-floor intruder. An inside counter near the prescription department was red with blood. Bandages and first aid supplies had been unboxed and thrown around with abandon. Here the man had no doubt administered to his smashed hand. But where had he gone?
Asleep, probably, in one of the rooms upstairs. Frank wished fervently for a weapon. Beyond doubt there was not a gun left in the loop. A gun was not the only weapon ever created, though, and Frank searched the store and found a line of pocketknives still in neat boxes near the perfume counter. He picked four of the largest and found also a wooden-handled, lead-tipped blungen, used evidently for cracking ice. Thus armed, he went out through the revolving door. He walked through streets that were like death under the climbing sun. Through streets and canons of dead buildings, upon which the new daylight had failed to shed life or diminish the terror of the night past. At Dearborn he found the door to the Tribune Public Service Building locked.
He used the icebreaker to smash a glass door panel. The crash of glass on the cement was an explosion in the screaming silence. He went inside. Here the sense of desolation was complete. Brought sharply to focus, probably by the pigeon-holes filled with letters behind the want-add counter. Answers to a thousand and one queries, waiting patiently for someone to come after them. Before going to the basement and the back files of the Chicago Tribune, Frank climbed to the second floor and found what he thought might be there, a row of teletype machines with a file board hooked to the side of each machine. Swiftly, he stripped the copy sheets off each board, made a bundle of them, and went back downstairs.
He covered the block back to the hotel at a dog-trot, filled with a sudden urge to get back to the fourth floor as soon as possible. He stopped in the drug store and filled his pockets with soap, a razor, shaving cream, and face lotion. As an afterthought, He picked up a lavish cosmetic kit that retailed, according to the price tag, for $38 plus tax. He let himself back into the room and closed the door softly. Nora rolled over, exposing a shoulder and one breast. The breast held his gaze for a full minute. Then a feeling of guilt swept him, and he went into the bathroom and closed the door. Luckily, a supply tank on the roof still contained water, and Frank was able to shower and shave. Dressed again, he felt like a new man, but he regretted not hunting up a haberdashery shop and getting himself a clean shirt.
Nora still had not awakened when he came out of the bathroom. He went to the bed and stood looking down at her for some time. Then he touched her shoulder. "'Wake up. It's morning.' Nora stirred. Her eyes opened, but Frank got the impression she did not really awaken for several seconds. Her eyes went to his face, to the window, back to his face. What time is it? I don't know. I think it's around eight o'clock. Nora stretched both arms luxuriously. As she sat up, her slip fell back into place, and Frank got the impression she hadn't even been aware of her partial nudity. She stared up at him, clarity dawning in her eyes. "'You're all cleaned up.' "'I went downstairs and got some things.' "'You went out?
Alone?' "'Why not? We can't stay in here all day. We've got to hit the road and get out of here. We've overshot our luck already.' "'But that—that man in the hall last night. You shouldn't have taken a chance.' "'I didn't bump into him.' I found the place where he fixed his hand, down in the drug store. Frank went to the table and came back with the cosmetic set. He put it in Nora's lap. "'I brought this up for you.' Surprise and true pleasure were mixed in her expression. "'That was very nice. I think I'd better get dressed.' Frank turned toward the window where he had left the bundle of teletype clips. "'I've got a little reading to do.' As he sat down, he saw, from the corner of his eye, a flash of slim brown legs moving toward the bathroom.
Just inside the door, Nora turned. Are Jim Wilson and Meena up yet? I don't think so. Nora's eyes remained on him. I think you were very brave to go downstairs alone, but it was a foolish thing to do. You should have waited for Jim Wilson. You're right about it being foolish, but I had to go. Why? Because I'm not brave at all. Maybe that was the reason. Nora left the bathroom door open about six inches, and Frank heard the sound of the shower. He sat with the papers in his hand, wondering about the water. When he had gone to the bathroom, the thought had never occurred to him. It was natural that it should. Now he wondered about it. Why was it still running? After a while he considered the possibility of the supply tank on the roof.
Then he wondered about Nora. It was strange how he could think about her personally and impersonally at the same time. He remembered her words of the previous night. They made her, he shied from the term. What was the old clich? A woman of easy virtue. What made a woman of that type? He wondered. Was it something inherent in their make-up? That partially opened door was symbolic somehow. He was sure that many wives closed the bathroom door upon their husbands, did it without thinking instinctively. He was sure Nora had left it partially open without thinking. Could a behaviour pattern be traced from such an insignificant thing? He wondered about his own attitude toward Nora. He had drawn away from what she had offered him during the night, and yet from no sense of disgust.
There was certainly far more about Laura to attract than to repel. Morals, he realized dimly, were imposed, or at least functioned, for the protection of society. With society gone, vanished overnight, did the moral code still hold? If and when they got back among masses of people, Would his feelings toward Nora change? He thought not. He would marry her, he told himself firmly, as quick as he'd marry any other girl. He would not hold what she was against her. I guess I'm just fundamentally unmoral myself, he thought, and began reading the news clips.
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3 03 - Deadly City-Part 3 37:07
The End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End of the End Jim Wilson wore a two-day growth of beard, and it didn't seem to bother him at all.
As he entered the room, he rubbed his hands together in great gusto. "'Well, where'll we eat, folks? Let's pick the classiest restaurant in town. Nothing but the best for Mina here.' He winked broadly as Mina, expressionless and silent, followed him in exactly as a shadow would have followed him. and sat primly down in a straight-backed chair by the wall. "'We'd better start moving south,' Frank said, "'and not bother about breakfast.' "'Getting scared?' Jim Wilson asked. "'You're damn right I'm scared—now. "'We're right in the middle of a big no-man's land.' "'I don't get you.' At that moment the bathroom door opened and Nora came out. Jim Wilson forgot about the question he'd asked. He let forth a whistle of appreciation.
Then he turned his eyes on Frank, and his thought was crystal clear. He was envying Frank the night just passed. A sudden irritation welled up in Frank Brooks, a distinct feeling of disgust. Let's start worrying about important things, our lives, or don't you consider your life very important? Jim Wilson seemed puzzled. What the hell's gotten into you? Didn't you sleep good? I went down the block this morning and found some teletype machines. I've just been reading the reports. What about that guy that tried to get into your room last night? I didn't see him. I didn't see anybody. But I know why the city's been cleaned out. Frank went back to the window and picked up the sheaf on clips he had gone through.
Jim Wilson sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning. Nora followed Frank and perched on the edge of the chair he dropped into. "'The city going to blow up?' Wilson asked. "'No, we've been invaded by some form of alien life.' "'Is that what the papers said?' "'It was the biggest and fastest mass evacuation ever attempted. I pieced the reports together. There was hell popping around here during the two days we waited it out.' "'Where did they all go?' Nora asked. South. They evacuated a forty-mile strip from the lake west. The first Terran defense line is set up in northern Indiana. What do you mean, Terra? It's a word that means Earth, this planet. The invaders came from some other planet. They think, at least from no place on Earth.
That's the silliest damn thing I've ever heard of, Wilson said. A lot of people probably thought the same thing, Frank replied. Flying saucers were pretty common. Nobody thought they were anything, and nobody paid much attention. Then they hit, three days ago, and wiped out every living soul in three little southern Michigan towns. From there they began to spread out. They—Each one of them heard the sound at the same time. A faint rumble. increasing swiftly into high thunder. They moved as one to the window, and saw four jet planes, in formation, moving across the sky from the south. "'Here they come,' Frank said. "'The fight started. Up to now the army has been trying to get set, I suppose.' Nora said, "'Is there any way we can hail them?
Let them know?' Her words were cut off by the horror of what happened. As they watched, the plane skimmed low across the loop. At a point, approximately over Lake Street, Frank estimated, the planes were annihilated. There was a flash of blue fire coming in like jagged lightning to form four balls of fire around the planes. The fireballs turned almost instantly into globes of white smoke that drifted lazily away. And that was all. But the planes vanished completely. What happened? Wilson muttered. Where'd they go? It was as if they hit a wall, Nora said, her voice hushed with awe. I think that was what happened, Frank said. The invaders have some kind of a weapon that holds us helpless. Otherwise, the army wouldn't have established this no-man's land and pulled out.
The report said we have them surrounded on all sides with the help of the lake. They're trying to keep them isolated. Jim Wilson snorted. It looks like we've got them right where they want us. Anyhow, we're damned fools to stick around here. We'd better head south. Wilson looked wistfully about the room. I guess so, but it's a shame. Walking away from all this. Nora was staring out the window. A small frown on her face. I wonder who they are and where they came from. The teletype releases were pretty vague on that. She turned quickly. There's something peculiar about them, something really strange. What do you mean? Last night, when we were walking up the street, it must have been these invaders we heard.
They must have been across the street. But they didn't act like invaders. They seemed, well, scared. I got the feeling they ran from us in panic, and they haven't been back. Wilson said, "'They may not have been there at all. Probably our imaginations.' "'I don't think so,' Frank cut in. "'They were there, and then they were gone. I'm sure of it.' "'Those wailing noises.' "'They were certainly signaling to each other. Do you suppose that's the only language they have?' Nora walked over and offered the silent Mina a cigarette. Mina refused with a shake of her head. "'I wish we knew what they looked like,' Frank said. "'But let's not sit here talking. Let's get going.' Jim Wilson was scowling. There was a marked sullenness in his manner.
"'Not Mina and me. I've changed my mind. I'm sticking here.' Frank blinked in surprise. "'Are you crazy?' "'We've run our luck out already. Did you see what happened to those planes?' "'Hell with the planes. We've got it good here. This I like. I like it a lot. We'll stay.' "'Okay,' Frank replied hotly. "'But talk for yourself. You're not making Mina stay.' Wilson's eyes narrowed. "'I'm not?' "'Look, Buster, how about minding your own goddamn business?' The vague feelings of disgust Frank had had now crystallized into words. "'I won't let you get away with it. You think I'm blind? Hauling her into the back room every ten minutes? Don't you think I know why? You're nothing but a damned sex maniac.
You've got her terrorized until she's afraid to open her mouth. She goes with us.' Jim Wilson was on his feet, his face blazed with rage. The urge to kill was written in the crouch of his body and the twist of his mouth. "'You goddamn nosy little squirt, ow!' Wilson charged across the short, intervening distance. His arms went out in a clutching motion. But Frank Brooks wasn't full of knockout drops this time, and with a clear head he was no pushover. Blinded with rage, Jim Wilson was a pushover. Frank stepped in between his outstretched arms and slugged him squarely on top of the head with a telephone. Wilson went down like a felled steer. The scream came from Mina as she sprang across the room.
She had turned from a colorless ragdoll into a tigress. She hit Frank square in the belly with small fists at the end of stiff, outstretched arms. The full force of her charge was behind the fists, and Frank went backward over the bed. Meena did not follow up her attack. She dropped to the floor beside Jim Wilson and took his huge head in her lap. "'You killed him,' she sobbed. "'You—you murderer—you killed him—you had no right.' Frank sat wide-eyed. "'Meena, for God's sake, I was helping you. I did it for you.' "'Why don't you mind your business?' I didn't ask you to protect me. I don't need any protection. Not from Jim. You mean you didn't mind the way he's treated you? You've killed him. Killed him!
Mina raised her head slowly. She looked at Frank as though she saw him for the first time. You're a fool, she said dully. A big fool. What right have you got to meddle with other people's affairs? Are you God or something? To run people's lives? Mina, I— It was as though he hadn't spoken. Do you know what it's like to have nobody? All your life to go on and grow older without anybody. I didn't have no one, and then Jim came along and wanted me. Frank walked close to her and bent down. She reacted like a tiger. Leave him alone! Leave him alone! You've done enough! Nonplussed, Frank backed away. People with big noses, always sticking them in. That's you. Was that any of your business what he wanted of me?
Did I complain? I'm sorry, Mina. I didn't know. I'd rather go into back rooms and stay with him than stay in front rooms without nobody. She began to cry now, wordlessly, soundlessly, rocking back and forth with the huge man's bloody head in her lap. Any time. She crooned. Any time I would—the body in her arms stirred. She looked down through her tears and saw the small black eyes open. They were slightly crossed, unfocused as they were by the force of the blow. They straightened, and Jim mumbled, "'What the hell? What the hell?' Mina's time for talking seemed over. She smiled—a smile hardly perceptible. As though it was for herself alone. "'You're all right,' she said. "'That's good. You're all right.' Jim pushed her roughly away and staggered to his feet.
He stood swaying for a moment, his head turning, for all the world, like a bull, blinded and tormented. Then his eyes focused on Frank. "'You hit me with a goddamn phone!' "'Yeah, I hit you. I'm gonna kill you!' Look, I made a mistake. Frank picked up the phone and backed against the wall. I hit you, but you were coming at me. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry. I'll smash your goddamn skull. Maybe you will, Frank said grimly, but you'll work for it. It won't come easy. A new voice bit across the room. Cut it out. I'll do the killing. That's what I like best. Everybody quiet down. They turned and saw a slim, pale-skinned young man in the open doorway. The door had opened quietly, and no one had heard it.
Now the pale young man was standing in the room with a small, nickel-plated revolver in his right hand. The left hand was close down at his side. It was swathed generously in white bandage. The young man chuckled. The last four people in the world were in a room, he said, and there was a knock on the door. His chuckle deepened into one of pure merriment. Only there wasn't a knock. A man just walked in with a gun and made him boss. No one moved. No one spoke. The man waited, then went on. My name is Leroy Davis. I lived out west, and I always had a keeper because they said I wasn't quite right. They wanted me to pull out with the rest of them, but I slugged my keeper, and here I am. "'Put down the gun, and we'll talk it over,' Frank said.
"'We're all in this together.' "'No, we aren't. I've got a gun, so that makes me top man.' "'You're all in it together, but I'm not. I'm the boss, and which one of you tried to cut my hand off last night?' "'You tried to break in here yelling and screaming like a madman.' I held the door. What else could I do? It's all right. I'm not mad. My type. We may be nuts, but we'd never hold a grudge. I can't remember much about last night. I found some whiskey in a place down the street, and whiskey drives me nuts. I don't know what I'm doing when I drink whiskey. They say about five years ago I got drunk and killed a little kid, but I don't remember. Nobody spoke. I got out of it. They got me out some way.
High-priced lawyers got me out. Cost my dad a pile. Hysteria had been piling up inside of Nora. She had held it back, but now a little of it spurted out from between her set teeth. Do something, somebody. Isn't anybody going to do anything? Leroy Davis blinked at her. There's nothing they can do, honey. He said in a kindly voice, I've got the gun. They'd be crazy to try anything. Nora's laugh was like the rattle of dry peas. She sat down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling and laughed. It's crazy. It's also crazy. We're sitting here in a doomed city with some kind of alien invaders all around us, and we don't know what they look like. They haven't hurt us at all. We don't even know what they look like.
We don't worry a bit about them because we're too busy trying to kill each other. Frank Brooks took Nora by the arm. Stop it. Quit laughing like that. Nora shook him off. Maybe we need someone to take us over. It's all pretty crazy. Stop it. Nora's eyes dolled down as she looked at Frank. She dropped her head and seemed a little ashamed of herself. I'm sorry. I'll be quiet. Jim Wilson had been standing by the wall, looking first at the newcomer, then back at Frank Brooks. Jim Wilson seemed confused as to who his true enemy really was. Finally, he took a step toward Leroy Davis. Frank Brooks stopped him with emotion, but kept his eyes on Davis. Have you seen anybody else? Davis regarded Frank with long, careful consideration.
