“He’ll be capable enough. We’ll be the ones to watch out,” Copper assured him grimly. “Take a stove, a couple bags of coal—necessary supplies and a few tools to fix it up. Nobody’s been out there since last fall, have they?”
Garry shook his head. “If he gets noisy—I thought that might be a good idea.”
Barclay hefted the tools he was carrying and looked up at Garry. “If the muttering he’s doing now is any sign, he’s going to sing away the night hours. And we won’t like his song.”
“What’s he saying?” Copper asked.
Barclay shook his head. “I didn’t care to listen much. You can if you want to. But I gather the blasted idiot had all the dreams McReady had, plus a few more. He slept beside the Thing when we stopped on the trail coming in from Secondary Magnetic, remember. He dreamt the Thing was alive, and dreamt more details. And—damn his soul—he knew it wasn’t all dream, or had reason to. He knew it had telepathic powers that were stirring vaguely, and that it could not only read minds, but project thoughts. They weren’t dreams, you see, they were stray thoughts that Thing was broadcasting, the way Blair’s broadcasting his thoughts now; a sort of telepathic muttering in its sleep. That’s why he knew so much about its powers. I guess you and I, Doc, weren’t so sensitive—if you want to believe in telepathy.”
“I have to.” Copper sighed. “Dr. Rhine of Duke University has shown that it exists, shown that some are much more sensitive than others.”
“Well, if you want to learn a lot of details, go listen in on Blair’s broadcast. He’s driven most of the boys out of the Ad Building. Kinner’s rattling pans like coal going down a shoot. When he can’t rattle a pan, he shakes ashes.
“By the way, Commander, what are we going to do in the spring, now the planes are out of it?”
Garry sighed. “I’m afraid our expedition is going to be a loss. We cannot divide our strength now.”
“It won’t be a loss—if we continue to live and come out of this,” Copper promised him. “The find we’ve made, if we can get it under control, is important enough. The cosmic ray data, magnetic work, and atmospheric work won’t be greatly hindered.”
Garry laughed mirthlessly. “I was just thinking of the radio broadcasts. Telling half the world about the wonderful results of our exploration flights, trying to fool men like Byrd and Ellsworth back home there that we’re doing something.”
Copper nodded gravely. “They’ll know something’s wrong. But men like that have judgment enough to know we wouldn’t do tricks without some sort of reason, and they will wait for our return to judge us. I think it comes to this; men who know enough to recognize our deception will wait for our return. Men who haven’t discretion and faith enough to wait will not have the experience to detect any fraud. We know enough of the conditions here to put through a good bluff.”
“Just so they don’t send ‘rescue’ expeditions,” Garry prayed. “When—if—we’re ever ready to come out, we’ll have to send word to Captain Forsythe to bring a stock of magnetos with him when he comes down. But—never mind that.”
“You mean if we don’t come out?” asked Barclay. “I was wondering if a nice running account of an eruption or an earthquake via radio—with a swell windup by using a stick of decanite under the microphone would help. Nothing, of course, will entirely keep people out. One of those swell, melodramatic ‘last-man-alive scenes’ might make ’em go easy though.”
Garry smiled with genuine humor. “Is everybody in camp trying to figure that out, too?”
Copper laughed. “What do you think, Garry? We’re confident we can win out—but not too easy about it, I guess.”
Clark grinned up from the dog he was petting into calmness. “Confident, did you say, Doc?ˮ
* * * *
Blair moved restlessly around the small shack. His eyes jerked and quivered in vague, fleeting glances at the four men with him; Barclay, six feet tall and weighing over 190 pounds, McReady, as tall, but slightly leaner, Dr. Copper, short, squatly powerful, and Benning, 5-foot-10 of wiry strength.
Blair was huddled up against the far wall of the East Cache cabin, his gear piled in the middle of the floor beside the heating stove forming an island between him and the four men.
“I don’t want anybody coming here,” he snapped nervously. “Kinner may be human now, but I don’t believe it. I’ll cook my own food. I’m going to get out of here, but I’m not going to eat any food you send me. I want cans. Sealed cans.”
