by H. B. Fyfe
Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
The girl clawed at Brecken's face as he raised the metalbar ...]
Social living requires the elimination, or at very best, the modification of many elements necessary to survival in "nature". And when an emergency arises, very often it is the person who would be considered a "criminal", in other situations, who alone is able to cope with the necessities. If we manage to eliminate "violence" from human affairs, what will we find when a need for "violence" arises--a need outside of man's artificial control of his environment?
THIS WORLD MUST DIE!
Feature Novelet of Dread Necessity
"You have been chosen for this mission of murder because you are the only people in our culture who are capable of this type of violence. You have broken our laws, and this is your punishment!"
By H. B. Fyfe
Lou Phillips sat on the cold metal deck of the control room, seethingwith a growing dislike for the old man.
"What you are here for," the other had told him when the guards hadbrought Phillips in, "is a simple crime of violence. You'll do, I'msure."
The old man paced the deck impatiently, while a pair of armed guardsmaintained a watchful silence by the door. Two more men in plain grayshirts and trousers sat beside Phillips, leaning back sullenly againstthe bulkhead. He guessed that they were waiting for a fourth,remembering that three other figures had been hustled aboard with him atthe Lunar spaceport.
The door slid open, allowing another youth in gray uniform to stumbleinside. One of the guards in the corridor beyond shoved the newcomerforward, and Phillips' eyebrows twitched as he had a closer look. Thislast prisoner was a girl.
He thought she might have been pretty, with a touch of lipstick and akinder arrangement of her short, ash-blonde hair; but he lowered hiseyes as her hard, wary stare flickered past him. She walked over to thebulkhead and took a seat at the other end of the little group.
The old man turned, scanning their faces critically. "I am in charge ofa peculiar project," he announced abruptly. "The director of the LunarDetention Colony claims that you four are the best he has--_for ourpurposes_!"
Long habit kept the seated ones guardedly silent. Seeing, apparently,that they would not relax, he continued.
"You were chosen because each of you has received a sentence ofdetention for life because of tendencies toward violence in one form oranother. In our twenty-second century civilization such homicidalinclinations are quite rare, due to the law-abiding habits ofgenerations under the Interplanetary Council."
He had been pacing the cramped space left free by the equipment, theguards, and the four seated prisoners. Now he paused, as if mildlyastonished at what he was about to say.
"In fact, now that we are faced by a situation demanding illegalviolence, it appears that no _normal_ citizen is capable of committingsuch an act. Using you may eliminate costly screening processes ... _andsave time_. Incidentally, I am Anthony Varret, Undersecretary forSecurity in the Council."
None of the four showed any overt sign of being impressed. Phillips knewthat the others, like himself, were scrutinizing the old man with cold,secretive stares. They had learned through harsh experience to keeptheir own counsels. Varret shrugged. "Well, then," he said dryly, "Imight as well call the roll. I have been supplied with accuraterecords."
* * * * *
He drew a notebook from his pocket, consulted it briefly, then nodded atthe man next to the girl. "Robert Brecken," he recited, "age thirty-one,six feet, one hundred eighty-five pounds, hair reddish brown, eyesgreen, complexion ruddy. Convicted of unjustified homicide by personalassault while resisting arrest for embezzlement. Detention recordunsatisfactory. Implicated in two minor mutinies."
He glanced next at the youth beside Phillips. "Raymond Truesdale, agetwenty-two, five-feet-five, one-thirty. Hair black, eyes dark brown,complexion pale. Convicted of two suicide attempts following failures invarious artistic fields. Detention record fair, psychological reportpoor."
His frosty eyes met Phillips'. "Louis Phillips, age twenty-six,five-ten, one-eighty. Hair brown, eyes brown, complexion darklytanned--that was before Luna, wasn't it, Phillips? Convicted ofunjustified homicide, having assaulted a jet mechanic so as to causedeath. Detention record satisfactory."
The blonde girl was last in Varret's review. "Donna Bailey, agetwenty-three, five-five, one-fifteen. Hair blonde, eyes blue, complexionfair. Convicted of manslaughter by negligence, while piloting anatmosphere sport rocket in an intoxicated condition. Detention recordsatisfactory."
Varret fell silent, regarding them with cynical disgust. His lipstwisted slightly with distaste. "There we have it," he said. "Aviolent-tempered thief from the business world; an over-expensivepurchase by a rich playboy who became his widow by her own negligence; amentally-unstable fool who thought he was artistically gifted, and arocket engineer who was too brutally careless with his own strength whenirritated by a space-fatigued helper. I wonder if you'll do...?"
Phillips felt impelled at last to speak. "Just what plans do you havefor us?" he demanded harshly.
"Nothing complicated," replied Varret, matching the tone. "We need youto perform a mass murder!"
Phillips blinked, despite his prison-learned reserve. He heard the girlsuck in her breath sharply, and felt the youth beside him begin totremble.
"I have shocked you, I see," sneered Varret. "Well, I assure you, itshocks me also, probably a good deal more since I have lived a normallife. However--this is the background:
"About three months ago, we had reports of the outbreak of a deadlyplague in one of the asteroid groups. As near as can be determined, itwas spread by the crew of an exploratory rocket after the discovery of anew asteroid. It began to sweep through the mining colonies out therewith the velocity of an expanding nova!"
"Where was your Health Department?" asked the man named Brecken in asneering tone.
Varret frowned at him. "Several members gave their lives trying to learnthe nature of the disease. We have no information to date, except atheory that it attacks the nervous and circulatory systems, because thereports indicate that the reason of the victim is markedly affected asthe disease progresses. Not a single survivor is known--they all die inraving insanity. We do not even know with certainty how it iscommunicated."
"What are you doing?" asked Phillips.
"Isolation. It is all we _can_ do, until our medical men can make someprogress. We evacuated an asteroid colony and began to ship into it anyperson showing any of the symptoms, using a cruiser piloted by remotecontrol. That was where we slipped."
"How?"
"On the last trip--unless we have not really collected _all_ thesufferers--we lost control. Someone being transported knew hisspaceships. Shortly thereafter, a gibbering lunatic got on the screenand threatened the escorting rocket. He announced the cruiser would headfor Mars, where the passengers would demand their freedom. They are pastreasoning with."
"Can't say I really blame them," Phillips remarked.
"Blame them? Of course not! Neither do I. What has that to do with it?What has the Council so worried is that this thing will get loose onMars, that it may even be carried to Earth and Venus. There are over ahundred persons in that ship, no longer responsible for their actionsbut capable of causing deaths by the billions. We _want_ to help them,but we simply must hold the line on this quarantine until we solve themedical problem."
* * * * *
They stared at him in silence, and Phillips noticed that the old man'sforehead was moist with tiny beads of perspiration.
&nb
sp; "Don't you see? They are as good as dead. No knowledge or help of mancan save them--as of this moment. If we are _ever_ to be of any help, wemust prevent a worse catastrophe.
"Yes, the survival ship is a world in itself, but this world must die!"
For a minute or two, it seemed to Phillips that he could hear eachperson in the control room breathing. Finally, there was a small soundof cloth rubbing on metal as Brecken stirred. "Why pick on us?" herasped from his seat on the deck. "I'm no volunteer!"
"I know what you are," replied Varret sharply. "I know what you all are.You have been chosen for this mission of murder, because you are theonly people in our culture who are capable of this kind of violence. Youhave broken our laws, and this is your