His eyes were bright and birdlike. They reminded Frank of a squirrel's eyes. Davis said, "'I bumped into an old man out on Halstead Street. He wanted to know where everybody had gone. He asked me, but I didn't know.' "'What happened to the old man?' Nora asked. She asked the question as though dreading to do it, but as though some compulsion forced her to speak. "'I shot him.' Davis said cheerfully. It was a favor, really. Here was this old man staggering down the street with nothing but a lot of wasted years to show for his efforts. He was no good alive, and he didn't have the courage to die. Davis stopped and cocked his head brightly. You know, I think that's what's been wrong with the world.
Too many people without the guts to die, and a law against killing them. It had now dawned upon Jim Wilson that they were faced by a maniac. His eyes met those of Frank Brooks, and they were, on this point at least, in complete agreement. A working procedure sprang up, unworded, between them. Jim Wilson took a slow, casual step toward the homicidal maniac. "'You didn't see anyone else?' Frank asked. Davis ignored the question. Look at it this way, he said. In the old days they had Texas Longhorns, thin stringy cattle that gave up meat as tough as leather. Do we have cattle like that today? No, because we bred out the weak line. Frank said, There are some cigarettes on that table if you want one.
Jim Wilson took another slow step toward Davis. Davis said, We bred with intelligence, with a thought to what a steer was for, and we produced a walking chunk of meat as wide as it is long. Uh-huh, Frank said. Get the point? See what I'm driving at? Humans are more important than cattle, but can we make them breed intelligently? Oh, no, that interferes with damn silly human liberties. You can't tell a man he can only have two kids. It's his god-given right to have twelve when the damned warren can't support three. Get what I mean? Sure, sure, I get it. You better think it over, mister, and tell that fat bastard to quit sneaking up on me, or I'll blow his brains all over the carpet. If the situation hadn't been so grim, it would have appeared ludicrous.
Jim Wilson, feeling success almost in his grasp, was balanced on tiptoe for a lunge. He teetered, almost lost his balance, and fell back against the wall. Take it easy, Frank said. I'll take it easy, Davis replied. I'll kill every goddam one of you. He pointed the gun at Jim Wilson, starting with him. Now wait a minute, Frank said. You're unreasonable. What right have you got to do that? What about the law of survival? You're standing there with the gun on us. You're going to kill us. Isn't it natural to try anything we can to save our own lives?" A look of admiration brightened Davis's eyes. Say, I like you. You're all right. You're logical. A man can talk to you. If there's anything I like, it's talking to a logical man.
Thanks. Too bad I'm going to have to kill you. We could sit down and have some nice long talks together. Why do you want to kill us? Mina asked. She had not spoken before. In fact, she had spoken so seldom during the entire time they had been together that her voice was a novelty to Frank. He was inclined to discount her tirade on the floor with Wilson's head in her lap. She had been a different person then. Now she had lapsed back into her old shell. Davis regarded thoughtfully. Must you have a reason? You should have a reason to kill people. Davis said, "'All right, if it will make you any happier. I told you about killing my keeper when they tried to make me leave town.' He got in the car, behind the wheel.
I got into the back seat and split his skull with the tire iron. "'What's that got to do with us?' "'Just this. Tommy was a better person than any of you or all of you put together.' If he had to die, what right have you got to live? Is that enough reason for you? This is all too damn crazy, Jim Wilson roared. He was on the point of leaping at Davis and his gun. At that moment, from the north, came a sudden crescendo of the weird invader wailings. It was louder than it had previously been, but it did not seem nearer. The group froze, all ears trained upon the sound. "'They're talking again,' Nora whispered. "'Uh-huh,' Frank replied. "'But it's different this time. As if—' "'As if they're getting ready for something,' Nora said.
"'Do you suppose they're going to move south?' Davis said, "'I'm not going to kill you here. We're going downstairs.' The pivotal moment, hinged in Jim Wilson's mind, that could have changed the situation had come and gone. The fine edge of additional madness that would make a man hurl himself at a loaded gun was dulled. Leroy Davis motioned peremptorily toward Mina. You first, then the other, babe. You walk side by side down the hall with the men behind you, straight down to the lobby. They complied without resistance. There was only Jim Wilson's scowl, Frank Brooks' clouded eyes, and the white, taut look of Nora. Nora's mind was not on the gun. It was filled with the thoughts of the pale maniac who held it.
He was in command. Instinctively, she felt that maniacs in command have one of but two motivations—sex and murder. Her reaction to possible murder was secondary. But what if this man insisted upon laying his hands upon her? What if he forced her into the age-old things she had done so often? Nora shuddered. But it was also in her mind to question, and be surprised at the reason for her revulsion. She visualised the hands upon her body, the old familiar things, And the taste in her mouth was one of horror. She had never experienced such shrinkings before. Why now? Had she herself changed? Had something happened during the night that made the past a time of shame? Or was it the madman himself? She did not know.
Nora returned from her musings to find herself standing in the empty lobby. Leroy Davis, speaking to Frank, was saying, "'You look kind of tricky to me. Put your hands on your head. Lock your fingers together over your head and keep your hands there.' Jim Wilson was standing close to the mute Mina. She had followed all the orders without any show of anger, with no outward expression. Always she had kept her eyes on Jim Wilson. Obviously, whatever Jim ordered, she would have done without question. Wilson leaned his head down toward her. He said, "'Listen, baby. There's something I keep meaning to ask, but I always forget it. What's your last name?' "'Trumble. Mina Trumble. I thought I told you.' "'Maybe you did.
Maybe I didn't get it.' Nora felt the hysteria welling again. "'How long are you going to keep doing this?' she asked. Leroy Davis cocked his head as he looked at her. "'Doing what?' Play cat and mouse like this, holding us on a pin like flies in an exhibit. Leroy Davis smiled brightly. Like a butterfly in your case, honey. A big, beautiful butterfly. What are you going to do? Frank Brooks snapped. Whatever it is, let's get it over with. Can't you see what I'm doing? Davis asked with genuine wonder. Are you that stupid? I'm being the boss. I'm in command and I like it. I hold life and death over four people, and I'm savoring the thrill of it. You're pretty stupid, mister, and if you use that, can't get away with it lying, I'll put a bullet into your left ear and watch it come out your right one.
Jim Wilson's fists were doubled. He was again approaching the reckless point. And again it was dulled by the gradually increasing sound of a motor, not in the air, but from the street level to the south. It was a sane, cheerful sound that was resented instantly by the insane mind of Leroy Davis. He tightened even to the point that his face grew more pale from the tension. He backed to a window, looked out quickly, and turned back. "'It's a jeep,' he said. "'They're going by the hotel. If anybody makes a move, or yells, they'll find four bodies in here and me gone.' That's what I'm telling you, and you know I'll do it. They knew he would do it, and they stood silent, trying to dredge up the nerve to make a move.
The Jeep's motor backfired a couple of times as it approached Madison Street. Each time, Leroy Davis's nerves reacted sharply, and the four people kept their eyes trained on the gun in his hand. The Jeep came to the intersection and slowed down. There was a conference between its two occupants, helmeted soldiers in dark brown battle dress. Then the jeep moved on up Clark Street toward Lake. A choked sigh escaped from Nora's throat. Frank Brooks turned toward her. "'Take it easy,' he said. "'We're not dead yet. I don't think he wants to kill us.' The reply came from Mina. She spoke quietly. "'I don't care.' I can't stand any more of this. After all, we aren't animals. We're human beings, and we have a right to live and die as we please.
Mina walked toward Leroy Davis. I'm not afraid of your gun any more. All you can do with it is kill me. Go ahead and do it. Mina walked up to Leroy Davis. He gaped at her and said, "'You're crazy. Get back there. You're a crazy dame.' He fired the gun twice, and Meena died, appreciating the incongruity of his words. She went out on a note of laughter, and as she fell, Jim Wilson, with an echoing animal roar, lunged at Leroy Davis. His great hand closed completely over that of Davis, hiding the gun. There was a muffled explosion, and the bullet cut unnoticed through Wilson's palm. Wilson jerked the gun from Davis's weak grasp and hurled it away. Then he killed Davis. He did it slowly. A surprising thing for Wilson.
He lifted Davis by his neck and held him with his feet off the floor. He squeezed Davis's neck, seeming to do it with great leisure as Davis made horrible noises and kicked his legs. Nora turned her eyes away, buried them in Frank Brooks's shoulder. But she could not keep the sounds from reaching her ears. Frank held her close. Take it easy, he said. Take it easy. And he was probably not conscious of saying it. Tell him to hurry, Nora whispered. Tell him to get it over with. It's like killing—killing an animal. That's what he is—an animal. Frank Brooks stared in fascination at Leroy Davies' distorted, darkening face. It was beyond semblance of anything human now. The eyes bulged, and the tongue came from his mouth as though frantically seeking relief.
The animal sounds quieted and died away. Nora heard the sound of the body falling to the floor, a limp, soft sound of finality. She turned and saw Jim Wilson with his hands still extended and cupped. The terrible hands from which the stench of a terrible life was drifting away into empty air. Wilson looked down at his handiwork. He's dead, Wilson said slowly. He turned to face Frank and Nora. There was a great disappointment in his face. That's all there is to it, he said dully. He's just dead. Without knowing it for what it was, Jim Wilson was full of the futile aftertaste of revenge. He bent down to pick up Mina's body. There was a small blue hole in the right cheek and another one over the left eye.
With a glance at Frank and Nora, Jim Wilson covered the wounds with his hand, as though they were not decent. He picked her up in his arms and walked across the lobby and up the stairs with the slow, quiet tread of a weary man. The sound of the jeep welled up again, but it was further away now. Frank Brooks took Nora's hand, and they hurried out into the street. As they crossed the sidewalk, the sound of the jeep was drowned by a sudden swelling of the wailings to the northward. Still on a new note, they rose and fell on the still air. A note of panic, of new knowledge it seemed, but Frank and Nora were not paying close attention. The sounds of the jeep motor had come from the west, and they got within sight of the Madison-Well intersection, in time to see the jeep hurtle southward at its maximum speed.
Frank yelled and waved his arms, but he knew he had been neither seen nor heard. They were given little time for disappointment, however, because a new center of interest appeared to the northward. From around the corner of Washington Street into Clark moved three strange figures. There was a mixture of belligerence and distress in their actions. They carried odd-looking weapons and seemed interested in using them upon something or someone, but they apparently lacked the energy to raise them, although they appeared to be rather light. The creatures themselves were humanoid, Frank thought. He tightened his grip on Nora's hand. "'They've seen us.' "'Let's not run,' Nora said. "'I'm tired of running.
All that's gotten us is trouble. Let's just stand here.' "'Don't be foolish.' "'I'm not running. You can if you want to.' Frank turned his attention back to the three strange creatures. He allowed natural curiosity full rein. Thoughts of flight vanished from his mind. "'They're so thin, so fragile,' Nora said. "'But their weapons aren't.' "'It's hard to believe, even seeing them, that they're from another planet.' "'How so? They certainly don't look much like us.' "'I mean with the talk, for so long, about flying saucers and space flight and things like that. Here they are, but it doesn't seem possible.' "'There's something wrong with them.' This was true. Two of the strange beings had fallen to the sidewalk.
The third came doggedly on, dragging one foot after the other until he went to his hands and knees. He remained motionless for a long time, his head hanging limply. Then he, too, sank to the cement and lay still. The wailings from the north now took on a tone of intense agony, great desperation. After that came a yawning silence. They defeated themselves, the military man said. Or rather, natural forces defeated them. We certainly had little to do with it. Nora, Frank, and Jim Wilton stood at the curb beside a motorcycle. The man on the cycle supported it with a leg propped up against the curb as he talked. We saw three of them die up the street, Frank said. "'Our scouting party saw the same thing happen.
That's why we moved in. It's about over now. We'll know a lot more about them and where they came from in twenty-four hours.' They had nothing further to say. The military man regarded them thoughtfully. "'I don't know about you three. If you ignored the evacuation through no fault of your own and can prove it.' "'There were four of us,' Jim Wilson said. "'Then we met another man.' He's inside on the floor. I killed him. Murder? the military man said sharply. He killed a woman who was with us, Frank said. He was a maniac. When he's identified, I'm pretty sure he'll have a past record. Where's the woman's body? On a bed upstairs, Wilson said. I'll have to hold all of you. Martial law exists in this area.
You're in the hands of the Army. The streets were full of people now, going about their business, pushing and jostling, eating in the restaurants, making electricity for the lights, generating power for the telephones. Nora, Frank, and Jim Wilson sat in a restaurant on Clark Street. "'We're all different people now,' Nora said. "'No one could go through what we've been through and be the same.' Jim Wilson took her statement listlessly. Did they find out what it was about our atmosphere that killed them? They're still working on that, I think. Frank Book stirred his coffee, raised a spoonful, and let it drip back into the cup. I'm going up to the Chicago Avenue Police Station, Wilson said. Frank and Nora looked up in surprise.
Frank asked, Why? The military court missed it. The fact you escaped from jail. They didn't miss it, I don't think. "'I don't think they cared much. I'm going back anyway.' "'It won't be much of a rap.' "'No, a pretty small one. I want to get it over with.' He got up from his chair. "'So long. Maybe I'll see you around.' "'So long. Goodbye.' Frank said, "'I think I'll beat it, too. I've got a job in a factory up north. Maybe they're operating again.' He got to his feet and stood awkwardly by the table. "'Besides, I've got some pay coming.' Nora didn't say anything. Frank said, "'Well, so long. Maybe I'll see you around.' "'Maybe. Good-bye.' Frank Brooks walked north on Clark Street. He was glad to get away from the restaurant.
Nora was a good kid, but hell, you didn't take up with the hooker. A guy played around, but you didn't stick with them. But it made a guy think. He was past the kid stage. It was time for him to find a girl and settle down. A guy didn't want to knock around all his life. Nora walked west on Madison Street. Then she remembered the Halstead Street slums that were in that direction and turned south on Wells. She had nine dollars in her bag, and that worried her. You couldn't get along on nine dollars in Chicago very long. There was a tavern on Jackson near Wells. Nora went inside. The barkeep didn't frown at her. That was good. She went to the bar and ordered a beer and was served. After a while a man came in, a middle-aged man who might have just come into Chicago, whose bag still might be at the La Salle Street Station down the block.
The man looked at Nora, then away. After a while he looked at her again. Nora smiled. End of Dead City
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4 04 - Secrets of the Martians-Part 1 36:50
Fairman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Secrets of the Martians, Part 1 Gordon Malloy, chief of interplanetary security, rocked back in his chair, and with seeming unconcern looked Rex Tate over-searchingly. How was Pluto? Stinking. Why we want that frozen lump in the Federation is something I can't figure. Rich in minerals. You left me there for seven Terran months, Rex allowed criticism to sound in his voice. This did not bother Malloy. Good for you. Toughened you up. Safe, too. Never much trouble on Pluto. That's why I joined up, so I'd be nice and safe. I've got something in mind for you. Where? Mars. But it could be nasty, so you better go back to Pluto. Try and get me on a ship.
