by Jerry
The room was empty.
The only evidence that anyone had been there was the disorder of smashed dispatch panels and hacked cables leading into the floor.
“Now what?” Dykeman demanded.
“They’re still one jump ahead unless—”
He whirled on the medic.
“What about that man, Johnson? Do you trust him?
This looks phony.”
Dykeman opened his mouth to answer. His pudgy face suddenly lost all color in the blinding light that poured through the broad windows of the dispatch room.
Huber threw himself at the medic. They fell to the floor and rolled under the dispatcher’s desk.
In the next instant, the broad windows of the tower erupted in flying daggers. Glass tinkled, then there was silence. A moment later the tower rocked in the grip of the backblast.
Huber sprang to his feet and ran to the window. It looked like a hungry mouth with endless glittering teeth. He looked out toward the wreck area, feeling sick.
“The Director, Loira, Besser . . .” Dykeman breathed. “It must have got them all.”
“And the ship . . .” Huber said. The sense of loss was overpowering.
“That’s the end of any space-flight dream,” Dykeman said wearily.
“No, it isn’t,” Huber said fiercely. “Maybe we’ve lost the star drive.” He looked toward the cloud that was unfolding like some evil flower against the horizon’s glow. “But I can still duplicate their planetary drive,” he finished.
“I was afraid of that,” Dykeman said behind him.
He started to turn. The room suddenly dissolved in splinters of pain, and blackness fell on him in red-shot, choking folds.
CHAPTER IX
CONSCIOUSNESS came briefly as if someone had pulled a switch. It was a flickering awareness in which he felt cold metal under his body. A shrill rush of air filled his ears and for a moment he thought he was in a ’copter. Then he realized that no ’copter was capable of such speed. He opened his eyes and saw amber lights and gleaming metal through a dancing haze. Then a rush of nausea swept over him and he plunged again into an anesthetic darkness.
When he was again fully conscious, he found that the hard metal surface had been replaced by the softness of foam plastic. He tried to turn on his side and discovered that his hands were bound securely in front of him. His legs were tied, too.
“I’m sorry I had to do that, Ken,” a voice said and he turned his head. Dykeman was sitting on the edge of the relaxer on which he lay. His eyes traveled briefly around the room, noting soft recessed lights, a broad draped window.
“That’s right,” Dykeman said. “We’re at my house.”
“Cut the hearts and flowers,” Besser said, stepping into his line of vision. “I don’t see why you bothered to bring him here. He doesn’t know any more about the girl and her organization than we do.”
“I thought you—” Huber began.
“Don’t be stupid,” Besser sneered. “I planted the bomb in the wrecked ship. Think I’d stay around until it went off?”
“You murdering bastard,” Huber said and began to struggle.
“No use struggling, Ken,” Dykeman said tiredly. “You won’t be hurt if you cooperate.”
Huber sank back tiredly. “I should have realized that only you could have destroyed those bodies on the ship,” he said. “But how do I fit into your little rat race?”
“You’re the source of the rat race,” Dykeman said. “Your very existence has built this operation into a comedy of errors. Now, we have to do certain things which I wish weren’t necessary . . .
He spread his hands. “Ken, we’re not a bunch of inhuman monsters, even by your standards. The fact that we’ve succeeded in our masquerade for so long indicates that.”
“But it wasn’t perfect, your masquerade,” Huber said. “What about the scars?”
Dykeman held up his hand. It was quite without a blemish.
“We had to bring in help quick when this situation developed. There wasn’t time for the niceties of long careful surgery. That’s why we chose to have our new men masquerade as androids. No one notices them.”
“Your first shock troops? It won’t be that easy.”
“Don’t be silly,” the medic said impatiently. “You should realize that any sort of attack over interstellar distances is logistically impossible.”
