It did not occur to him, nor to any of the others, to band together in defense or offense. Set down with a common nucleus, they drifted off in all directions, wary and alert.
It was the first time Peter had seen a city. He did not like it. Great mouldering walls, and streets blocked with nibble. Pavement heaved and tom. One had to step carefully, because of the shattered glass.
He walked aimlessly at lint, then suddenly remembered that the masters would begin die hunt in one hour. He did not know what an hour was, but he had the idea that it was a very shon time. There were many hours in one sun.
A dark entrance looked like a place in which to hide. The doorway was almost blocked with rubble. He squeezed through, waited until his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. A sagging stairway led up. He went up it rapidly, touching his knuckles to the stairs, his nose alert to the scents around him.
At the top of the stairs it was light. There was no roof on the building. It was not a good building in which to fight. He left it in disgust, but as lie went down the stairs he wrenched free a stout club. It felt good in his hand. The firewood was always too small to use as a club. This was a fine, a wonderful club. He swung it, listened to the whittle it made. Ah, this club would smash the brains of the masters, the white, weak ones with the insect eyes.
The third entrance he tried was good. It was a very big place. His bare feet padded on some smooth cold stone on the floor. To his left were several cages made of metal. He stuck the club into an open place in the metal and twisted. The metal was weak. It broke under the strain.
The cage was dark inside. He looked up and saw'that it went up a great distance and that long metal ropes, two of them, went up into the blackness. He wanted to climb the. metal ropes to find a secret place high above him. Yet he could not climb and carry the club at the same time. It took a long time of thinking. Then he found a bit of rotted rope, tied it crudely where it seemed weakest, then lied one end to the dub. He looped the other end around his waist and tied it.
He leaped up into the darkness, his powerful hands closing on the metal rope. Hand over hand, he went up into the darkness. The rope was sticky. His biceps began to crack and tingle with the strain. He locked his legs around the rope and rested for a time. Once he looked down and clung more tightly to the metal rope.
The second time he stopped to rest, he did not dare look down. He clung to the rope and shut his eyes. At last he came to the end. The metal ropes, both of them, went around wheels. There was a faint light. Above him was fiat metal. His muscles ached with strain. He inched up further, clung with his legs and his right hand, and got the club with his left. He jabbed it up against the metal. There was a hollow sound, but it seemed solid. He waited for a moment, wondering what to do.
Then he saw a metal bar across the wall five feet away. Above the bar was a narrow space. He could squeeze through up there.
With sudden resolve, he grasped one of the wheels and swung across, reaching out his left hand, then hung, panting, to the metal bar. Slowly he worked his way up until he could stand on the metal bar. The narrow place touched his chest and his back. Above him was light. Finding small handholds, he worked his way up for a so distance of about ten feet. Then the narrow space opened out and he found he could stand on a flat surface. As nearly as he could make out, the thing on which he stood was fastened to the metal ropes and fitted inside the shaft up which he had climbed. He wondered if it was used in the old world to carry people up and down the shaft.
Eight feet from the top of the box was an opening in the side of the shaft. He jumped, caught the edge with his fingers and pulled himself up, rolled out onto a stone floor like the .one so far below.
There were many doors opening onto the long hall. They sagged on their hinges as though they had been driven open by a blast. He looked in the first one. In great wonder he looked at the gray fragile bones of a man who sat, in death, behind a large box. There were tiny shards of glass on the floor. The floor was covered with a soft, rotted fabric.
In one corner was a smaller box and on top of it was a strange machine. Smaller bones were on the floor near the machine. Smaller bones and wisps of long pale hair. He could smell ancient death. His skin prickled.
The machine was rusted. It had a black roll across the top of it, and in the roll was a fragment of scorched paper. With a blow of his club he drove the machine off the smaller box. It fell in a reddish cloud of dust and
Suddenly he remembered the danger. It would be wise to find out if there were another way to get to this place. He ran down the corridor, looking in each room, trying to find some place that led down. In most of the rooms there were machines and bones and the smell of dust.
At last he found a place where stairs led down. It made him angry. He growled low in his throat. The masters could come up this way.
If it was not blocked.
He went down many lengths of the suits, going ever lower, and then he rounded a corner, fought for balance, his mind sick with fear. Below him was emptiness for fifty feet, and below that, the building surted again. It was as though huge jaws had taken a bite out of the side of the building.
Returning, he went back up the stairs. He went back beyond the floor where he had climbed out of the shaft. The stairs ended. Above him was wood. He pushed against it and it opened with a creak of rusty hinges. He was out in the air. He was on a flat place bigger than the pen. It was surrounded with a low stone wall. He went to the wall, looked cautiously over. The street was a dizzy disunce away.
Even as he looked he saw one of the floating platforms far below, cruising down the street. He growled deep in his throat. Two of the masters were on the front edge of the floating platform. His keen eyes saw that they did not hold the silver tubes. Instead, they held the thick, stubby, black rods with the glowing coil above the barrel.
Peter knew those rods. He had seen one used, on a man who had been blinded in one of the fights in the pen.