What's with Mars? Malloy looked for a place to put his feet and found only the top of his desk. Up there they looked like a pair of crossed banjo cases. I wish I knew. I'll go find out for you. Malloy's eyes brooded. The thing started as a result of privileges and stupidity. The way most things of this sort do. As you know, Mars is the only planet in the Federation without representation, because the Martians refuse to represent themselves. They want no part of the Alliance. Molloy glanced up quickly. How's your knowledge of the Martian background? Sketchy. Ask me about Venus, Mercury, Neptune, Pluto. By all means, ask me about Pluto. We're talking about Mars. When we went up there in 2091, we found as close to a dead planet as you could want.
There were people, but damned funny ones. They wouldn't fight us, or they wouldn't join us. They had a kind of pride we've never been able to analyze. They just kept backing away. We found rich minerals and fine farmland. Land that had lain follow for ages just waiting for the plow. And plenty of water. Every spring the ice cliffs at the poles melted on schedule and sent down the moisture for bumper crops. But the Martians didn't farm. They didn't mine. They didn't do anything so far as we could discover, except back away into their caves and rocky fastness up north and give us the cold eye. Rex knew all this, but he liked to hear the chief talk. Liked to be with them as did every other agent in the gang.
So he registered bright interest and listened. They rebuffed our advances, and so we let them alone. But that happened on the other planets, too, Rex said innocently. And so we went right in and got acquainted, looked in their bedrooms and their dresser drawers. Malloy frowned slightly. But on Mars, we didn't. Nope. I wonder if it could have been because we had their land and their mines and didn't think they had anything of value around their North Pole. You're speaking disrespectfully of the system, Malloy said in mild disapproval. You sound as though you think we moved in and took planets over. All we did was develop latent resources. Make for the better life. Invite them to join us for a greater system.
The same way the British and the Dutch and the French and the Russians did in ancient times here on Terra. Molloy regarded his big feet with hostility, as though they and not Rex Tate had been speaking. Do you want this assignment or don't you? Sure, I want it, Rex grinned. What other department chief would let a subordinate sound off? None, except Molloy. That was one of the things that made up for the low pay. All right, then shut your trap and listen. As I said, the Martians backed off into those hills and caves and hung out a private sign that we respected for 300 years. Then, about six months ago, a martologist named Spencer got tired of testing flora and fauna in the safe areas and wangled a permit to penetrate the taboo areas around the pole.
Rex Tate straightened, honestly amazed. Alone? No, in the company of his twenty-year-old daughter. Good God! Why, we wouldn't even send a nuclear battalion in there! Who issued such an insane permit? That's not our business. The criminally stupid ass is being hunted from other directions. But in this age of red tape and buck-passing, I doubt he'll ever be found. Our job lies elsewhere. We've got to find out what happened to Spencer's daughter. What about Spencer? He came back. Without his daughter? Yes. I'd like to talk to the slob for a few minutes. Malloy dropped his feet to the floor. Come on, I'll give you a chance. Rex followed Malloy out of the office. They got on an elevator that dropped them to a sub-basement.
Malloy manned a scooter and they rode for several minutes down a long, straight corridor. Just when Rex wondered whether or not the chief knew where he was going, Malloy stopped the scooter in front of a closed door. He opened the door and motioned Rex inside. The room was small and bare, boasting as furniture only a rectangular table in its center. On the table sat a rectangular box. Malloy pointed into the box and said, All right, start talking. A small, chill danced down Rex's spine. In the box lay a serene-faced, middle-aged man with his hands folded over his chest. He had a rosy complexion and appeared to be napping. What an odd place for a man to sleep, Rex thought. He glanced up at Malloy.
The latter said, as near as we can tell, he's been dead for four months. But, I know, perfectly preserved. The skin's soft, all normal fluid still present in the body. Nothing's wrong with him except that he's dead. Rex touched the soft tissue. It was cool. How can you figure the time? He came in on a food freighter, in a cargo of potatoes that was sent from a farmer's market at a place called New Iowa in the heart of the Martian Farm Belt. Not far from the forbidden polar circle, Rex said. I thought you didn't know anything about Mars. Well, things were dull on Pluto. I studied timetables. That's interesting. I'll issue them to all agents. Of course, you've got no proof that the body was put aboard at Iowa.
Yes, we have. The hold was locked and sealed there. The body was inside. The seal was unbroken. The closed eyes of Professor Spencer made Rex almost as uncomfortable as the closed lips. All right, I've got the picture. What do we do? Send in a battalion to question the Martian taste in gift packages? We've got no proof the Martians did this. Who else? Maybe some transplanted Terran farmer took up taxidermy on the side. The odds are way against it. So are the odds against the solar eclipse, but they happen. Then we make no hostile gestures? Not until we know the score. That's what I want you to do, Rex. Go out to Mars and find the score. Okay, Chief. Rex took a last look at the body. And if I come back in that shape, check my pockets.
There might be time to write a note. Don't be such a pessimist, Malloy growled. From the Diary of Tommy Wilkes. The first thing you miss on Mars is the green. The things hardest to get used to are the reds and the yellows and the tired browns. Never is there any bright, rich green filled with the promise of spring, as I grew used to in Kentucky back on Terra. Because this is a dying planet, and even when the Martian spring does come, there's a feeling of tiredness in the air. And the warm rain on your face. You miss that too because there is no rain on Mars. You keep looking at the sky, hunting for the big black thunderheads that sent people running for cover back in Kentucky. You look and look until your eyes ache, and even the sting of icy cold rain would be nice.
The water here is all underground and in the canals. It is good water. Running down through the bogs and the rivers and the marshes in spring when the big northern ice cliffs melt. It is very funny about the ice cliffs. Up there it snows in the winter, I guess because they get higher and higher until they are like mountains. Then in spring, they melt in a few days. Nobody knows much about the ice mountains because they're in the middle of the forbidden polar zone. It is said there are Martian people up in the Forbidden Circle, but I don't think so, because why would anybody live in such a place when the level lands and the old sea bottoms and the canals are down here? Anyhow, we never go there.
The only Martians I ever saw are the ones that come by like tramps asking for food. We always give it to them because they are always hungry and we don't want any trouble. And then there is Barzu. He was here when we came. He lives in a little stone house out beyond the potato fields. All Martians have hard brown skins, almost like shells, and instead of white in their eyes, like Terrans, they have light green, and the pupils are always jet black. Looking at a Martian is a little hard to get used to at first, but after a while, it's all right. Mom and Dad made me stay away from Barzu at first, but he was harmless, and now they let me visit him. We talk, but I can only understand a little of what he says, and he can't understand much Terran.
He is a funny man, Barzu. He never smiles and gives you the idea he has only contempt for Terrans. But he takes me and shows me where the big gadfish hide in holes in the canals, and how to catch them with a white pebble on the end of a line. Nobody minds Barzoo. I am Thomas Wilkes, Jr., but everybody calls me Tommy. I am fifteen years old, and I like to write, and some day I will go to Terra to some big university and learn to do it well, and then I'll write short stories all about Mars for the Terrans to read. My father is Thomas Wilkes, Sr. My mother is Lucy Wilkes. My sister is Jean Wilkes. Father brought us to Mars when the Federation opened this land. It is very easy to grow crops here.
Very big potatoes, because Dad said ages ago it was farmed by the Martians, and the fields and the canals are all here. We put the potatoes on big space freighters that take them back to Terra. All the farmers send their potatoes in the big freighters, and they all talk about going back themselves after they get rich out here, but I have a feeling very few of them will go. There is something about this planet that grows on you. It's awfully cold a lot of the time, and you have to learn to walk carefully, or you go right up in the air. But you get used to it, and two moons instead of one. I like keeping a diary because someday I will need what I'm writing now for my stories about Mars and will become very famous and live in a high tower in Kentucky.
Or maybe I will build a tower right here on Mars. Wednesday. We have a new man working for us. He came in on the last freighter. He is very tall and has yellow hair and is different from most men that come here to work. Most of them go to the saloon when the ship sets down, but this one went to the candy store, and that's where I met him. He bought me some ice cream, and we talked about Mars. I guess I did most of the talking. I told him all about the farm, and about Barzoo, and the gadfish you catch with a pebble. He seemed very interested in Barzoo, and said he'd like to meet him. I told him if he worked for Dad, I would introduce him to Barzoo, and he said, all right. Which Dad slapped me on the back for later, because help is hard to get, and he gave me credit for talking the yellow-haired man into working for us.
His name is Rex Tate, and we didn't ask him how he happened to come out here. We're just glad that he did, because help is a problem. After this, I guess the farmers will check the candy store, too, when they come into Iowa along with the saloon. But who would expect to find a grown man like Rex Tate in a candy store? He's different than the other workers who come here. A lot more intelligent. I like to talk to him. Rex Tate, clad in a Martian fox jacket against the sharp winter air. worked at a strand of broken fence on the far north line of the Wilkes farm. He straightened and looked off across the dull brown plains. The experts said this had all been ocean once, back in the days when Terra was a seething, untenanted ball of hot lava.
Rex wondered how right they were. One thing was sure. A no more dull, drab, peaceful landscape could possibly be imagined. He turned to look northward toward the high ice cliffs of the polar circle. The thin air made distances deceptive, and the cliffs looked to be hanging almost over Rex's head. But he knew they were many miles away. He frowned. This had seemed the logical place to start his investigation. Yet what evil could lurk among these simple, energetic Terrans? Such an act as had been perpetrated upon Professor Spencer was certainly beyond their ability to conceive, and Margo Spencer was certainly not hidden among them. Only one thing kept him in this vicinity, and it was indeed a failed thread.
The Martian hermit, Young Wilkes, had told him about. He wanted to look the man over, but had delayed, feeling that even though the lead seemed hardly to be taken seriously, Caution was still the better part of wisdom. Rex turned now to watch Big Tom Wilkes stride across the frozen brown moss of the pasture. Terran cattle, Rex had learned, thrived on the prickly stuff. Tom Wilkes had a big, cordial face, roughened and seamed by the Martian cold. He slapped Rex on the shoulder and said, Well, how do you like this outpost of civilization? It's different, I'll say that. Hope you grow to like it. A man can get rich out here. I don't doubt it. You aren't like the others, Wilkes said. Thank you. I mean, most of the help we get out here are drifters looking for a stake.
You could easily get yourself some land and make a go of it. We need good, solid men out here. Now I've got a fine-looking daughter, Wilkes paused. Guess maybe I'm going too fast. Jean's a fine girl, but you don't know much about me, Mr. Wilkes. The name's Tom, and don't forget it. And don't think I'm going to nose into your business until you're ready to tell us. We're inclined to take people at face value. We consider them first-rate until they prove otherwise. You might say we kind of follow our instincts. Rex gave him a quick smile. One thing puzzles me. What's that? How come there are no Martians working for you? The pay is good. I'd think they'd be swarming around. You don't know much about Mars, son.
I've got a hunch there aren't many Martians. When Rex started to reply, Tom Wilkes waved a hand. Oh, I know the Federation experts tell us different. Say they live up here under the ice cap. But I don't believe it. A few of them would wander down. Young Tommy tells me you've got one around. A character named Barzoo. Uh-huh. God knows where he came from or what he wants here. Doesn't care to work a lick. This, Rex realized, was Tom Wilkes' basis of judging a man. A worker rated high with him. A fairly presentable worker rated high enough to be considered for his daughter's hand. Not a bad way to look at it, at that, Rex thought. I'd like to meet this Barzoo. Tommy'll take you out there any time you say.
He goes alone? The old coot's harmless. Looked him over myself. He takes the youngster fishing. Characters like that interest me. Well, finish this fence now and get back to the house. Jean's fixed up something a little special for supper. Got her hair and face all shined up, too. I wonder why. Wilkes winked and strode off about his business, leaving Rex to wonder about Jean. He'd have to be a little careful there. She was a nice kid. There'd be no problem, though, because he wouldn't be around long enough. He hooked the last strand of wire into place and headed for the house. Jean Wilkes was a lithe, slim, dark-haired girl with laughing blue eyes and red, almost sensuous lips. When Rex got to the house, she was there to open the door.
She wore a close-fitting blouse, slacks, and a frilly postage-stamp apron. There was welcome in her smile, and her eyes spoke quite frankly. They said, I'm after you. Come on in and chuck your coat, Jean said. I'll bet you're frozen. Only my fingers. Jean took his hand in hers and rubbed briskly. Her eyes teased. I thought you were too hot-blooded to let a little cold snap chill you. I'm used to a hot sun. She could change mood quickly. Her smile slipped away. Where did you come from, Rex? As he hesitated, she put a quick finger over his lips. Don't tell me. Sorry I pried. We aren't that way here on Mars, really. She moved away from him. How do you like my apron? It's supposed to show you how domestic I am.
You did the cooking tonight? Uh-huh. Mom and Dad and Tommy just left. They went to New Iowa for dinner with some friends. I'm in charge of the feed bag. Swell. Let's open it up. Supper over. Rex helped Gene with the dishes. He was struck by the domestic situation into which this case had brought him. He felt guilty. As though he were trespassing on the hospitality of these fine people. And fine people they were, of that he was assured. Now only remain to discover by what weird turn of circumstances the perfectly preserved body of Professor Spencer had been placed in a sealed potato hold in New Iowa. The ships that go out of here, Rex said, do they all set down in New Iowa? On the field there?
They were having coffee in the living room. Jean had removed her apron and sat close to Rex on the lounge. Her hair was soft and gleaming in the light of the open flame from the old-fashioned fireplace. Usually, she said, except during harvest time. Then they put down wherever they can. We've had them parked in our lower pasture. You see, we like to get the crops away as quick as we can, and the freight company always sends enough ships to accommodate us because the run is so profitable. The lower pasture. Isn't that where this Barzoo fellow hangs out? Gene shuddered. He's awful. I suppose I shouldn't feel this way about him because he's harmless and very good to Tommy. But that dull brown hide.
His funny eyes. I'd like to see what he looks like. I'll have to ask Tommy to take me down there. Jean regarded him thoughtfully. I'll take you down. But why should you? She shrugged. I don't seem to be doing very well by firelight. We have two moons up here. They should be twice as hard to resist as one. Rex was playing us straight all the way through, which meant playing it dumb. But it's very cold out. Pretty cold in here, too. Let's get started. Rex put on his jacket, wondering what he was going to do with this girl. She appeared from her bedroom wearing a white parka that made her look doubly attractive. It's only a ten-minute walk, and the cold isn't as penetrating here as on Terra. They hiked along, hand in hand, under the two racing Martian moons.
The air was sharp, stinging, like heady wine. Rex felt as though he could have jumped clear up to where Tara hung close and beautiful in the night sky. This, he decided, was a wonderful planet, a wonderful country, a great place to settle down and build something, raise children. Bodies in shipping cases seemed far away and unreal. Jean's hand, warm in his own, squeezed suddenly as though she sensed his thoughts. She glanced at him. Her eyes rich with meaning. Then she broke away and ran on ahead toward an oddly shaped monolith of a hut further down the pasture. As Rex hurried forward, he studied the stone hutch. It was obviously very old, something left over from a lost and forgotten civilization.