He leaned forward and stared pensively at the floor. “Besides, why go to the bother? In another century, this whole society of yours will be sinking into a quiet decay. You’ve lost all growth impetus already. And we can use the room much better than you. Even with the land you’ve destroyed, this Earth of yours is a jewel in comparison to the other worlds available to us.”
“So,” Besser said, “we’ll just wait until you’ve sunk into a level of decay and lethargy that will allow us to simply move in and slowly take over the planet as we need it.”
“Your race won’t be harmed,” Dykeman said. “We’re no more capable of that kind of extermination than you—less capable, if I remember my human history. Don’t you see? That’s been my sole mission here, to preserve the status quo. That’s why we planned to move against the hunt clubs, why we had to move to keep the knowledge of Touzinsky’s Syndrome from becoming widespread. You’re the first one who hasn’t managed to destroy himself.”
“Suicide?” Huber said incredulously. He remembered the window incident.
“A subconscious death wish, maybe. We just plant the proper suggestion and . . . Well, the ‘het’ field works only for the conscious expression of a suicide impulse.” He smiled bitterly.
“You weren’t going to jump last night, of course. But, the near blackout which Besser engineered and my own apparent excitement . . . Well, it planted the suggestion effectively enough. You have no idea how fear of pain and lingering death has dominated your race’s psychology since you achieved immortality.”
“What makes it so ironic,” Besser said, “is that the Syndrome stems from a bio-chemical imbalance produced by the longevity serum, itself. The effects will be widespread in another fifty years. That’s when your whole culture starts to fall apart.”
“No,” Huber sneered, “you aren’t capable of wholesale extermination. But you are capable of letting a race die by your inaction. Don’t feed me your idealistic drivel.” Dykeman colored and sprang to his feet angrily. “Damn it,” he said, “you brought it on yourself. This was your decision, this life of complete and unending boredom. My people had the same choice, but they preferred the stars to living like fat cows, wallowing in a tight little pasture.”
“We can always turn back toward the stars again,” Huber said. “We have the planetary drive and later—”
“Correction. You, as an individual, have the drive. That was the girl’s doing. Somehow one of her confederates infiltrated our group here and managed to wreck the ship tonight—”
The thought of a double agent struck Huber as the height of irony, and he began to laugh.
“It’s not so funny,” Dykeman said. “Her meddling forces us to take measures I’d rather have avoided. We have the city pretty effectively sealed off, but we can’t ascertain what damage the knowledge of our mere existence may do. The people outside of the city who know of what’s happened here tonight are being dealt with.”
“You can’t deal with the city,” Huber said. “There are too many people here.”
“That’s what you suppose,” Besser said, his lips twisting. “You’ve provided the agency of your own defeat here, too.”
“Shut up, you bloodthirsty cretin,” Dykeman said, whirling on the man. “If you hadn’t bungled so miserably in allowing him to see the drive and in not discovering the girl’s agent in the ship, we wouldn’t have to do what we must.”
He turned to Huber.
“As for you, Ken, I’ll decide what to do with you after I come back.”
The medic was pale as he turned.
“What are you going to do?” Huber yelled, struggling wi
th his bonds.
“What can we do?” Dykeman asked. “We’ll change the ‘het’ field a bit. It’ll be pretty messy, but no one else will know it was not an accident, a malfunction.”
The door closed behind him.
SHORTLY thereafter Huber heard the whoosh of jetted air and something, moving fast, went over the house. “The third ship?” he asked.
“Life craft,” Besser said laconically. “The ship’s on its way north to destroy your girl friend’s machine.”
“Machine?” Huber cursed his outburst when he saw the sudden smile on Besser’s face.
“I told Dyke you didn’t know anything about her.”
“North?” Huber said. “That means that the machine you’re referring to is the one that’s responsible for the radiation that destroyed radio transmission tonight.”
“It’s a pity you’re developing your talents for deduction so late in the game,” Besser said.
“You haven’t done so well yourself. She’s outguessed you at every turn.”
“Well, that’s all over,” Besser said.