The master had pointed it. There had been a thick noise, like a husky cough, and the blinded man’s head had disappeared, blood spouting from the neck stump.
They were looking for Peter to kill him with those black rods. He snarled. Then his eyes widened in quick interest.
As the floating platform speeded up. he saw a naked man leap from behind a pile of rubble, hurl a stone at the two masters. Without seeing where his stone landed, the man turned and ran.
Peter smiled in satisfaction as one of the masters toppled from ihe platform. The other one aimed the rod. The running man threw up his arms, stumbled and rolled in the cluttered street, was still, his blood bright and red in the sunshine. The platform settled to the pavement. The master who had killed the man hurried back to his companion. He leaned over him.
Suddenly Peter realized that they were almost below him. He looked around for something to drop on them. Then he saw that the railing was made of large stones that had been lined together. The substance which had fastened them together was crumbled.
He put his hands on the edge of it, braced his feet and pulled. The muscles stood out on his arms and shoulders. He pulled until the world went red in front of him, and slowly the stone came free, dropped onto the roof.
He looked over the edge. They were still down there. But they were some distance from the wall of the building. The stone would have to be hurled away from the building.
The sharp edges cut into his thighs, tore the flesh as he picked it up. By great effort he got it above his head, both palms flat against it. His legs shook.
He moved to the edge. They were still there, but the one who had been hit by the stone was sitting up. There was little time left. He moved a foot to the left, then took two quick steps, pushing the big stone as far out from the side of the building as he could. For a moment lie thought he was going to follow-it over, but he caught the edge with his hand.
Fascinated, he watched the huge stone dwindle, turning over slowly.
He thought it had gone beyond them, then suddenly they were blotted ou
t. The white stone leaped into a hundred shattered pieces. After he had seen the pieces fly, lie heard the crash.
Where ihe stone had hit there were clots o( white pulp against the gray pavement, and a thin, watery substance.
The floating platlonn rested there, wailing for the ones who would not return. On die forward edge of it was one of the black rods.
Slowly the idea came to him that soon another one of the masters would come. The master would see the bodies, see the fractured stone.
Then he would look up, see the roof, come up after him on one of the platforms. That was a way of getting to the top of the building that he had not considered.
Thus his building was not good. Not a safe place.
But if a man could have one of those platforms . . .
He ran down the flights of stairs to the corTidor. jumped down to the top of the box, squeezed down between the box and the wall, swung across to the cable and slid down. The heat of the friction seared his hands. At last he thumped against the floor, climbed out through the broken grille and went to the street door. Flies buzzed over the body of the man who had been shot down as he had tried to run. The black rod had bitten a head-sized hole through his torso.
All sense alert, Peter stood inside the doorway. There was no sound, no scent of the masters. He ran to the floating platform. He did not even look toward the white pulp of the two masters he had slain.
At first he made a motion to push the fearful black rod off onto the street. Then curiosity got the better of him. He picked it up, sighted it the way the master had done, and touched the button set into the side of the barrel. The body of the man up the street jumped and slid several feet further away.
He tried to remember how he had seen them work the platforms, and felt angry with himself because he had not watched more closely. The platform was of a silvery metal, and was as wide as he was tall, and twice as long. It was as thick as his thigh. Two tiny levers, made for the masten’ childlike hands, protruded through two slots near the front of it.
He grasped one lever and pulled it back. The ascent was so rapid that it forced him down against the platform. By the time he overcame his shock and surprise, and got the lever pushed forward again, he was higher than the roof he had been on. Much higher.
In fear he pushed the lever too far forward. The drop was sickening. He brought it back to the halfway mark and the platform hung motionless in the air, moving slightly toward the building because that was the direction of the wind.
The slot for the other lever was bigger. He found that the second lever would move in any direction. More cautious than he had been with the lint lever, he moved it to the left and the platform moved slowly away from the side of the building. He pulled the fint lever back slightly, waited until he was above the roof, and then pushed the second lever to the right. The platform floated over the roof. He pushed the lint lever slowly forward until the platform settled onto the roof with an awkward jar.
He made a warm sound of pleasure, scratched his chest and looked at the platform with pride of possession.
It was then that he heard the distant cough. A section of the stone railing flew off. and the rock dust bit into his face, stinging him so that lean came to his eyes.
With one motion, he snatched the black rod, whirled and dropped flat behind the railing. He scrambled far to one side on his belly, and then took a quick look. A second platform was coming up toward the roof on a long slam. One of the masters held a black rod. The second was guilding the platform.
He saw that they were going to pass right above him, and he felt fear. He brought the rod up to aiming position. Then he jumped to his feet, his Anger tight on the button, aiming full at the two figures.
Near his feet a hole suddenly appeared in the roof.
A shattered figure spun over and-over, down toward the pavement. A second, suddenly headless, hunched over the control switches. The platform continued to angle up. It passed so close to him that he involuntarily ducked. Then it continued on at the same angle, constantly rising as it passed over toward the vast stretch of blue water.