It impressed him as having been built as both a shelter and a symbol. There appeared to be undecipherable meaning in the formation of it, blurred now by the wear of centuries. Gene stopped beside the narrow entrance. "'He's not here,' she said. Rex pushed his head inside, bent forward to peer about the small interior. It was smooth, unadorned, cone-shaped. He took a step forward, heard a quick laugh, and tripped over Gene's extended foot. He grabbed as he went down inside the shelter and caught Jean's arm. He dragged her with them and they went down in a heap. He was looking into her fur-framed face, into her eyes. She had stopped laughing. Neither of them spoke during several quick breaths. Then Jean said, I guess you think I'm pretty forward, don't you?
I think you're pretty wonderful. "'I think maybe we're different up here, a lot different than we'd be on Terra.' Her breath was warm in Rex's face. "'How do you figure that?' "'We're more elemental out here, I guess. We're more afraid of letting life get past us. I want you so bad it hurts. I want to marry you and have your children, and I'm afraid of not letting you know it.' Her mouth was on his. Her body, through the soft fur of their clothing, was warm and rounded against him. His blood was pounding, and he was conscious of two things. First, this intoxicating girl in his arms. Second, the fact that the slab against which he was pressed had loosened and turned, that it had moved on a hinge of some kind, and he had to hold tight to Jean to keep from falling through.
Then he became aware of a third presence. Just outside a figure loomed. A hideous-looking man with the brown-scarred hide. A man with eyes that seemed to hold all the hate in the universe. From the Diary of Tommy Wilkes Saturday They're gone, Gene and Rex Tate. Nobody around here knows what to think, because there's no place to go. No ships have come in or gone out. Everybody is talking about it. Some people say Rex had a ship, and that he put Jean in it and took her away. But how can that be true? Where could anyone hide a ship around here? The country is flat as far as you can see. They say he must have had a ship hidden up in the ice country, in the Forbidden Circle, and he took her up there.
But that's crazy, too. They were having supper here last night, when Mom and Dad and I went to the Parker's for supper. They weren't here when we got back, and none of the cars or horses are gone, so how could they have got away? They say he took Jean away, but I wonder if it wasn't the other way around. Jean was in love with him. She wanted to marry him, and I wonder if maybe she didn't take him away. But that's foolish, too. There was no place for her to take him or him to take her. It certainly is a mystery. We haven't had so much excitement since we came to Mars. People coming and going, men riding off in bunches hunting under every piece of moss as though they turned to midgets and were hiding there.
It's all very silly. But Mom is sick about it. She's in bed and Mrs. Parker is taking care of her. The men swear they'll catch Rex and kill him wherever they find him. They say he dragged Gene away to have her for himself. I don't think so, not for that reason anyhow. I know how Gene felt about him, and girls in love are funny. He wouldn't have had to drag her anywhere. That was how Gene felt about him. It's all very strange, and very lonesome here with Dad gone off with the hunting party and Mom under sedatives. I'm going to ask Barzu what he thinks about it. Sunday. I've learned something important, and I don't know what to do about it. I went to Barzoo's hutch to find him, but he was not there.
I waited around a while, and then, while I was looking inside, I thought I saw something funny about the wall. One section of it looked different than the others. It wasn't dirty along the bottom. It looked as though there was a crack there. I examined it and found it moved on a hinge. I pushed it back and everything was dark behind it. I listened for a while and then thought I heard a sound inside, as though somebody had taken a step. I got scared and dropped the stone back into place and began to run. I ran all the way home to tell Dad about it, because that must be where Rex and Jean went. There can't be any other place. But Dad isn't here, and I can't tell Mom. She's too sick, and I'd only disturb her.
It's been an hour now. Dad still isn't home. I've done some thinking. Why did I run away from the hutch? There isn't anything there to be afraid of. When you think it over, it's logical that Barzoo would have a place underneath the hutch to keep warm on cold winter nights, even if his height is thick. He still needs shelter. And why should he have told me about it? It's his private business, and I never asked him. I'll bet he would have told me if I'd asked him. I'm going to wait another half hour for Dad. Then, if he isn't back, I'll go to the hutch with a flashlight and see what's under it. Maybe everybody's right about Rex. Maybe he's got Gene down there. But if he has, I'll bet she isn't trying very hard to get away.
The half hour's up. Here I go. That's the story, Rex said. Now you know who I am and how I happened to come to New Iowa. Jean twisted her arms against the thongs that bound her wrists and said, I think you were stupid not to tell us and let us try to help you. But I was moving in the dark, entirely unsure of myself. I had to look around and find out. Oh, I see. You suspected us. You thought we were capable of murdering a man and putting his body in a box and shipping it back to Terra with our potatoes. I thought no such thing. They spoke openly, convinced that the five Martians who were their captors could not understand Terran. They had been at the hutch when Rex and Jean got there, four of them, crouched behind the wall.
When Barzoo arrived, just as Rex tilted the section of the wall, they had seized the two Terrans and tied their hands. There had been nothing Rex could do, hampered as he was by Jean lying in his arms. Rex's thoughts had been the bitterest of Gaul as he forecast his report to the Chief. That was, if he lived long enough to submit a report. I was necking with a local farmer's daughter in the stone hutch of a Martian character. I had every reason to be suspicious of this Martian, and should have been on my toes when he arrived. Instead, I was on my back, kissing this aforementioned local daughter, and this Martian and four of his friends took us both. No credit to them, though. In the shape we were in, a crippled blind man could have taken us.
Any further orders, Chief? The Martians had ignored his pleas that they leave Gene behind, or perhaps the Martians did not even understand him. They had been led off down a long, dark tunnel. So far as Rex and Gene were concerned, their next step could have almost dropped them off into oblivion, but the Martians were sure-footed and seemed to be entirely familiar with the pitch-black tunnel. They walked for what seemed hours before light showed in the distance. Another hour brought them to the spot where a dusty overhead bulb glowed dimly. It appeared to have been there untouched for centuries, because the ceiling was damp and calcium-bearing droplets had almost covered it. Yet it glowed bravely.
Here, the two Terrans were allowed to rest. One of the Martians dug into a small opening in one wall, and brought forth a quantity of gray substance, which he offered them, holding it toward their mouths with his filthy hand. They turned their faces away, and he made no further effort to feed them. They were ignored, left sitting on a ledge while the Martians gorged down the food. Afterward, the one Jean designated as Barzu, Looked up suddenly as though a thought had come. He talked to one who had finished eating and was wiping his hands on his dull brown hide. Rex tried to fathom Barzoo's words. Familiar with the languages and dialects the system over, he got some of Barzoo's meaning. The Martian leader was worried about the condition in which the hutch floor had been left.
Perhaps the wall section had been left tilted. After a while, the other Martian got to his feet and trotted back through the darkness along the tunnel through which they had come. After the Martian left, Barzu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and motioned Rex and Jean to get up and move into a passage to the right. How much further can he take us? Jean asked. After the first drop back at the hutch, it seems to me the tunnel has been level. A floor can be deceptive. We could have been moving down a gradual slope for miles. Jean said nothing. The going was easier now, this tunnel being lighted at intervals by the strange overhead bulbs. Rex asked, Are you sore at me for what happened back at the farm, for not telling you the truth?
No. We're in too much trouble to waste time being angry. What's done is done. Only the future is important now. Rex could have made his self-recrimination vocal, but he felt that that, too, would be a waste of time. He said, "'Didn't anybody, any of you Terrans, know about the opening in that hutch?' "'I'm sure no one did, except, perhaps, Tommy.' She thought that over and added, "'No, that's absurd. If Tommy had known it, he wouldn't have been able to keep it to himself.' "'Maybe they'll hunt around and find it.' "'Maybe.' But I hope they don't. Why not? If they find the opening, they'll come looking for us. These Martians are hostile. Some of our men might be killed, and they have wives and families.
Jean made Rex feel ashamed of himself. Don't worry. I'll get you out of here. She glanced up at him. Her chin trembled slightly as she sought to stiffen it. At that moment, they walked into a larger tunnel. There were more overhead bulbs here, and a ribbon of narrow-gauge tracks stretching off into the distance. "'A railroad!' Rex exclaimed. "'I wonder where it goes.' "'I've got a hunch we're going to find out.' One of the Martians had gone around the shoulder of the tunnel. There was a whining sound. He returned in the driver's seat of a small rail car. Barzu motioned the Terrans into one of the seats. The other Martians got in behind them. The driver pulled a throttle. The whining sound increased and the car moved off down the tracks.
Rex listened for a time, inspected the portion of the car within range of his eyes, then said, I wonder what kind of power this thing uses. Jean did not answer. Her head had dropped to his shoulder. She was asleep. He settled himself. Forming a pocket with his body so she could rest against him with the seat supporting her. Behind him, the eyes of the three Martians, including Barzu, had also closed. Rex wondered if the driver was asleep also. The car rolled on in a monotonously straight line, mile after mile. Rex realized he had discovered a civilization under Mars, the existence of which was unknown on Terra. He knew that none of the authorities or experts suspected anything so civilized as a railroad in the forbidden polar lands.
At best, they thought the territory inhabited by hardy bands of hostile, backward ice-dwellers. This was indeed a great discovery, he told himself bitterly. Of course, neither he nor Gene would live to reveal it, but they could die happy, knowing they were great explorers. He grew tired of excoriating himself. The passing overhead lights had a hypnotic effect. He closed his eyes and slept.
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5 05 - Secrets of the Martians-Part 2 38:25
Secrets of the Martians.
Phanton, son of Vandor of the Bantarks, the last great ruling dynasty of Mars, lay sick and dying in a foul cell under the amphitheatre of the gods. He was old and tired, and ready to die. Yet he longed for survival, because his work was not yet done. For two centuries, Fantin had ruled as Lord of the North Hemisphere. He had seen the great prosperity of the planet, even under conditions whereby the scientists of his father had foreseen the planet's death. He had been there at the birth of their scientific magic. Fandor, his father, had been a wise and gentle ruler. When the Terrans came in their great ships, fandor had prevailed upon the council, and a policy of cautious retreat had been instituted.
Fandor advocated this because he knew the Martian science was no match for that of the Terrans. Not that the wizardry of the Martian scientists was any less great, but they had bent their efforts in peaceful directions while the Terrans came with huge warships and no end of armament. So the Martians, under fandor, had retreated quietly to the north, allowing the Terrans to move on to the planet. This policy was much despised by the young and the hot-headed, who would have preferred to meet the invader face to face and die in battle, if need be. But the majority of the council was old and weary, as was fandor, and they prevailed. Then fandor felt he had lived long enough, and refused to enter the place of eternal strength, the greatest miracle of the Martian science.
He died peacefully, and Fanton put on his royal robes. Now those robes had been torn from his body, and he had been refused access to the place of eternal strength. Pandek, the fiery young councilman, had overthrown him and assumed power, and the younger Martians were preparing to sweep down over the planet and slay the unsuspecting Terrans. They would be slaughtered, of course. This Fanton knew, because the Martian weapons were puny, but there would be death and fiery agony before the Terrans finally won. Many times in his heart. Fantin had wondered if the policy of the old ones had been wise. Fantin was a scholar. The books of the Terrans had been smuggled into the North Country. He had learned the language and read the books, and there was one Terran writer of whom he never tired, a genius named William Shakespeare.
In his great play called Julius Caesar, Shakespeare had said, There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at its flood leads on to fortune. Lying in his filthy cell, Fanton's mind was cloudy. He was not sure if those were the exact words, but the point was clear. Perhaps there had been a time in the affairs of the Martians when the tide of fortune was at its flood, when they could have won out over the Terrans. But that time had certainly long passed, and if their present plight was the result of the old mistakes, then so be it. There was still no justification for mass suicide. So Fanton did not want to die. His work remained undone. Above his cell, in the amphitheatre of the gods, Pandek was fomenting a kettle of hell's brew.
Already they had used the place of eternal strength in a fiendish manner, desecrated it, and now they deprived their emperor of its healing magic. Fanton realized the die was cast. He himself had been removed from the stage. Mad new actors bent upon destruction were reading their lines. He, Fanton, was finished. Tommy Wilkes walked a long way down the dark passage, his light picking a path through the gloom. He knew he had already gone further than he should, but always there was the temptation to see what lay just ahead. And nothing was ever there. Only the sinister black passage leading onward. He explored another length, then stopped. This was far enough. What if he had unknowingly turned into a bypassage?
Suppose he would miss the intersection on the way back. Thoughts such as these flared into his mind to bring a sudden sense of entrapment. The walls seemed to be closing in on him. He turned to retrace his steps. Then he froze. Sound. A far-away, echoing sound. The soft tap of footsteps. But coming closer. Tommy threw his light down the tunnel. He strained his eyes ahead, looking for whatever or whoever made the sound. It was louder now, and he realized, too late, that his flash was on, guiding the menace. Serving as a beacon. He clawed at the switch, but his fingers were clumsy thumbs. When he finally got the light out, the footsteps had increased to a running tempo. He turned and fled blindly back along the tunnel.
He had not taken ten steps when he tripped and fell. He struggled to his feet in panic. Too late. Hard, rough hands were upon him. He fought, but his struggles were useless. Twice Rex had tried to maneuver the Martians into removing the thongs from his wrists. At the end of the rail line there was a pool of water fed by a spring. He motioned toward his wrists and signified thirst. One of the Martians callously threw water in his face until he was grasping for breath. His second attempt failed also, and now he and Jean were being led through a shining marble corridor, the like of which he had never seen, even in the finer buildings on Terra. What manner of world, he wondered, was hidden under the northern Marson ice cap.
But the wandering storm made the corridor look like a tunnel clawed through bare earth. It was a huge amphitheater into which he and Jean were rudely shoved. They stood frozen, their perilous position momentarily forgotten. "'Did you ever see anything like it?' Jean gasped. "'It must be an illusion of some kind. I can't believe it really exists.' The floor upon which they stood was of pure, glittering gold. It stretched away in shining glory to a wall of crystal, a window so high and vast Rex could not conceive it as standing alone. Surely it had to fall by its own weight. It dwarfed a high, curved dais along which sat a line of richly-robed Martians. In the centre of the dais was an elevated throne upon which sat a scowling young Martian.
But the thing that caught and held the two terrans were the towering cliffs of ice framed in the great window as by a master painter. Rex and Jean were pushed forward. As they came near the high throne, the young Martian smiled coldly as he noted the direction of their eyes. He broke the silence. "'You seem to admire our view.' "'You speak Terran,' Rex said, surprising his words. "'A source of amazement to you, no doubt. You who consider us a mob of imbeciles cringing up here in the ice-floes. Whoever you are, I'm afraid you're in trouble.' We aren't used to being hauled around like criminals. Then it's time you got used to it. Who are you? I am Pandek, ruler of all Martians. Down on your knees.
Rex and Gene were hurled roughly to the floor. Rex lowered his head and whispered to Gene, Take it easy. We've got to feel our way and wait this out. To Pandek, he said. Is this the way you're in the habit of receiving ambassadors from friendly nations? Friendly? That from you who have kicked and despised us for hundreds of years? Pandek's rage was heightening with each word. You and your arrogant army of invaders. You who treated us with the patronizing kindness you reserved for amiable dogs. We came in friendship. With armed spaceships at your back. Uninvited. Unwelcome. Smiling like the hypocrite you are. Those entrusted with the government on Terra would be happy to hear that you're willing to come forth and negotiate, Rex said.