“No thanks to your bungling,” Huber said.
Besser’s face reddened. For the first time Huber began to notice the subtle non-human features about the man: the peculiar flare of the nostrils, the typical pattern to the construction of the ears, the other less noticeable alien differences.
“You have been a little stupid,” Huber said.
“Don’t press your luck,” Besser said angrily, his hand on a heavy bulge in his pocket.
“Dykeman had your number. No wonder he’s in charge of this operation instead of you.”
Huber knew then that he had touched a raw spot. The color flamed in Besser’s face and his eyes were suddenly as cold as death. He moved purposefully over to the couch and looked down.
“This mess wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been so soft with you,” Besser said. “If I had my way—”
“You wouldn’t have even a foothold. He had the name, all right. Cretin.”
Besser’s lips tightened and suddenly he raised a hand. Huber’s rocketing knees caught him at the base of the short ribs. The alien stumbled back, gasping.
Huber rolled wildly, trying to get to his feet. He pulled frantically at the bands that encircled his wrists, feeling them cut into his flesh. Besser had stumbled back against a desk, his hands clutching at his middle.
Then he straightened, hate twisting his face into a mindless animal mask. His hand reached almost lovingly for the bulging pocket and a gleaming pistol slid from its concealment. He raised the barrel, his eyes gleaming.
Huber closed his eyes and waited for death.
Then there was a coarse humming sound that seemed to vibrate his teeth at the roots. He smelled the sharp bite of ozone.
Nothing happened to him. Miraculously, he was still alive.
He heard Besser curse softly and he opened his eyes.
Loira was standing on the far side of the desk, her body bathed in a flickering nimbus of yellow light. The low hum was coming from a bright metal case, depending from a strap thrown over one shoulder. She touched the case with a hand and the humming increased in pitch and then ceased.
“This is convenient,” Besser said, and raised the pistol.
Before he could fire, a pale violet beam shot from the case at Loira’s side, formed itself into a flame-bright sphere and rushed silently toward Besser. The edge touched him and the pistol fell to the floor with a muffled thump.
For seconds a sparkling, vaguely man-shaped outline persisted where he had stood. Then this too faded. Huber felt the faintest warmth on his cheek.
Loira was at his side, her hands plucking at his bonds. His arms came free, and then his legs.
“Where’s Dykeman?” she asked.
“The city—Universal Building, I think . . .”
“And the ship?”
“North—to destroy your machine.”
“The projector? Did Dykeman give you any idea of what he planned to do?”
“He said something about the ‘het’ field.”
“I was afraid of that. We’ve got to find a ’copter and stop him.”
“What about your private means of transportation?” Huber gestured at the gleaming case at her side.
“No, this is only a remote control device and detector for the mechanism in the Hudson Bay area. It controls my projection from the machine. You didn’t think I could have survived the blast at the wreck otherwise?”
He reached out, touching the solidity of her flesh.
“You’re no projection,” he accused.
“Not as you understand it. That doesn’t mean I have any material reality when I’m using the machine.”
“But—”
“We haven’t time for long-winded explanations. Besides, the very math that describes the phenomenon hasn’t even been invented yet.”
“The machine,” he said, “the one their ship is trying to destroy—”
“Yes,”‘she said, “it was the means by which Vic and I and one other were able to come back and contact you.”
She paused in indecision. Then she said,
“It’s not accurate at all to call it this, but the best description I can give you is that it’s a time machine.”
CHAPTER X
“WHAT ABOUT the ‘het’ field?” he demanded as they winged their way across the city. The only aircraft in Dykeman’s garage had been one of the clumsy, fuel-heavy disaster craft such as they had seen at the wreck site. They had taken that.
“I don’t know. The field is a very complex thing. There are a number of things he could do.”
“They can’t cover up their existence with a move like this.”
“Yes, they can. If they’re brutal enough. You don’t know what they’re capable of. Nor how far your, world has withdrawn from reality.”