“O.K. Blair, we’ll bring ’em tonight,” Barclay promised.
“You’ve got coal, and the fire’s started. I’ll make a last—” Barclay started forward.
Blair instantly scurried to the farthest corner. “Get out! Keep away from me, you monster!” the little biologist shrieked, and tried to claw his way through the wall of the shack. “Keep away from me—keep away—I won’t be absorbed—I won’t be—”
Barclay relaxed and moved back. Dr. Copper shook his head.
“Leave him alone, Bar. It’s easier for him to cook the food himself. We’ll have to fix the door, I think—”
The four men let themselves out. Efficiently, Benning and Barclay fell to work. There were no locks in Antarctica; there wasn’t enough privacy to make them needed. But powerful screws had been driven in each side of the door frame, and the spare aviation control cable, immensely strong woven-steel wire, was rapidly caught between them and drawn taut. Barclay went to work with a drill and a keyhole saw. Presently he had a trap cut in the door through which goods could be passed without unlashing the entrance. Three powerful hinges from a stock-crate, two hasps, and a pair of three-inch cotter-pins made it impossible to open from the other side.
Blair moved about restlessly inside. He was dragging something over to the door with panting gasps and muttered, frantic curses. Barclay cracked the hatch and glanced in, Dr. Copper peering over his shoulder. Blair had moved the heavy bunk against the door. It could not be opened without his cooperation now.
“Don’t know but what the poor guy’s right at that,” McReady said with a sigh. “If he gets loose, it is his avowed intention to kill each and all of us as quickly as possible; which is something we donʼt agree with. But we’ve got something on our side of that door that maybe is worse than a homicidal maniac. If one or the other has to get loose, I think I’ll come up and undo the lashings here.”
Barclay grinned. “You let me know, and I’ll show you how to get them off fast. Let’s get back.”
The sun was painting the northern horizon in multicolored rainbows still, though it was two hours below the horizon. The field of drift swept off to the north, sparkling under its flaming colors in a million million reflected glories. Low mounds of rounded white on the northern horizon, the Magnet Range, was barely awash above the sweeping drift. Little eddies of wind-lifted snow swirled away from their skis as they set out toward the main encampment two miles away. The spidery finger of the broadcast radiator lifted a gaunt black needle against the white of the antarctic continent. The snow under their skis was like fine sand, hard and gritty in the -40° cold.
“Spring,” said Benning bitterly, “is come. Ain’t we got fun. And I’ve been looking forward to getting away from this blasted hole in the ice.”
“I wouldn’t try it now, if I were you.” Barclay grunted. “Guys that set out from here in the next few days are going to be marvelously unpopular.”
“How are your dogs getting along, Doc?” McReady asked. “Any results yet?”
“In 30 hours? I wish there were. I gave him an injection of my blood today. But I imagine another five days will be needed. I don’t know certainly enough to stop sooner.”
Barclay spoke slowly. “I’ve been wondering—if Connant were… changed… would he have warned us so soon after the animal escaped? Wouldn’t he have waited long enough for it to have a real chance to fix itself? Until we woke up naturally?”
“The Thing is selfish. You didn’t think it looked as though it were possessed of
a store of the higher justices, did you?” McReady pointed out. “Every part of it is all of it, every part of it is all for itself, I imagine. That’s—dreams, telepathic communications unconsciously given, shall we say. If Connant were changed, he’d figure, to save his skin, he’d have to—hell, Connant’s feelings aren’t changed, they’re imitated perfectly, or they’re his own. Naturally, the imitation, imitating perfectly Connant’s feelings, would do exactly what Connant would do.”
“Say, couldn’t Norris or Vane give Connant some kind of a test? If the Thing is brighter than men, it might know more physics than Connant should, and they’d catch it out.”
Copper shook his head wearily. “Not if it reads minds. You can’t plan a trap for it. Vane suggested that last night. He hoped it would answer some of the questions of physics he’d like to know answers to.”