Pandex rose from his throne, his brown face mottled with rage. Negotiate for what's already ours? Put our stamp of approval on your conquest of our planet? Rex saw that further words were useless. He stood silent until the ruler's anger subsided. Then he asked, "'What do you plan to do with us?' "'Kill you, as we will kill every Terran on our world.' He eyed Rex for signs of fear. When they did not appear, he seemed mildly disappointed. When he spoke again, it was in a quieter tone. "'But first I would have you see a little of what Martian science is like. I would have you know how far ahead of the Terran bunglers our scientists were even a thousand years ago.' I would have you know by what power Mars will again come into its own.
I would like to see the work of your scientists. Conceit was obviously one of this ruler's weaknesses, Rex decided. He hoped others would reveal themselves. Very well, Terran. You shall see a part of the miracle concerning which you Terrans have wondered for years, the miracle by which your stolen lands below the polar circle have been watered and kept lush. The ice-cliffs? Yes. I cannot show you the process whereby the rain and the snows are created and drawn to the pole each season, how these great cliffs of ice are built over the winter months, but I can reveal to you the most spectacular part of the process, the melting of the ice-cliffs. In spite of their predicament, Rex was vitally interested.
Jean also. He glanced at her and saw the intent look on her face. Pandek picked up a device at his elbow, obviously some sort of telephone, and spoke into it. His words were low and indistinguishable, but the results were almost instantaneous. A faraway hum was heard, grating in volume as from the release of sudden power. A faint blue light appeared, glowing the ice at the base of the cliffs. The color shot up through the ice mass, clear blue, as new colors were added to that at the base. Red, yellow, purple, crimson, so bright they seemed to sear Rex's eyes. Then they, too, started climbing up through the solid ice. A deep rumbling was heard. Pandex said, "'Your Terran scientists have not even begun to realize the power of nuclear fission.' Two thousand years ago, our scientists were ages ahead of them.
Pandek said more, but his words were drowned in the thunder of the crashing ice cliffs beyond the Great Window. Huge cataracts were even now pouring down the walls of melting ice. Both Rex and Gene stood awed at the sight of such vast and instantaneous destruction. Pandek smiled his cold smile. The thunder subsided somewhat, and Pandek said, "'I see you are impressed. I would welcome your comments.' He was enjoying himself. The display had astounded Rex, but the expression on his face remained cold. "'I imagine you were responsible for sending the body of Professor Spencer back to Terra.' Pandek paused at Rex's quick change of subject. Yes, a fitting reminder to the Terrans that we aren't animals to be gaped at.
On the contrary, an indication that you are animals. Pandek half rose from the throne. You'll die a little more horribly than I'd planned for that remark. Perhaps I will, but the fact remains that you're mad to think you can stand against Terra. Your scientific know-how is admittedly great, but it's not geared for war. You think not? I'm certain of it. I'm also sure of another thing. What else are you sure of? That you have no scientists. Then how? You had them, ages ago, and they built well, so well that their work has survived to this day. What you have here was built by geniuses for fools to operate. I'm certain all you do is press switches and reap the benefits of work done by long-dead brains in another age.
The darkening of Pandek's face told Rex his words had cut deep. In a way, he felt sorry for the Martian. A hate-filled, envy-charged man seeking to vent his rage in mad ways. If carried to their ultimate, his acts could only lead to the destruction of his people at the hands of the Terrans. But this made the situation no less perilous for Rex and Jean, and other Terrans on Mars. "'You hold a Terran citizen,' he said, "'the daughter of Professor Spencer. Is she still alive?' Pandek was again enjoying himself. "'Oh, very much so.' His smile held some hidden meaning, as he said. A trifle embarrassed, perhaps, at the moment, but alive and healthy. "'I demand you return her to her own people.' "'You demand?' "'I admire your courage.' "'What do you plan to do with her?' Pandek's Martian eyes grew speculative.
She fits into my plans, as does the young woman at your side. A new day will dawn upon Mars soon, a revision to the old days, when Mars was a virile, fighting planet. Then there was less science and more emotion. The masses were whipped into a fighting frenzy by supplications to the old gods. Pandek grinned wickedly. Human sacrifices were part of those supplications. Nothing stirs the people like the public sacrifice of a beautiful female with all its pomp and splendour. It stirs them deeply. The thought of it stirs you deeply, you mean. You're mad. You're a dangerous maniac. I can only hope your own people put you down in time. With a howl of rage, Pandek leaped from his throne. He drew a short ornamental sword from his belt and swung it viciously against the side of Rex's head.
Rex went down like an ox felled for slaughter. Gene screamed. The rough-skinned Martian who subdued Tommy Wilkes pressed him against the wall of the tunnel and used Tommy's own flashlight for purposes of inspection. He growled a few unintelligible words and seemed to be debating a problem. Tommy watched him silently, warily, without fear. He had ceased struggling because it was useless, but his mind was alert. He had no way of knowing the Martian was in a quandary. He had been sent to check the tunnel entrance in the stone hutch on the Wilkes farm, but he had come upon Tommy halfway to his objective. Should he take Tommy to his superiors, or finish his original mission? It was indeed a problem.
The Martian was not too bright. Also, he was lazy. The capturing of this Terran changed things, he told himself. He would take the boy to the terminal. Then perhaps something would happen, so he would not have to take the long walk back through the tunnel. Perhaps he would be honored for his capture, and another would be sent to the hutch. This hope brightened him as he took Tommy roughly by the arm and hauled him toward the railhead. Tommy was not a difficult prisoner. They moved swiftly, but the boy was breathing heavily when he was pushed into one of the cars and the Martian took the controls. Tommy rested, awaiting his chance. He had by no means given up hope. It was just a matter of the Martian easing up on his arm.
At least that would be the first step. Tommy was glad the Martian had been contemptuous and not tied him up. The car rolled smoothly along its tracks, faster than the one used to transport Rex and Jean, because the Martian transporting Tommy had always liked speed. He liked it so well he opened the car to its greatest capacity, and at one point had to release Tommy's arm in order to put both hands on the throttle. Tommy struck instantly without thought as to the outcome, only with hope. And his hopes were fulfilled. He hurled himself against the Martian with both fists extended. They hit hard Brown hide just below the Martian's right shoulder and sent him off balance. The Martian snatched at Tommy while trying to regain his equilibrium, and learned the folly of attempting two things at once.
But too late. He teetered. Howled dismally, and pitched in front of the racing car. It hit him with a dull thud, killing him instantly. But his dead bulk also wreaked a kind of vengeance on the car, lifting it from its tracks and sending it skidding along its side. Tommy had been thrown clear, and as he hit the wall of the tunnel, he knew he was done for. Every bone in his body snapped. Every ounce of his flesh crackled with pain. He fell to the tracks and lay dying, but the process was slower than he anticipated. A full minute passed, and he had not yet expired. This puzzled him. How could you live with all this pain? With every bone broken? It just didn't make sense. Tommy waited. But death proved remarkably stubborn.
It refused to drop its black mantle over his tortured body. Finally Tommy moved an arm, a foot, a leg. Odd. They all worked. He got to his feet. He conceded that maybe the agony was not as great as it first seemed. Now that he could breathe again, things were better. There was only one bad place, really, a vicious bloody abrasion along his right forearm. The lights of a platform boomed ahead. Tommy crawled over the car and stepped gingerly around the body of the dead Martian. Then he hurried forward and climbed on the deserted platform. Here the light was better, and he examined his arm. It was an angry, bloody mass, but the blood was oozing out rather than flowing. No deep wound had been suffered, but it hurt like fury.
He could not bear to have anything touch it, so he put his arm out at an awkward angle and left it there while he looked around, wondering what this place was, and also how hard you had to get hit, and how much it had to hurt before you got killed. His ponderings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. In the face of this, there was nothing to do, he decided, but pick a direction and run. Back up the tracks? No. While the lights from the overhead bulbs were dim, they would still reveal him at quite a distance. The platform had two exits. The running footsteps were approaching along one of these. That left the other. Tommy plunged into it and ran. He ran a long way, and his surroundings changed swiftly.
The rail platform had been crude and uninspiring, but now he was fleeing along a beautiful marble corridor. He stopped for breath, backed into a partially secluded niche, and admired his surroundings. Was this the kind of place the Martians lived in? It certainly didn't fit into his preconceived notions of a place where backward ice people would dwell. As his breathing lessened, A tantalizing sound asserted itself upon his ears. An odd, singing sound, both pleasant and mysterious. He wondered where it came from. He peeked out into the corridor and found it deserted. The singing sound. As he walked back along the corridor, it diminished. He turned and retraced his steps. The sound gratinged until he came to an archway in one wall of the corridor.
The sound obviously emanated from that direction. The archway was supported by gleaming marble pillars, and as Tommy passed between them, the singing sound rose to a crescendo that vibrated deliciously against his nerve-centres. Then he saw it. A beautiful, domed room that gave a first impression of being a public bath of some sort. But there was no water, only brilliant, breathtaking color, All the gorgeous colors of the rainbow dancing down from the ceiling in beams of crystal clarity. There was sound and color, and something else, a subtle something that made Tommy very happy, excitedly happy in a way he had never before experienced. He moved forward, completely engrossed in his new surroundings.
He moved in under the shower of color, and a feeling of ecstatic exhilaration went through him. It was wonderful. Then he froze. Not twenty feet away stood two Martians clad in rich metal harness and holding long golden spears. Guards. Sudden fear swept Tommy. The Martians were staring straight at him. Desperately, he signaled to his frozen muscles. Let's get out of here. But they failed to respond. The guard stared at him. He stared back. Nothing happened. Why, they're asleep, Tommy thought in amazement. They're standing there, sound asleep, with their eyes wide open holding their spears. That's crazy. Why don't they fall down? Tommy wanted to run, but he couldn't. The curiosity of the very young not only barred retreat, but pushed him slowly forward until he was standing beside one of the guards.
The Martian had not moved a muscle. His chest neither rose nor fell. Completely fascinated, Tommy extended his hand. He touched the face of the guard. It was rough and cool. The guard did not move. Tommy laid a hand against the golden harness. Nothing happened. He had not intended to push, but he did. He pushed so hard the guard tilted over on one stiff leg. Appalled, Tommy leaped back. The guard kept on tilting until he fell on his side with a great crash of ringing metal. Tommy darted back through the color rays and out of the strange room so fast that he was far down the marble hall before his mind told him he was running. He kept on running. Then he stopped as suddenly as he had started. He looked down at his wounded arm.
He glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then ducked again in a wall niche where he gave his whole attention to his arm. Had he dreamed all this? The horrible martian in the tunnel. The car crash. The color room. He must have dreamed it. The proof was there before him. A smooth, unblemished forearm, where there had been a huge bloody bruise but a few moments before. He rubbed the arm, tested it. There was not the faintest sign of a wound. He looked around in bewilderment, peeked both ways and moved out again into the corridor. His luck had held for a long time, but now it failed him as sudden footsteps sounded in a traversing passage just ahead. They were coming swiftly. Tommy looked around in desperation.
This appeared to be the end, but it was not. Fate seemed indeed to be toying with him, moving him around like a mobile chessman. At the last moment it showed him a doorway he had overlooked. The door was unlocked, and he went through it as fast as he could, while still closing it softly behind him. Inside, the light was very dim. Tommy listened at the door as the sound of footsteps diminished. He smiled, quite proud of his ability to take care of himself under these circumstances. He would certainly have a lot to put in his diary when he got home. If he got home. Tommy drove this last thought from his mind. He would make it. He was doing all right. Whereupon fate slapped him in sharply for his conceit by turning him and dropping him down a flight of stairs he'd been too busy watching the door to notice.
The fall hurt, but Tommy was no longer frightened. He knew that so long as he had survived the car crash, no violence of this type could even dent him. He got to his feet and danced around for a while, holding a barked shin, then straightened as a new sound smote his ears. Someone was sobbing. A woman. A woman crying. It did not take Tommy long to trace the sound. He was in a narrower, lower corridor now, not one as fine as the big one upstairs. As Tommy moved forward, The sobbing told him he was going in the right direction. He opened a door. Inside the small room was a narrow, high-legged bed, more of a table, Tommy thought, but he gave it no attention. He was held spellbound by what lay upon the table.
A girl with wrists and ankles bound down. She had long chestnut hair that hung down over the edge of the table. She was helpless. And she was completely nude. Rex got up from the floor to which he had been viciously hurled by three Martian guards. He and Gene were in a cell. As the barred door clanged shut, he turned to help Gene as best he could. "'Are you hurt?' "'I—I guess not,' she tried to smile. "'Only my dignity. I got us into a pretty bad mess. It wasn't your fault.' "'I don't know who else it was.' Jean strained at her bonds. "'They could have at least taken these things off our wrists. We can do it ourselves. That guard out there, he's leering in. Maybe we'd better wait until he leaves.' "'Maybe he won't leave.
Anyhow, I don't think they care whether we take them off or not.' They stood back to back while Rex worked on the thongs binding Jean. The knots were stubborn, but they finally gave, the guard outside watching the process with amusement. Gene got Rex's wrist free quickly, and they sat down on the edge of the single bunk and rubbed their wrists. "'Well,' Gene said, "'where do we go from here?' "'To wherever they execute their prisoners, I imagine.' "'But we're still alive. Aren't we supposed to keep the chin up like they do in books?' He took her suddenly in his arms. "'You're a brave girl.' She pressed close to him. "'I'd rather hear you say I'm an attractive girl.' He kissed her hard. "'Does that convince you?' She sighed and snuggled closer, oblivious of the leering guard.
"'Thanks, mister. That's better. A gal doesn't mind dying, but she hates to go out feeling she hasn't hooked her man.' Rex felt a catch in his throat at the brave front she was maintaining. And it had to be an effort. Jean was no fool. She was a realist. No need to tell her they were finished, that he was no superman who could kick down a wall and carry her to safety. Let's not think about anything but us, she whispered. We have at least a few minutes to live, really live. With that guard standing there? Rick said bitterly. Well, then we can almost live. She kissed him. A few minutes later, he said, "'Did you notice anything funny out there in that council room?' "'What do you mean by funny? I was so busy looking at those tumbling ice-cliffs.
I mean the councilmen sitting on either side of Pandek. Not one of them moved or spoke.' "'That's right. They sat there like dummies. A row of dummies afraid to move even their eyes.' "'There is something else that puzzles me,' Gene said." Those ice-cliffs are life and death to we Terrans down below. Then why do the Martians build them up each winter and melt them for us in the spring? I'd think they'd leave the plains arid and thus drive us out. I wondered about that, too. There can only be one explanation. They've repeated the process for so long they're afraid to stop, afraid of what it might do to the overall welfare of the planet. Perhaps if they didn't the ice would pile up of its own accord and crush them and their cities.
I wonder how many cities there are. I don't care, really. Hold me closer. I'm cold. But I don't understand why they would do such a thing as this, Tommy said. He had released the girl and found her clothing in a corner of the room. It's a part of some pagan rite they planned to revive. The victim must lie in, in the manner you've found me, for a certain length of time. Some weird-looking priests visited me at intervals and recited incantations. It was horrible. What's your name? I'm Helen Spencer. I came here with my father. Never mind that now. I think we can get out of here. There was nobody in the hallway when I came in. I'd like to find my father. We can try. They separated us a long time ago.