With three bodies in the street, this would not be a good building. And sooner or later, one of the masters would fly over and see the silver gleam of the platform.
If only the platform could be hidden. If there were a hole to put it in and cover it over. He stared stupidly down at it. It was so largel Gradually he became conscious of the weight of the black rod in his hand.
There was a hole in the roof near his feet. He looked down the hole into a large corridor. Shaking with sudden excitement, he put the end of the rod close to the roof and touched the button. It cut through the roof. He moved it in a large rectangle, remembering at the last moment that he should be standing outside the rectangle. It sagged and, as he cut the last portion, fell through. There was a crash and a cloud of white plaster rose up. He hurried to the platform, and, with growing skill at the simple controls, moved it a foot off the roof, directly over the hole, and then pushed the lint lever forward. It sank through the hole. He stopped it before it touched the floor, then eased it forward. There was a wall in the way. With the rod, he blasted a hole in the wall and edged through. He thought it might be necessary to leave quickly, and he mentally reviewed the lever motions that would be necessary.
Weary with the hunt, Thome returned to find Riss standing near the depleted pen. The last rays ol the sun touched the shattered towers of ancient Chicago.
Riss looked up. "I told you it would be dangerous,” he said mildly.
Thome sagged to the ground. He shrugged. "They wished to have sport. Dangerous sport. I told them that the creatures were crafty and dangerous. But they were jaded and wished the excitement and the killing. They received it. And five of them were killed! I was nearly killed by one who attacked with a club in a narrow place we thought empty."
Riss gasped. "Five! I thought it was but two!"
"We found three more bodies. Of the twenty that were released, fourteen have been killed. There are only six live creatures left in the city."
Riss looked relieved. "Then tomorrow there will be little danger.”
Thome plucked at the grass with his thin white fingers. “Little danger? One of them, we do not know which one, has captured a platform and a thrust gun. The hunted becomes the hunter.”
'Then that ends the hunt," Riss said firmly. "They will bring over one of the ships and char the city, surely."
Thome shook his head. "No, Riss. They intend to stick to their bargain. After all, the creature win be clumsy with the platform and the thrust gun."
Riss asked quietly, "Will you join the hunt tomorrow?"
"Would you?" Thome asked.
There was a sagged place in the roof that held water. Before dawn Peter found it and drank thirstily. Thus, at dawn he saw the two platforms floating over the city.
He slipped down into the building and watched from the darkness. They seemed to be searching: two of them. The odds were against him, in spite of his new and satisfying weapons. He guessed that they would now hunt in groups of two or more.
He faded out of sight. After a long search of the rooms he at last found a place where there was the smell of dried food. There were many round metal containers. Some of them had rusted, and the food had run out and dried on the shelves. He took two without holes, found a sharp piece of metal and punctured them. The taste was strange, but good.
It was while he was eating that the building began to quiver. He dropped the metal containers, ran to the roof. When he was certain that nothing hovered over him, he ran to the wall, looked cautiously over.
Two platforms hovered above the street. The masters, four of them, were aiming the black rods at the base of the building.
Even as lie watched, the building jolted and sagged. There was an ominous sound of tearing metal, of the crunching of stone and plaster. He realized what they were doing. The building would fall. He would be crushed. He ran down to the platform, threw himself face down on it, t
he black rod under his chest, and slowly brought the platform up so that it was flush with the hole he had made in the roof.
The sweat of fear was on his body. If he caused the platform to fly up into sight, they would come after him. If he waited, he would be killed.
Slowly and majestically, the building began to move toward the street, tilting toward the smaller buildings on the opposite side.
He pushed the second lever to the left, moved with the building for a few seconds, then hung motionless while it fell away from him. The two other platforms shot up and he got a glimpse of them just before a vast cloud of dust rose up and he was deafened by the grinding, prolonged crash of the building.
The dust choked him. He pulled the first lever as far back as it would go for the maximum upward speed and wedged the second lever as far ahead as it would go. The wind tore at his face as he angled up out of the dust, rising at tremendous speed.
As he came out into the clear air. he had a chance for a quick shot at one of the other platforms. He saw the faceted eyes tum toward him, and then a gouge flew out of the rim of the other platform which held the control
It seemed to bang in the air for a moment, and then went down like a falling leaf, spinning over and over. He looked behind him, saw the second platform match course with him. But it was far behind. In the remote distance, he saw two more leap up out of the city and tum toward him.
A great and intense pain suddenly knotted every muscle. He groaned and screamed and thudded his head against the cool metal in an ecstasy of pain. Then it was gone, and the city was behind him.
The pain had left him weak. He dimly realized that he had shot through it at such a great speed that it had not caused him to faint. Usually the pain did that. The masters were able to make the areas of pain wherever they pleased. Once he had escaped with two others from the pen of the children. From above they had been enclosed in a ring of pain. It was more certain than the wire. No man could crawl through it without fainting, remaining helpless until picked up. The pain had no effect on the masters.
Beyond the End of Time (1952) Anthology Page 3