“But a whole city—a whole test group! What can he do?”
“It makes no difference. This world of yours would forget the worst disaster in a century.”
“There,” he pointed at the bright shape of the Universal Building spearing the sky. The ’copter swayed and bounced in the grip of thermals as she cut out of the regular traffic lane and dropped down toward the city.
For a moment they hovered over the broad city streets. Far below people were milling about, pressing forward in tight masses. They were all moving along the street in one direction, their bodies pressed tightly together into one almost cohesive mass. The frightening thing, he suddenly realized, was that they weren’t making a sound. He should be able to hear the crowd murmur of such a mass, even above the noise of the helicopter. But there was only the silent motion of the crowd, like close-packed wheat swaying under the rush of a voiceless wind.
The ’copter surged ahead, passing over more and more people, all moving solidly in the same direction. As they dropped even lower, seeking the broad plaza before the Universal Building, he saw their faces. His eyes were filled with the montage of silent mouths, open as if to cry out; of eyes, looking blankly ahead with an idiot stare.
The ’copter grounded on one of the side streets, leading to the Plaza. He dropped from the hatch and saw a group of people moving out of the plaza and toward them.
“Wait a minute,” he yelled and moved to intercept the muscular blond man in the lead.
“Ken,” Loira yelled. “Don’t move too far ahead. I can’t protect you if we lose contact.”
For an instant he felt a faint dizziness and a sudden heavy depression. It was impossible to go on. Better to quit, to stop trying. Nothing left but . . . yes . . . the only answer. Death . . . a silent dreamless sleep . . . to die . . .
He clutched at the blond man. In the next instant hands were clawing at his back. The blond man aimed a blow at him, a heavy ring sliding across his cheek. He sank to the pavement, feeling the coldness of the concrete . . .
Cold . . . like death . . . there was only one sure way . . . the river . . . to sink into its dark cold depth
s . . . to . . .
And then Loira was beside him, her thin hands striking his face again and again, driving away the blackness.
“He’s using the field to stimulate a death impulse,” she sobbed. “He’s driving them into the river!”
“My God,” Huber gasped. “He’ll destroy everyone in the city. That’s what he meant about everyone thinking it was an accident, a failure of the ‘het’ field.”
He rose to his feet and sprinted toward the plaza. He crossed it quickly, Loira close behind him. The cold eyes of Meintrup’s statue looked down on them as he halted outside the door.
“Where’s the field apparatus?” he asked.
“Second floor from the top,” she said breathlessly. “But he’s probably turned off the induction fields. You’ll never reach him.”
Huber stared up the side of the towering building. Near the top of the slim needle, he saw a gleaming metal cylinder, poised weightlessly before an open window.
“The lifecraft,” he yelled. “He’s inside.”
He turned and ran back the way he had come. He climbed into the helicopter. Behind him, he heard Loira plead,
“No, Ken! No!”
He switched on the autopilot, keyed the starter and waited as the electric motors whined and the jets caught. Then he punched quick data on the programmer of the autopilot and pulled the throttle. The ship was six feet off the ground when he leaped.
He grabbed her and pulled her up beside one of the buildings, bordering the street. The ’copter soared, twin blades beating the air. It hesitated for a moment as the autopilot took over. Then it plunged up and forward, heading for the top floor of the Universal Building.
He looked up at the alien lifecraft in time to see a section of the gleaming cylinder fold back. For an instant he saw a man’s form move from the open window to the lifecraft, stand outlined against the early glow of morning and then—
Then the ’copter hit just above.
The aircraft splintered with the impact, the clumsy fuel tanks collapsing in accordion folds.
For a second nothing happened.
Then one of the tanks erupted with a muffled roar. Liquid flame dripped down to engulf the alien ship and cascade down the side of the building. A second explosion, more violent than the first, rocked the ground and masonry showered the street.