“This expedition-of-four idea is going to make life happy.” McReady looked at his companions. “Each of us with an eye on the others to make sure he doesn’t do something—peculiar. Man, aren’t we going to be a trusting bunch. Each man eyeing his neighbors with the grandest exhibition of faith and trust—I’m beginning to know what Connant meant by ‘I wish you could see your eyes.’ Every now and then we all have it, I guess. One of you looks around with a sort of ‘I-wonder-if-the-other-three-are’ look. Incidentally, I’m not excepting myself.”
“So far as we know, the animal is dead, leaving only a slight question as to Connant. No other is suspected,” Copper snapped. “The ‘always-four’ order is merely a precaution.”
“I’m waiting for Garry to make it four-in-a-bunk.” Barclay sighed. “I thought I didn’t have any privacy before, but since that order—”
* * * *
None watched the little sterile glass test-tube, half-filled with straw-colored fluid, more tensely than Connant. One—two—three—four—five drops of the clear solution Dr. Copper had prepared from the drops of blood from Connant’s arm. The tube was shaken carefully, then set in a beaker of clear, warm water. The thermometer read blood heat, a little thermostat clicked noisily, and the electric hot-plate began to glow. The lights flickered slightly.
Then—little white flecks of precipitation were forming, snowing down in the clear straw-colored fluid.
“God,” said, Connant. He dropped heavily into a bunk, crying like a baby. “Six days—” Connant sobbed, “six days in there—wondering if that damned test would lie—”
Garry moved over silently, and slipped his arm across the physicists back. “It couldn’t lie,” Dr. Copper said. “The dog was human immune—and the serum reacted.”
“He’s—all right ?” Powell gasped. “Then—the animal is dead—dead forever?”
“He is human.” Copper spoke definitively, “And the animal is dead.”
Kinner burst out laughing, laughing hysterically. McReady turned toward him and slapped his face with a methodical one-two, one-two action. The cook laughed, gulped, cried a moment, and sat up rubbing his cheeks mumbling his thanks vaguely.
“Oh, Jesus, I was scared—God, I was scared—”
McReady laughed brittlely. “You think we weren’t, you ape? You think maybe Connant wasn’t?”
The Ad Building stirred with a sudden rejuvenation. Voices, laughter, the men clustering around Connant speaking with unnecessarily loud tones, those jittery, nervous voices relievedly friendly again. Somebody called out a suggestion, and a dozen started for their skis.
“Blair—Blair might recover—” Commander Garry said.
It was quickly decided. A party of relief assembled and set off for Blair’s shack skis clapping noisily. Down the corridor, the dogs set up a quick yelping howl as the air of excited relief reached them.
Dr. Copper fussed with his tubes. McReady noticed him first, sitting on the edge of the bunk, with two precipitin-whitened test-tubes of straw-colored fluid, his face whiter than the stuff in the tubes, silent tears slipping down horror-widened eyes.
McReady felt a cold knife of fear pierce through his heart and freeze in his breast. Something was wrong.
Dr. Copper looked up. “Garry,“ he called hoarsely, “Garry, for God’s sake come here.”
Commander Garry walked toward him sharply. Silence clapped down on the Ad Building. Connant looked up, rose stiffly from his seat.
“Garry—tissue from the monster—precipitates too. It proves nothing—nothing but—but the dog was monster-immune too—that one of the two contributing blood—one of us two, you and I, Garry—one of us is a monster!”
CHAPTER SIX
“Mac, call back those men before they tell Blair,” Garry said.
McReady went to the door; faintly his shouts came back to the tensely silent men in the room. Then McReady returned.
“They’re coming,” he said. “I didn’t tell them why, just that Dr. Copper said not to go.”
“Van Wall, “ Garry sighed, “You’re in command now. May God help you; I can not.”
Van Wall started slightly, looked with blank, dazed eyes toward Garry. “But—”
“But I may be the one, “ Garry answered. “I know I’m not, but I can’t prove it to you in any way. Dr. Copper’s test has broken down; the fact that he showed it was useless, when it was to the advantage of the monster to have that uselessness not known, would seem to prove he is human.”