For a while they treated me like a queen, even though they kept me a prisoner. I wondered why. Now I know. It was all part of this terrible pagan sacrifice. I think the time is very near. Then let's go. But they had waited too long. The door opened, and four Martian guards entered. They almost filled the room. Tommy hurled himself at the closest one, but was knocked viciously back against the wall. It seemed that fate had deserted him at last. The Martian in charge, one who stood a head taller than the other three, grasped Helen roughly by the arm. He seemed infuriated at finding her dressed. He threw her roughly after Tommy, and she, too, fell to the floor. The Martian stood there, undecided.
Some problem evidently occupying his mind. The three subordinates waited in silence. After a few moments the leader turned and barked several sharp commands. The orders puzzled the three Martians. They stood where they were until the leader barked another sharper order. Then they turned and filed out. The leader stood motionless until their footsteps died in the corridor. Then he bent swiftly and lifted Helen Spenser to her feet. As she cringed away he said, "'I'm Maxis, a dictator in the emperor's guard. I think perhaps you can help me. If so, I may be able to help you.' "'You're speaking Terran,' Helen said. "'Of course. Many of us know your language.' He pointed to Tommy. "'Who's this one?' "'I don't know, but I'm sure he has hurt none of you.
Please let him go free.' Maxis shook his head impatiently. "'It's of no importance. Tell me, while you lay here bound, did they bring a man to see you? A very old man, very feeble.' Helen did not trust the Martian. After what had happened to her, she was in no mood to trust any of these people. There had been an old man. The priest and a tall young martian had practically carried him in. They had stayed in the room for quite a while, the young martian talking harshly. The older one had pleaded with him. Had the old man escaped, Helen wondered. Was this one hunting him down? You don't trust me, Maxis said. But you must. If the old one came, he would have been brought by a young one. The old one would have been horrified at seeing you.
That's how it was, Helen said. Max's eyes flared. He laid a quick hand on Helen's shoulder, then drew it back. How long ago was this? Tell me, how long ago? Several hours, at least. Then he still lives. They lied to us. Pandek lied to us. If you would explain. The man you saw, the old one, was Fanton. Lord of the North Hemisphere, ruler of Mars. Pandek told us of his death when he assumed the throne. Only for this reason did the Legion swear loyalty to Pandek. But Vantum still lives. Tommy had got to his feet and was brushing his clothes. Maybe not. They might have killed him in the meantime. I have a feeling he's not dead, Maxis insisted. I must find him. I must not fail to find him. He was turning toward the door.
Tommy said, "'What about us?' Max's turned back, and Tommy knew he was ready to leave them to fend for themselves. Tommy said, "'You promised to help us if she told you what you wanted to know.' "'You're right, but you'll be in my way.' "'A promise is a promise,' Tommy said stoutly. "'Very well. We'll go down to the prison block. You two will march ahead.' I will act as though I am delivering you, but if there is any trouble, I will have to desert you. I cannot stand and fight. I cannot risk being slain until I find my Emperor. They marched out into the corridor. The three guards had gone their way, and no one was in sight. But from the grim look on the Martian's face, Tommy knew peril lay ahead.
The door to the cell in which Rex and Jean were imprisoned was unlocked. Five Martian guards entered. The leader was in high rage. "'This girl will have to do,' he snapped. "'The crowds in the square will not know the difference, and the priests will just have to keep their mouths shut. Take her!' As the three guards advanced on Jean, Rex went into action. He drove his knee into the groin of the leader, bending the Martian forward into a straight right that almost tore his head off. The Martian went down. His jaw structure so thick, Rex's fist turned numb from the contact, and the Martian was only dazed. Rex knew his one hope lay in getting control of the small pistol the leader carried. He lunged.
The gun lay in the fallen leader's outstretched hand. Rex's fingers touched it, but the leader's fist closed. The delay was fatal. It gave one of the guards time to take one long step and kick Rex solidly behind the right ear. Rex went down hard, smacking the floor with his face. He did not move. Jean screamed. A hard hand went brutally over her mouth, dragging her down also. The leader of the squad said, "'Take her to the ceremonial room. Prepare her for the knife. Tell the priests I will be there soon.' "'Ay, great Lord Pandek,' the guard said. Jean bit the hand that lay across her mouth. It was jerked away. She tore loose and threw herself down on Rex's unconscious body. She was pulled roughly to her feet, and other hard hands dragged her away.
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6 06 - Secrets of the Martians-Part 3 41:39
Secrets of the Martians.
Perhaps it was Tommy's luck that carried the party through. On the trip to the cell-blocks they met only two other Martians, not soldiers, who exhibited only mild curiosity. Once on the lower tier, Maxis seemed more at home. "'This is the likeliest cell-block,' he said. "'But we can't search all those cells,' Tommy said. "'It would take hours. Surely we'd be stopped.' He was looking down a long corridor lined with bars. Other corridors intersected until the place was a maze. "'You're right,' Maxis said. "'I have a plan that may save us time. Come, you two walk behind me now.' They moved down the corridor. Only one guard lay in their path, but he was down on his haunches, asleep. They glided past him, Max's gun held ready.
They moved on until they were approaching a more brightly lighted intersection. A small table was located against the bars of a corner cell, and a Martian sat at the table occupied with some papers. The trio approached from behind the man quietly. He heard them when they were a few steps away. He turned. Maxis took a last bold step and was towering over the seated one. Maxis spoke casually, but with authority. "'I've been sent to deliver Fanton to the council hall.' Maxis did not expect cooperation from the guard, but he hoped for something else. His eyes were on the guard's face, watching for the man's first reaction. It was entirely satisfactory from Max's point of view. The guard's startled eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion.
"'Who sent you for him?' Maxus smiled without humor. "'Then he's here. He does live.' "'What's sell, you mother's mistake? Quick!' The guard looked into the barrel of the deadly gun Maxus held close to his face. A black hole from whence could come needle flames that would burn his head into an instantaneous crisp. The third aisle, cell eight. The gun in Maxis's hand spit a small blue flame. For a moment, the guard's head was enveloped in fire. Then the head was gone. Helen Spencer recoiled in horror. Maxis said he was a traitor. To the Martian, that justified everything. He bent over and picked up the headless body and carried it to the nearest cell. He turned and said to Tommy, "'This is the dangerous moment.
You must help me. Do exactly as I say. You must go to the cell and bring Fanton back to this table. I must wait here.' Tommy was perplexed. "'I don't get it.' "'You should be better able to get him out of his cell.' If we meet a guard, he'll stop us. No, he won't. He'll bring you here. All authority in the block stems from this key center. If you meet a guard, tell him you are under orders from the keykeeper. He will be suspicious and completely confounded, but he will bring you here. In the meantime, I can better stave off trouble with the authority this post gives me. Maxis looked at Helen and pointed. You— Into that cell, out of sight. Stay there until we have either succeeded or failed. His face was grim.
If we fail, you must shift for yourself with nothing but my good wishes to help you on your way. His tone indicated his good wishes would be scant of aid. He laid a hand on Tommy's shoulder. Walk to the next intersection down that corridor. Turn to your right and count off seven cells. Fanton will be in the eighth. Good luck. Tommy took the key Maxis handed him and started off as directed. The key seemed very heavy. The corridor seemed very long. The task set for him seemed next to impossible. He reached the cell without trouble. He unlocked the door. Inside, a very old Martian lay in filth and rags on the floor. Tommy knelt beside him, his heart pounding. "'You are to come with me,' he said.
The old Martian opened his eyes. "'Who are you?' "'I'm Tommy Wilkes, a Terran, but that doesn't matter. Maxis, one of your friends, is waiting at the table down the hall. Can you walk, sir?' A tired smile brightened the old Martian's face. "'Strange indeed are our times.' When a Terran juvenile comes to the aid of the Lord of the North Hemisphere, the times have gone mad, and we can only go where destiny directs, or seems to. Fanton, with Tommy's aid, had got to his feet, and Tommy helped him from the cell. But now there was a barrier, three scowling Martian guards. One of them barked a challenge in his own language. "'Don't say anything,' Tommy warned Fanton. Maxis said it might work out like this.
To the Martian, he said, I've been sent to bring the prisoner. But he knew the Martian did not understand him. The three spoke among themselves, their confusion quite obvious. Then it worked exactly as Maxis had hoped. At a command from one, the other two guards took Tommy and Fanton, each by an arm, and hauled them along the corridor toward the key center. As they approached it, Tommy saw that Maxis had gotten to his feet and was waiting for them. The grim Martian stood with both hands behind his back. As they came to a halt, the leader of the trio spoke questioningly to Maxis in their own language. Before Maxis could answer, the other's eyes opened wide, and Tommy knew what was going on in his mind.
He was recognizing Maxis as a false keykeeper. The leader got short satisfaction from his discovery. He died with his questions still unanswered, as Maxis brought his right arm around and blasted the man's head into a cinder. The other two guards fell away quickly, their reflexes in perfect condition. Both snatched for their guns. One was going down as Maxis Ray cut him in two. The other guard was bringing his gun up. Maxis had no time to match shots with him, or perhaps chose not to from a certainty that both of them would die as a result. Instead, he hurled himself on the guard and caught the latter's wrist, bending the gun away from himself and the others. The guard was far heavier than Maxis, his bolt possessed of greater strength.
He dropped the gun, but heaved Maxis to one side and came down heavily upon him. He had trapped Max's arm successfully, and it was a matter of moments before he would again have the gun in his fist. Tommy acted from desperation, without plan. A heavy ring of keys lay on the desk. Tommy snatched them up and swung them, from high over his head, down hard on the skull of the guard. The guard's head was indeed hard. The keys rang dully against it, but the guard's hand only faltered in reaching for the gun. Tommy swung the keys again and again. Unable to grip the gun, the guard reached with both hands, thus losing his hold on Maxis for a moment. The moment was enough. Suddenly the guard stiffened, and came awkwardly erect.
There was an empty look in his eyes, and then Tommy saw the reason. The handle of a dagger protruded from his chest, driven in by Maxis, who was even now rolling the corpse over and coming free. Maxis sheathed his dagger, still dripping blood. He snapped. We've got to move fast. Now all we have to go on is hope. Helen came from the cell as Tommy asked, Where are we going? We've got to get, Fantin, to the place of eternal strength. Come. He took the old Martian in his arms, and the cavalcade moved off down the corridor following Maxis' lead. Guards could be heard, running in from different directions. To Maxis it was but a matter of time. He did not expect to reach the place of eternal strength.
He could only try, and die finally, battling for his emperor. But this did not sadden him. There was no better way for a Martian to die. Rex floated in a sea of pain. Sadistically beaten by the guards who had overpowered him, he lay on the floor of the cell, aware of the blood pool around him and of the pain, but unable to force his body into action. He knew the door to the cell stood open. He forced his mind to focus on this point. It could mean only one thing. The guards had left him for dead. The thought cheered him. He was not dead. Therefore he was living on borrowed time, a break men in his profession seldom got. Another thought intruded. Maybe he wasn't lucky. Maybe he was crippled. He had as yet not inventoried the damage.
Was it worse than the pain indicated? He searched for numbness and found none. He moved and the pain increased. That was good. Nothing paralyzed. But was an arm or leg broken? Was there a spine injury? Resolutely he forced his muscles to respond. Arms, legs, bones okay. He got to his feet and swayed dizzily. Pain shot through his head. He almost blacked out, clawed at the wall, kept himself from falling. He got hold of a bar and held himself erect while the floor spun and the walls tilted. Then they steadied away. His stomach settled back into place, the nausea giving ground sullenly. After a while he decided he was all right, as all right as he would be for a long time. He looked around for a weapon.
All the bars were in solid rock. The legs of the bunk were riveted down. He hunted and stood finally looking at his two fists. They were all he had. They would have to do. He stepped out of his cell and saw two guards approaching along the corridor. He debated flight. He stopped. There were two fists. Might as well find out right now how effective they would be. He crouched and stood waiting. Gene moved in a daze. She had been taken by the Martian guard through long corridors into a splendid part of whatever building this was. At one point during the trip, she lashed out suddenly, bit the hand across her mouth, and raked her nails across a hard face. The Martians had been in no mood to tame a tigress the gentle way.
The big Martian, after snarling from the bite, swung his other fist viciously. The blow rang against Jean's head. She fell. The Martians growled at each other, picked her up roughly, and carried her, half-conscious, on down the corridor. She was taken to a high room, far up in the building. The room seemed to be some sort of a storage place for fine garments. They were everywhere, gold surplices, hanging in rows, Gold and silver sandals hanging from pegs along the wall. A rich room with windows and daylight coming in, the first Jean had seen in a long time. She remembered the stone hutch, so wondrous, so far away, so unattainable. Rex. Tears welled in Jean's eyes, and she tasted the dregs of bitterness as she saw Rex in memory.
Lying bloody and broken on the floor of the cell. Recalled the ferocity with which the Martians had attacked him. Suddenly, Jean realized what was going on. What the Martians were doing there in the high room, stripping off her clothing. With a choke cry, she found new strength and fought again. She took them by surprise, broke from them and ran, half-naked, toward the door. Escape seemed imminent, but she threw herself straight into the arms of a tall, scowling Martian, who held her like a child, and carried her back into the terrible room. As he walked toward them, those who had brought her here fell to their knees. One of them intoned, Pandek, great Pandek, Lord of the North Hemisphere. Not quite, Pandek said, speaking in Terran.
And never if I continue to be surrounded by bungling fools such as you, who cannot hold a slip of a girl. Had I not come through that door, she would even now be making her escape. She surprised us, great Pandek. It will not happen again. Cowellously, Pandek held Jean forth with one great hand and hit her sharply on the point of her chin with a doubled fist. I'll make certain of that. Here, take her. Maybe you will be safer with an unconscious sacrifice. Comb out her hair. Wash her body. Put on the golden harness. Get her ready for the knife. They took Jean from him and laid her on a marble slab and continued their ministrations. Pandek, scowling deeply, walked to the window and looked out. Beyond and below was a great open square filled with people.
They milled about a high, central platform on which sat a throne and a sacrificial block. The block was caked with the blood of a thousand sacrifices made before the Reformation, centuries before. It had been removed from the square, but had been carefully preserved by a corps of fanatics who had never given up hope of the old regime coming again into power. The old, bloody regime that worshipped the robust pagan gods and gave the people great spectacles. Now the block had been returned. The minds of the people had been inflamed, and they waited for the first sacrifice of the new age, the age in which proud pagan Mars would again demand its rightful place in the sun. Pandek's hand thrilled for the feel of the knife.
He thrilled at the thought of driving it home and thus ushering in the new age. His mind went, quite naturally, to Fanton, the weak old fool he had dragged down. It had been a clever coup. Of course, Fanton still had followers, but they had been misled, lied to, cleverly hoodwinked. A little fearful of a slip in his plans, Pandek had not had Fanton slain. He had merely thrown the old fool into a cell to die, had deprived him of rejuvenation. Perhaps Fantin was already dead. Pandek wondered. But perhaps not, and with his plans having gone forward so smoothly it was safe to kill the disposed lord of the northern hemisphere. Pandek turned swiftly, and went to see about it. Maxis, Leading his cavalcade down the prison corridor, and carrying the even frailer body of his emperor, traveled half the breadth of the prison before danger confronted him.
