The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  The old quarrel between him and his mate was on again, and right away there was such swearing as no self-respecting crab or tender snail should be allowed to hear. I saw little fishes shudder and make for their watery caves.

  Old Man Gregory and the two Americans who were caring for him appeared unable to answer any questions this morning.

  Kuntz called Gregory down to the beach and I was very much afraid the old man was in for some more rough treatment.

  I had been kept pretty busy guiding the alligator gar through the water tunnels to make sure no helmeted heads got bumped; but between each trip I had the freedom to come back and listen in on the shore conversations. So now I got in on this new threat to Gregory.

  “Here’s your launch,” the captain growled. “You know why we won’t ride over in it. But you can do what’s needed, and you’ll do it just right or I won’t have the pleasure of seeing you again. Your yacht is wanted by our ship. Unfortunately, we couldn’t anchor in the shallow water beside you. Therefore, you’re to see that your Silver Belle is brought up alongside Die Welt right away.”

  Gregory nodded. He understood what was wanted.

  “Before you go,” said Kuntz, “where’s Marcia? Hiding here on the island? Or has she found a way across?”

  Gregory declared that he didn’t know.

  “If she’s already across, as I suspect she is,” said the captain, “you bring her back in the launch. That way the two of you will be out of the line of fire in case there’s any further trouble.”

  “What line of fire?” asked Gregory.

  “Our ship’s guns will be trained on your Silver Belle to make sure she obeys,” said Kuntz. “I’ll wigwag that order. So tell your men there’ll be no funny stuff. If they start dumping any supplies overboard, we’ll turn your whole tub into driftwood. That’s all. Off you go.”

  The captain watched through glasses. I knew that he expected to see Marcia come out to the rail as her father approached.

  But Marcia wasn’t there. A minute or two after Gregory arrived and presumably repeated the captain’s edict to his men, he swung the launch around and obediently started back.

  Had he told the Silver Belle to follow instructions and give herself up? Would he dare defy the pirate ship’s artillery?

  All but three of the Americans were now across—Marcia and two others. And yet these next few minutes could see the complete collapse of all this hard won victory.

  The captain was confident. He felt it a certainty that his men would have no more trouble from an undertow ghost, once the yacht was taken over and its secret weapons smashed.

  But in that very minute the undertow ghost was riding again! I caught the gar as he came through the watery channel. Back to the sea we went, for now several arms were loaded with time-bombs—those armloads I had once left on the gar’s biscuit shelf.

  It happened swiftly, and I couldn’t have asked for more thorough-going good luck.

  The loyal gar and I worked from the surface of waves on the far side of Die Welt. My rapid-fire arms had six bombs flying in the air before the first one came down at the base of the ship’s foremost gun.

  Blammm! Blammm! Blammm!

  One after another I set the missiles to go off like hand grenades and not one was wasted.

  Guns and men and bulwarks and a stack went flying in unpredictable directions. A weak spot appeared in the hull, and I gave it all the rest of my blasts.

  Water rushed in, the ship listed, and within a minute and a half she sank.

  I turned then and saw that Old Man Gregory had changed his mind about riding the launch back to the island. There was no need to commit suicide by riding back and facing the Nazis after what had happened. Ye sharks and little fishes! Those boys were in an evil mood.

  CHAPTER XVII

  A Dirty Nazi Lie

  The captain was a sadly baffled man. All his starch and discipline had been shattered to sawdust.

  To see him standing there with his men, standing in front of his wild-eyed pirates, all of them gazing out at the empty waves where their ship had been, gave me a new understanding of how certain European dictators must have felt when they woke up to discover there was nothing left for them to hang their flags to.

  Like Mussolini and Hitler and To jo, Captain Kuntz had assured his men right up to the last that he was about to win the big final victory.

  And like the dictators when their fates were sealed, Captain Kuntz was suddenly looking for a place to jump.

  If my octopus tongue could have talked I would have suggested the crater of the volcano as the most appropriate place.

  But Kuntz was still playing captain. His pirates were in the habit of obeying.

  I couldn’t hear his orders, but I saw him making wild and frantic gestures toward the Silver Belle. Most of his men who had guns began spending their ammunition on the white deck.