Copper rocked back and forth slowly on the bunk. “I know I’m human. I can’t prove it, either. One of us two is a liar, for that test cannot lie, and it says one of us is. I gave a proof that the test was wrong, which seems to prove I’m human, and now Garry has given that argument which proves me human—which he, as the monster, should not do. Round and round and round and round—”
Dr. Copper’s head, then his neck and shoulder’s began circling slowly in time to the words. Suddenly he was lying back on the bunk, roaring with laughter. “It doesn’t have to prove one of us is a monster! It doesn’t have to prove that at all! Ho-ho—if we’re all monsters, it works the same! We’re all monsters—all of us—Connant and Garry and I—and all of you.”
“McReady,” Van Wall called softly, “you were on the way to an M.D. when you took up meteorology, weren’t you? Can you take over?”
McReady went over to Copper slowly, took the hypodermic from his hand, and washed it carefully in 95% alcohol. Garry sat on the bunk edge with wooden face, watching Copper and McReady expressionlessly.
“What Copper said is possible.” McReady sighed. “Van, will you help here. Thanks.”
The filled needle jabbed into Copper’s thigh. The man’s laughter did not stop, but slowly faded away into sobs, then sound sleep as the morphia took hold.
McReady turned again. The men who had started for Blair stood at the far end of the room, skis dripping snow, their faces as white as their skis. Connant had a lighted cigarette in each hand; one he was puffing absently, and staring at the floor. The heat of the one in his left hand attracted him and he stared at it, and the one in the other hand stupidly for a moment. He dropped one and crushed it under his heel slowly.
“Dr. Copper,” McReady repeated, “could be right. I know I’m human—but of course can’ t prove it. I’ll repeat the test for my own information. Any of you others who wish to may do the same.”
Two minutes later, McReady held a test-tube with white precipitin settling slowly from straw-colored serum. “It reacts to human blood too, so they aren’t the monsters.”
“I didn’t think they were.” Van Wall shrugged. “That wouldn’t suit the monster, either; we could have destroyed them if we knew. Why hasn’t the monster destroyed us, do you suppose? It seems to be loose.”
McReady snorted. Then laughed softly. “Elementary, my dear Watson. The monster wants to have life forms available. It cannot animate a dead body, apparently. It is just waiting, waiting until the best opportunities come. We who remain human—it is holding us in reserve.”
Kinner shuddered violently. “Hey. Hey Mac. Mac, would I know if I was a monster. Would I know if the m
onster had already got me? Oh, Jesus, I may be a monster already.”
“You’d know,” McReady answered.
“But we wouldn’t. “ Powell laughed shortly, half hysterically.
McReady looked at the vial of serum remaining. “There’s one thing this damned stuff is good for, at that,” he said thoughtfully. “Clark, will you and Van help me? The rest of the gang better stick together here. Keep an eye on each other,” he added bitterly. “See that you don’t get into mischief, shall we say?”
McReady started down the tunnel toward Dog Town, with Clark and Van Wall behind him.
“You need more serum? “ Clark asked.
McReady shook his head, “Tests. There’s four cows and a bull, and nearly seventy dogs down there, This stuff reacts only to human blood and—monsters.”
* * * *
McReady came back to the Ad building and went silently to the washstand. Clark and Van Wall joined him a moment later. Clark’s lips had developed a tic, jerking into sudden, unexpected sneers.
“What did you do?” Connant exploded suddenly. “More immunizing?”
Clark snickered, and stopped with a hiccough. “Immunizing. Haw—immune all right.”
“That monster,” said Van Wall steadily, “is quite logical. Our immune dog was quite all right, and we drew a little more serum for the tests. But we won’t make any more.”
“Can’t—can’t you use one man’s blood on another dog—” Powell began.
“There aren’t,” said McReady softly, “any more dogs. Nor cattle, I might add.”
“No more—dogs?” Benning sat down slowly.
“They’re very nasty when they start changing,” Van Wall said precisely, “but slow. That electrocution-iron you made up, Barclay, is very fast. There is only one dog left, our immune. The monster left that for us so we could play with our little test. The rest—”
“The cattle—” gulped Kinner.
“Also. Reacted very nicely. They look funny as hell when they start melting. The beast hasn’t any quick escape when it’s tied in dog chains or halters, and it had to be to imitate.”
Frozen Hell Page 9