Three guards loyal to Pandek, the usurper, and dedicated to his treacherous cause. Maxus laid the body of Fanton gently upon the floor. Then he stepped over it and made his stand between his emperor and those who had deserted him. He paid no attention to the two Terrans. He wished them neither harm nor good fortune. They would be of no value in this fight, so he forgot them. The guards, sure of their advantage, moved slowly forward. They knew Maxus, and gave him a tribute by taking it for granted he would not retreat. They drew their short, wicked swords, thus forcing Maxus, a man of ethics, to forswear use of any other weapon, even though death faced him. The Martians moved in from three angles, skillful swordsmen all, and Maxis parried three quick thrusts with a tricky maneuver that left a scratch on the arm of one guard.
It was a gallant parry, worthy of a better reward than certain death. The guards retreated a step, set themselves, and moved in again. Maxis would certainly not be able to repeat the maneuver. Then there was a new, sudden and devastating action. From the rear of the guards came a crazed, unarmed juggernaut of destruction. A mad Terran, bloody, savage-eyed, lethal. He threw himself against the flank of the advancing trio, locked an arm around his throat, and with leverage obtained by wrapping his legs around the Martian's body, snapped the ugly head at the base of the spine. The Martian fell with the Terran under him. As Tommy cried, Rex! Rex! Where did you come from? The Terran had disentangled himself from the corpse and was engaging a second guard.
Stunned by the suddenness of the attacks, the guard was easy prey for the Terran's death grip. A second spine snapped, and as the Terran rose, he saw that the third guard had fallen before Maxis' sword. Maxis said, Your aid was indeed timely. Rex wiped blood from his face and advanced like a great cat. What are you doing with these people? Tommy rushed forward. It's all right, Rex. This is our friend. The old man is the lord of the North Hemisphere. Maxis is trying to save his life. This is Helen Spencer. They were going to kill her. Maxis had again taken Fanton in his arms. We have no time to discuss these things. Find a gun on one of those bodies and follow. He moved swiftly down the corridor.
Tommy and Helen Spencer followed, but Rick strode forward until he was abreast of the Martian. Where are we going? There was suspicion and hostility in his voice, as though he suspected a trick. I can't go into detail, Maxis said, but believe me, Our chances of survival lie in reaching a ray fountain we call the place of eternal strength. The Emperor's life is at stake and ours also. As though on cue, two guards appeared from across corridor. Grinning mirthlessly, Rex turned the gun on them. It spat forth a crackling ray that cut them in the middle and brought the upper halves of their bodies toppling to the floor. He killed four more guards before they arrived at the place of eternal strength, shooting them in the back without compunction as he stalked ahead of Rex, clearing the way.
Upon arrival at their destination, Tommy cried, "'Why, this is the place where my arm was healed. I had a wound, and then it was gone!' Maxis laid the body of Fanton on a marble couch under the singing colored rays. Even greater miracles are achieved here. He said. It heals all ills, even old age. If a spark of life remains in a body, the fountain grates and strengthens it. Rex stared in wonder. Will it revive the dead? No. It will preserve a dead body, cause it to remain perfect for centuries, but once life is gone, it can never be returned. Then this is what happened to Professor Spencer. He was killed and placed under this ray. Maxis nodded sadly. Brutally murdered, it was Pandek's signal for his great coup.
We were caught completely unawares. He acted very cleverly and told us Fanton had died, refusing rejuvenation, when in truth he had deprived Fanton of the fountain's healing power. Only today did I discover that Fanton still lived. Rex was staring at the body of the ancient ruler. How long does the process take? A matter of minutes. Let's only hope that those minutes are afforded us. "'There are still some shots in my gun,' Rex said. They waited, while the body of Fanton seemed to visibly recharge itself. Two guards appeared. Rex killed them. "'How is this rebellion allowed to get started?' he asked. There was a grim look upon Max's face. Through laxness, through carelessness, From stopping our ears against the sound of treacherous undercurrents.
From feeling that young hotheads were basically sound, and would not arrange their own destruction and ours too. This Pandek you speak of, he planned to move against the Terrans to the south? He still plans it. He has vowed to wipe every alien from the planet and establish a new age of Martian resurgence. The Martians would be annihilated. Pandek is willing to gamble on that. He must be insane, Rex said. It began when Fantin advocated a change in Martian policy. For centuries, ever since the Terrans came, our course has been one of proud isolation. The policy was instituted centuries ago by ill-advised leaders, and Fantin carried it on against his bitter judgment. When he began talking of a reversal, The underground mutiny gained in strength.
Will saving Fanton's life stop the rebellion? This thing we do is only a feeble step in the right direction. Even with Fanton strong and healthy, we may not be able to win. What's this sacrifice business? It's supposed to take place in the public square, an old barbaric rite in which a maiden is slain, and the people file by and bathe their hands in her blood. It will be the signal for the final act of overthrow, when the rebels come into the open and slay all who remain faithful to Fanton. A new voice spoke. The two men turned. Fanton was sitting on the edge of the marble couch. Helen and Tommy were staring at him. Fanton's words were for Maxis. "'You have done well. If I'd known before where loyalty lay, things might have been different.' Maxis dropped to one knee.
He bowed his head. "'My lord—' "'No time for this. I must get to the council.' "'It will be very dangerous. But the uprising must be beaten down. The council is still loyal. They must see that I am alive.' Rex said, "'I think you'll find—' Phanton waved him to silence. "'We must hurry.' As the group left the place of eternal strength, Maxus said, "'Perhaps they will have to be assembled, if they are not in session.' "'They must be in session.' On the trip to the amphitheatre of the gods, two rebels were killed, and one loyal Martian added to the cavalcade. As they moved into the great hall, Fadon said, "'They are here.' This appeared to be true. The seats flanking the central throne were still occupied.
The throne itself was vacant. Immediately upon entering the great hall, Rex ran forward and climbed to the tier of benches. The council members sat silent, unmoving. Rex pushed the body of the nearest one. It tumbled off the bench like a sack of grain and fell to the floor. Fanton paled. "'What does this mean?' "'They're all dead.' Rex replied. When we were here before, I noticed that none of them moved or spoke. This is the work of a madman, Pandek. This is his joke. He rules all alone. Maxis said, You will have to try and escape, my lord. You must get to the Terrans and tell your story. Fanton considered. If I run like a coward, thousands of loyal Martians will die. Their blood will be on my hands.
"'That's not true,' Rex said sharply. Further talk was interrupted by the sound of men approaching at a run. Fantin turned and pointed. "'Behind that pillar there's a small door that leads to an observatory platform above the square. Only my father knew of the stairway behind the wall.' Fantin pressed a carved leaf in a decoration on the pillar, and a small section of the seemingly unbroken wall moved inward. Phantan entered, and the rest followed with Rex and Maxis and the new recruit bringing up the rear. Maxis said, "'I will stay here and fight. I'm tired of running away.' Rex dragged him into the opening. "'Don't be a fool. There's a time to fight and a time to run. This is a time to run.' As the wall section slid back into place, Fanton indicated a stairway a short distance down the narrow corridor.
Rick said to Maxis, "'You go ahead to guard Fanton. This new man and I will stay here in case Fanton and his father weren't the only ones who knew about that opening. I think whoever was coming heard us leave.' Maxis was prepared to object. He hesitated, watching Fanton. Tommy and Helen moved up the circular stairway. "'Go ahead.' Rex snapped. You don't know who may be up there. Scowling, Maxis turned suddenly and took the stairs three at a time. Rex and the loyal Martian had a short wait. The sound of the others had scarcely died out above, when the panel opened again. I was right, Rex whispered. Stand on the other side. The two defenders had the advantage of a comparatively dim interior. That, and the remaining charges in Rex's gun.
Three guards crowded into the narrow passageway. As they saw Rex standing by the stairway, he dropped to the floor and fired at an upward angle. His lethal charges cut the two forward guards to pieces. The third one, though confused, was more alert. He also had a gun and looked desperately around for a target. The loyal Martian thrust viciously with his sword. He missed. The guard danced away. Rex brought his gun around, but hesitated with the loyal Martian in his range of fire. When he maneuvered a clear shot, he pressed the switch. Nothing happened. The gun was empty. In the meantime, the guard brought his gun around to bear on the Martian. The latter made a second desperate thrust. It went home, but only as the Martian fell dead from the guard's last shot.
Rex got to his feet, wiping sweat from his face. And at that moment, Pandek stepped into the passageway. Instantly, Rex leaped for the fallen guard's gun. Pandek smiled contemptuously and kicked it far down the passageway. Pandek apprised the situation swiftly. He said, "'Pick up the sword, Terran scum!' Without reply, Rex bent down and did as directed. "'Are you skilled in its use?' Pandek asked. "'Never had one in my hand before.' Pandek raised his own sword, identical to the one Rex held. "'Then I'm afraid the contest will be rather unequal,' he said, and moved toward Rex. "'On guard. It will be a great pleasure to kill you.' Rex took a backward step. He was no match for Pandek with these weapons.
Pandek would be a master at close swordsmanship. This had to be true, otherwise Pandek would not be so eager to engage him. Rex thought of the headquarters on Earth, of Professor Spenser, so still, so peaceful in that box, so dead. Would he go back to Terra the same way? With Fanton's hiding-place known to Pandek, the rebellion seemed assured of a success. As certain as his own death at Pandek's hands. He took another backward step. Jean was ready for the sacrifice. She had been dressed in a rich golden harness and wore golden manacles on her wrists. She had waited in the room with the sound of the crowds in the great court below rising in volume as their impatience increased. Finally a door opened.
A tall, resplendent figure entered. He wore a jeweled cloak that swept the floor. A hideous golden mask covered his face. There were two attending priests with Jean. They dropped to their knees and lowered their eyes. One of them intoned, Great Pandic, Lord of the Northern Hemisphere, the sacrifice is ready for your knife. The room grew hazy before Jean's eyes. It spun in a sickening swirl as she slipped to the floor in a dead faint. When she regained consciousness, Jean found herself under an archway in the court below. The great square was jammed with howling Martians. A long red carpet stretched from the archway to the platform in the center of the square. The sting of a sharp odor in her nostrils told Jean how she had been revived.
A priest on either side now supported her. They moved forward from the building toward the platform. Evidently, she could either walk or be dragged. She preferred to walk. She raised her head high and matched the priest's step for step. The crowd pressed close to the red carpet on either side. Unbroken lines of guards held the Martians back. To Jean, they seemed things out of a nightmare. They reached the steps leading up to the platform. Five steps. She counted them as she ascended. The marble block. The priest laid her along its length. The golden manacles were removed. Each priest took an arm and held her to the slab with the tall, massed figure raising his knife and looking down at her. The knife arched.
Then— Halfway in its descent toward her bared breast, it stopped. The masked figure looked up toward the high wall of the building. He shrank backward, pointed with the knife as he cringed away. A dramatic gesture that turned every eye in the square toward a small balcony high on the wall. A cry went up. A single word. FANTON! The true lord of the northern hemisphere stood with his arms stretched out imperiously over the crowd below. He held this position until the roaring died away, and a whisper could have been heard in the great square. Then he spoke. "'Hear your emperor now. You have been lied to by those who would destroy you. You have been told I was dead, and that a new order would prevail among you.
An old—' Outdated order that brought only blood and suffering in its time. I tell you now that those who spoke thus were traitors, who sought to exploit your suffering to their cruel ends. The leader of these was Pandek, a prince I trusted. I now declare his life forfeit, and say to you that he will be executed in public at this hour one day hence. Return now to your homes, and have done with this madness. Aye, your emperor, command each of you personally. You who are vested with authority, return to your duties. The sonorous voice ceased, and Jean felt herself being raised from the marble slab. She opened her eyes. The golden mask had been lifted from the face of the executioner. He had dropped the knife, and now held a sword in his hand.
It was Maxis. He whispered, Under the platform, quick. There's an underground passage back into the palace. You'll be safe. Jean was bewildered. As she descended, she saw that the crowd had surged backward, leaving an open space between the platform and the palace. Maxis turned and ran toward the open space. A small group of Martians was running forward from the building. They were led by Pandek with a sword in his hand. From another doorway, Rex ran to join Maxis. He was unarmed. One of Pandek's group turned and swerved out to intercept him. Like a great cat, Rex crouched, waiting. The Martian moved in. Rex went under the vicious swipe of the Martian's sword, and caught the Martian's arm and spun him around.
Before the Martian could recover his balance, there was an arm around his throat. Pressure on his spine. He screamed as his spine snapped. Rex raced on to join Maxus. The guards in the square had now chosen sides. A few rallied behind Pandek. By far, the majority took their stand behind Maxus. Their number doomed the smaller group. But Maxus held up his hands. Stand back! All of you! Come forward, Pandek. You think so highly of your swordsman's skill. Let me see the proof. Just we two. Pandek was not slow in accepting the challenge. He came forward, and the two Martians circled cautiously in the open space between the two opposing forces. Pandek seemed the better of the two. Maxis fought mainly on the defensive.
His play unspectacular, which made Pandek's thrust seem all the more brilliant. Pandek evidently felt any retreat was a mark against him. Not so with Maxis. He retreated whenever it was made necessary by Pandek's able thrusts. Pandek sneered. Maxis fought stolidly, doggedly, until Pandek made the mistake of losing regard for his foe's ability. He thrust smartly, and did not maintain the balance necessary for retreat in case of a quick counter-attack. The counter-attack came. Suddenly Max's blade was everywhere. Pandek retreated in order to regain his balance and reassume domination of the match. Max never gave him the chance to do this. Always Pandek was a scant second too late in parrying a thrust to balance himself for the next.
He fell. Maxus moved in swiftly. For a moment he stayed his thrust hoping. And what he hoped for came to pass. Pandek's courage broke. With terror in his eyes, the fallen Martian shouted, Stop! I am of royal blood. Don't you dare kill me! Maxus smiled and drove his blade home. As he drew it forth, he glanced at Pandek's waiting group. Brave men all, who had espoused the losing cause openly. To a man they were throwing down their swords, their eyes on the dead Pandek, contempt on their faces. The contempt of men who suddenly realized they had been led by a coward. Men who were ashamed. Max has sheathed his blade and looked up to where Fanton, Lord of the Northern Hemisphere raised his hand in salute.
Maxis bowed. Then he turned to Rex. He said, It's over, my friend. The fuse has been snuffed in time. We will be eternally in your gratitude. It's the other way around. We're getting out of this little affair with whole skins. That's something to be really thankful for. From the Diary of Tommy Wilkes What a story I'll have to tell. I guess I'm about the luckiest kid on Mars right now, because when I get back they're going to let me tell what happened. I've got it all written down so I won't forget anything. I've got it up to the time we left Rex and the Martian in the passageway behind the wall. Rex didn't tell me all that happened, but when Maxis got back there, after hearing the noise— He found Pandek on the floor unconscious.
Rex said Pandek came at him with a sword, and he was pretty sure Pandek would kill him, but Pandek missed a thrust, and Rex got in a lucky grab and pushed a nerve on Pandek's neck. He made it sound very easy, but I'll bet Rex is about the best nerve fighter in the world. That's what they call men who can kill with nothing but their bare hands. Anyhow, They brought Pandek upstairs, and Maxis wanted to kill him, but Fanton said no, that Pandek should be kept alive until the rebellion was over, if it ever was. They talked about what they'd do, but Fanton made the final decision because he was the emperor. He said he wanted to reveal himself to the people at a dramatic moment because that was what had an effect on crowds.
He decided the most dramatic moment would be while the knife was raised over Gene. So they took Pandek to a room and tied him up, and Maxis took his place. Maxis's job was to call the crowd's attention to Fanton at the right instant to heighten the dramatic effect. He was also supposed to look scared to death so the crowd wouldn't swing Pandek's sight against the Emperor. It all works well, except for one thing. Some trader guards came and let Pandek out. If Pandek had gone after Fanton, it all might have ended differently. That's what Rex said. But Pandek got rattled and went after Maxis instead. Maxis killed him, even though Pandek was a much better swordsman. Now, to me, that doesn't make any sense.
I asked Rex about it, but he just smiled and said Pandek was better than Maxis except for one thing. Guts. That's a funny term that means courage. I wonder where Rex heard it. Probably on Earth. Anyhow, everything is fine now. The people are behind Fanton, and he's coming back to New Iowa with us and wants to go on to Terra for a goodwill visit. He wants to open the northern country to terrans and trade scientific secrets. Right now I'm in a room they gave me to sleep in while we're here. I saw Gene and Rex walking in the garden down below. He was kissing her. Or maybe it was the other way around. End of Secret of the Martians
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7 07 - Traitor's Choice 21:28
The phone-o-vision bell rang. Reed Kendall reached for the switch, not taking his eyes off the blue-print that lay on his desk. He spoke absently. Yes? The reply came sharp and cold. I suggest you stop what you're doing and pay attention to me. Kendall raised his head and looked at the screen. The image that faced him was that of a man, a tall man in ordinary street clothes, but wearing an odd silver mask over his face. Kendall made no effort to hide his annoyance. This was no time for jokes. Some lab comedian with time on his hands, "'Now listen here. I'm busy, and I'm in no mood to—' Shut up! The tone was sharp, brutal, contemptuous. It stiffened Kendall, then eased him slowly back into his chair.
"'What do you want?' "'That's better. Take that absurd mask off.' "'I'll leave it on.' "'Then get this over with. Tell me what you want.' "'It will take a few minutes. Go over and lock your door.' "'I'll do no such thing.' I said—' Go over and lock your door. Their eyes clashed. Kendall's frank, indignant accusing. The strangers dark and menacing in the holes of the mask. Very well. Kendall crossed the room and stood for a moment with his back to the photo-vision screen. This man meant business. But what could be the nature of that business? Kendall's thoughts went, of course, to the top-secret material he had access to. The defence of the world lay within the boundaries of the Canadian Flats Ordnance Research Project, but safely so.
The Centurians were as eager to set these secrets as well as had been the Russians during the first phase of the atomic era, when the world was divided into two frightened and belligerent camps. Strange. Kendall thought, that he should think of that period. The world had long since become one frightened and belligerent camp, but the problem of survival had greatened as advanced science had opened the starways. "'I said, lock the door!' Kendall complied. As he returned to his desk, he sensed the man was smiling behind his mask. "'What was he?' "'A centurion? Either that or a Terran.' Certainly not a venusian, unless he was standing on a box. Sit down. All right, let's get on with it. In my own good time.
First, let me sympathize with you on your love for your wife. What sort of idiocy are you talking about? The man ignored the question. You are unique in that love, Mr. Kendall. We conducted a telepathic survey of every married scientist in this project. And only one psych pattern was suited to our purpose. Kendall scowled. "'I think you're enjoying this, but I'm not. And believe me, you'll live to regret it.' "'We were fortunate in finding you, Mr. Kendall. The one man here who would be incapable of allowing his wife to die horribly if he could prevent it, no matter what the cost.' A vague fear coupled with a chill was seeping through Kendall's brain. Say what you've come to say, and get it over with.
I'm doing just that. We have your wife, Kendall. We got her at ten o'clock this morning. Impossible. Our security's foolproof. No person has ever been kidnapped from any World Defense Project. Never before, but let me tell you why. Because such a hostage would have been of little value. Terran scientists and defense personnel have been psychologically conditioned to the point of fanaticism. We have never before discovered a Terran scientist who would put his wife or any other loved one before his loyalty to Terra. And what makes you think I will? Our tests are absolute. But if we are wrong, it will be unfortunate for only one person, your wife. Kendall thought of Clare. Trying the while to keep his panic from showing through.
Blonde. Beautiful Claire. The one person who really made his life worth living. Claire. As he worked at this brutal, tedious defense business, he did not work for the defense of Terra, though that idea and his psychological drive was ever in his conscious mind. He worked to keep Claire safe, and now he realized the stark fact. realized it as he cursed the centurions and their devilish extra-sensory penetration. Curse this masked devil for being right. Shocked out of wariness, he allowed these thoughts to spill through his conscious mind. Then he caught himself and threw up the blank mental wall all defense people were taught to use. But not until the man chuckled behind his mask and said, I agree on all counts.
But you have to admit that we clocked you perfectly, Mr. Kendall. The risk we took in kidnapping your wife was well worth while. On the contrary, one life is of little consequence. I'm sorry you feel that way, the man said, with mocking lightness in his voice. Let me describe the manner in which your wife will die. First we'll strip her, Nick. What is it you're after? Kendall snapped. The man's chuckle was even more pronounced. You're right, of course, in surmising I'm a centurion, and you're quite familiar with the way our Cold War works, how the balance of power has been maintained these last hundred years. The balance is tipped in our favour. Of course, but we now intend, through you, to remedy that situation.
You people are very ingenious in that you invent a total destruction type weapon, and then turn right around and conceive an absolute defense against it. We do the same, of course, or try to, but we find ourselves at all times slightly behind you. A sad situation for we Centurians, don't you think, Mr. Kendall? Your chances of ever balancing us are remote. Not so. Let me explain. Our great hope lies in obtaining the plans of your latest projectile. I think you call it Willie Seven. I know of no such plans. Clare, lying defenseless against the obscene tortures of these soulless animals. Let's not waste time with lies, Mr. Kendall. You've been working on the project. The defense against Willie Seven.
It's not perfected. The centaurian leaned forward and snapped out the words in triumph. It can't possibly be ready for use in less than six months, because the projectile involved in a difficult combination of lethal germs and subsonic vibrations, the toughest you ever tackled. A deep sickness clawed at Kendall's stomach. The centaurian had hit upon the truth, while still evidently unaware of Terran defense procedure. He did not seem to know that the development of an offensive weapon was never allowed to proceed faster than the development of a defence against it. The theory being twofold, that defence was the most important element concerned, and that defence against our own weapons would probably function as safeguards against those of Centurion origination.
Also, the possibility of theft had been foreseen. To have the plans of a non-defensible weapon stolen would mark the end of Tara. But in the case of Willie Seven, the defensive unit had involved such problems that the defensive half of the project had lagged. They will give her drugs to sensitize the flesh and nerves of her body until her sufferings will be those of ten people crowded into one's skin. "'We want Willie Seven, Mr. Kendall. We want it now.' I don't have access to the plans. The eyes were again baleful behind the mask. Let's not waste time. You know very well we didn't launch this project, only to leave such important angles to chance. But getting them out? You will take the microfilms of the plans within the next twenty-four hours.
We left a thumbnail-sized camera under your wife's pillow, in case you have need of it. You thought of everything, didn't you? Kendall said. Everything except the one all-important point. What is that? My wife could never be returned to me, because there would be no place to return her, after you destroy this globe. We're not fools. That phase of it has been well planned. You will apply for a three-day vacation and meet our ship at a location in Yellowstone National Park. Your wife is already on her way to our planet. You will follow her in a second ship, you and the plans. After the annihilation of your world is accomplished, you will not find us ungrateful. You will both be sent to Venus to live out the rest of your lives in ease.
I have only your word for that. It is enough. And Kendall knew, of course, that it was. The Centurians would keep their word. Mainly because breaking it after they had obtained their objective would gain them nothing. They would keep their word because their propaganda department would insist. And now, the Centurion said, I have stayed on this circuit long enough. Soon it will cause suspicion. A note will be delivered to you, given the time and place of our meeting in Yellowstone. Kendall finished out his hours. And this was not strange. No need to go out hunting Clare. A waste of energy to rush home looking for her. She would not be home. She was on her way to a far distant and hostile planet, where, unless he followed orders, she would scream out her life in agony, unbearable to even contemplate.
The Centurion was right. Kendall had not the iron will to allow this, even though a dozen planets were on the block. He worked like a man in a dream, and then drove slowly from Plant Nine along ten miles of winding road to the residential section reserved for scientists. The house was dark. He went through the back door and stood alone in the kitchen. The dishes had been done. The place was spick and span. He knew the other rooms would be the same, beds made, floors swept. But Claire was gone. Numbly, he wondered how they had accomplished it. He could have found out, checked at the gate, and probably discovered by what ruse they had lured Clare out. No doubt forgery was involved. Cleverly faked phone calls, perhaps.
Even accomplished actors masquerading as guards or officials. But it didn't really matter, not now. Finding out would only satisfy curiosity. No end would be served. Kendall went into the living room and sat down in the dark and lit a cigarette. Two hours later, the tray beside him was filled with butts, and his decision had been made. They would get their prints. Claire must not suffer. He got up and went into the bedroom and found the tiny camera under Claire's pillow. He filled out a requisition the next morning and took it to his section chief. the kindly gray-haired senior scientist who was responsible for the work of twenty-five juniors. He read the requisition, and his eyes widened a trifle.
The stats on the Willie Seven. Basic equations. I thought you were working on the Nike Twelve, Kendall. I am, sir, but I got a hunch the Willie coordinates might get me over a nasty little hump. There is a similarity. Perhaps you're right. The chief signed the permit without further objection. There was a numbed sickness in Kendall as he rode the elevator down to the file vaults and showed his permit to three sets of guards before he was admitted. Alone in the long, narrow aisles, where the greatest secrets of Terran defense and offense were housed, he walked like a man in a dream to the file he wanted, and swiftly took his pictures. Then, placing the tiny camera into the cuff of his trousers, he went back to plant nine.
The three-day leave was granted without question, Kendall having over two months due him. The chief was delighted that he did not ask for more. "'Where do you plan on going, Kendall?' "'Out in the air somewhere. The Yellowstone, maybe. Some quiet place to clear my mind.' "'Good idea. Wife going with you?' As a matter of fact, she went on ahead. Kendall watched the chief closely for reaction. Only a slight raising of eyebrows. After all, Claire could have gotten a permit without the chief's knowledge, even if Kendall's story had been true. Have a good time, and come back full of enthusiasm. Kendall replied in kind, and went home, and sat down facing the phono-vision screen. It remained blank for three hours.
Kendall did not move. He smoked cigarettes and waited. Finally the signal sounded, and he snapped it on. The man in the mask—the voice that now associated itself in Kendall's mind with nausea. "'You have the film?' "'Yes.' "'Excellent.' "'The leave?' "'Yes.' "'You will leave the project immediately and—' "'Not so fast. I beg pardon?' I said, not so fast. I'm not satisfied with the arrangements. The voice turned cold. The arrangements are not yours to question. You— Nevertheless, I question them. In fact, I demand some changes. The man was obviously angry, but he held his temper. What changes do you wish? You said that after I delivered the prints on Centaur— And iron out any problems our scientists might encounter in building the rocket.
Yes, after that. You will send my wife and I to Venus and safety. Correct. I demand that upon delivery of the prints you send Claire on ahead. Why do you ask this? Because the one thing I'm selling out my world for is her safety. I will gamble with it only for as short a time as necessary. The man considered. What were the risks involved? Kendall might be sincere in his reason, but if he were not, it would be easy enough to pick up Claire Kendall, unprotected as she would be in some Venetian hotel. Granted, he said. Better to give in than to argue. Centurian scientists could spot a major hoax on Kendall's part instantly, and Kendall was under great pressure. Resist at this moment, and he might defy them.
Even with his wife's life at stake. You will proceed at once to Yellowstone. He gave Kendall careful instructions concerning the rendezvous and cut the connection. Kendall sat for a long time staring at the blank screen, smoking endless cigarettes. After a while he got wearily to his feet and looked at his watch. In seven hours and twenty-five minutes he would be on a Centaurian ship that would lift out of Terra's orbit and start bending space into time until... The pale green globe of Centaur hung in a black sky, grated and darkened, and Kendall was looking out across the huge rocket port from which the Centaurians planned to launch Terra's destruction. Now, for the first time, he saw the Centaurian without the mask.
The man was handsome. He had the cruel black eyes of all centaurians. He smiled coldly. "'We've come a long way, Kendall. I suppose you want to see your wife?' "'No.' "'That was a surprise. I don't quite understand. Your feeling for her is—such that I wouldn't dare allow myself close to her, or I wouldn't have the courage to let her go again. It's unnecessary that you do.' We Centurions keep our bargains. I've made my decision. Kendall did watch Clare as they took her from the building to the Venus-bound rocket. His heart lifted at sight of her slim beauty, the proud manner in which she carried herself, at the disdainful tilt of her head. Then she disappeared inside the rocket, and he was again bleak and lonely.
He put himself at the disposal of the Centurian scientists, and discovered why Terra had stayed ahead for a century in the Cold War. They were able, but stolid and methodical. They did not possess the unfettered imaginative force that made Terran scientists supreme. Day by day, the great lethal monster took form, and candles dread increased as the time of completion approached. Then the momentous morning arrived. Aside from asking technical questions and seeking guidance, the Centurians left Kendall strictly alone. Treated him with contempt all traitors are accorded, even from those they help. Kendall did not seem to mind. In fact, he preferred being alone. Then one morning the Centurian approached him.
The launching is today. Would you like to witness the death-stroke? The gesture with which we slay your planet. Kendall shrugged. It makes little difference. We will watch together from the tower. Two junior scientists in Plant Nine were discussing Kendall's disappearance. His leave was on the level, signed by the chief. Three days. Did he actually go to Yellowstone? They're pretty sure he did. After that he vanished into thin air. Nobody vanishes into thin air. The junior scientist looked around and lowered his voice. "'Do you think he defected?' "'I don't know, but I got the story pretty straight. That is, as much as the high brass knows.' "'You did?' The day before he left, Kendall went to the file vaults to check the prints on Willie Seven.
"'No!' "'Yes.' "'Then the thing's pretty clear-cut and dried.' If he smuggled those prints out. The young scientist was puzzled. "'I don't understand.' "'That's the strange part of it. Kendall didn't open that file. The time-stamp mechanism recorded no entry as of that date.' "'Then what file did he open?' "'They can't be sure, but the crackpot file was opened on that date.' "'A crackpot file? But no one is allowed in there. All those crazy, dangerous ideas.' I know, and one set of prints appeared to have been disturbed. Photographed? Perhaps. The rocket they labeled Suicide One, Professor Utterback's brainchild. The one they figured could never be launched. I remember. The brass were pretty sure it would blow half the North American continent away thirty seconds after the primer was ignited.
Yes. They think Kendall photographed those prints? They can't be sure, but with Centaur suddenly flaring into Nova last week. But that was pure coincidence. It had to be. If Kendall had a plan to get that rocket into the Centaurian's hands, why did he keep it to himself? It would have been the making of the man. He would have been a hero. As I say, they have little to go on. Right now, they're trying to locate Kendall's wife. If they find her, they might learn something. End of 3 S.F. Short Stories by Paul W. Fairman