  In a moment they began to see the futility of this. They might squander all their bullets in an exhibition of brutality. But that would not bring the Silver Belle back to them.

  When they looked around, it apparently gave them a shock of surprise to see their captain walk away from them. (Again I thought of some big-name dictators!)

  Yes, obviously Adolf Kuntz had just remembered he had an appointment in another part of the island.

  He was backing away, however, and he was holding a pistol ready for any emergency. Though he pretended to be watching the deck of the Silver Belle, and though he seemed to be backing up the mountain slope simply to get a better view, he was also avoiding the possibility of bullets in the back from his own men.

  (Even as certain dictators!)

  “Keep firing,” I heard him yell. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes. He moved farther along the slope—and faster.

  A few minutes later I saw him again.

  He was now at the water line of Sutter’s Lake moving along in great anxiety, glancing back to be sure his pirate band wasn’t following on his heels.

  He would have welcomed a hiding place, no doubt about it.

  As the alligator gar and I eased into the cove beneath Camel Point, we saw that he had been turned back by a bank of clay. I breathed a slight octopus sigh of relief to know that he wouldn’t find my cave.

  Marcia and two others were still waiting patiently.

  With typical courage and self-sacrifice she insisted that the others go first. So she waited, half hidden among the rocks, while the alligator gar sped off with his passengers.

  The inevitable happened!

  Marcia hadn’t seen Captain Kuntz approaching. Her low spoken words had carried to his ears. He looked over, his face lighted with a diabolical gleam. Then he watched, hypnotized by the secret revealed.

  He saw the two Americans step from the bank to the back of the giant fish, saw them adjust the diving helmets over their heads, saw them move forth into the water and sink from sight.

  Perhaps the water was clear enough that Kuntz’s eyes could follow the path through the wall of stones into the sea. Certainly there was no doubt left in his mind as to the Americans’ route of escape.

  He rubbed his hands together. He cleared his throat. Marcia looked up.

  Her face went pale.

  Only for an instant did she start to shrink. Then she stood before him, perfectly composed, smiling pleasantly.

  “Well, Marcia, here we are alone at last,” he said out of the cynical side of his mouth. He raised his eyebrows, and the nervous twitch narrowed the corners of his eyes.

  “Alone? Hardly,” said Marcia. “The undertow ghost is always with us. I shouldn’t be surprised if this lake is full of undertow ghosts.”

  “The only ghost here is the ghost of your friend Sutter,” said Kuntz. “Or did he die in the volcano? It doesn’t matter. He’s out of my way now, Marcia. Everything is in my favor.”

  “I suppose,” she said, biting her lips with rage, “that you’re going to suggest we spend a lifetime of happiness here on the island—”

&
nbsp; “You think of the sweetest things!”

  “And establish a new Nazi kingdom—”

  “Marcia, you do me wrong,” said Kuntz in an injured tone. “I’m not a Nazi. I’ve never been one. I thought you knew!”

  He managed to make those words sound so convincing that Marcia turned and faced him with frank curiosity.

  “I don’t understand you, Adolph,” she said.

  “Did you see my ship blow up a few minutes ago?” he asked.

  “I heard . . . and then I saw it sinking.”

  “That was my ultimate victory, Marcia, over those hellish Nazis I’ve been traveling with. You didn’t think I was playing captain for them because I wanted to? I was caught with them at the close of the war, and I’ve been trying ever since to escape. I’ve brought them here simply to ditch them. And at last it’s in the bag.”

  Marcia stared at him.

  “You—you blew up your own ship?”

  “Exactly. I had it all planned from the start, but I’ve had to wait until you and your friends could take me—”

  “No, Adolph. After all your murdering—”

  “You do me wrong, Marcia. Can’t you see—he was bleating like a lost goat—“those deeds weren’t my doing. I’m on your side. I’ve been there all the time. If you’ll think back—”

  “I can’t think, Adolph. You’ve got me all confused. I only came here to look for Walter—”

  “Think of the sacrifice I’ve made, Marcia, to clear myself of those Nazi rats. Last night I swam out to the ship to plant a time-bomb. I did it knowing that you’d take me back with you. You aren’t going to betray me, are you, Marcia?”

  “I. . . I don’t know.”

  “Look, here it comes. The big fish with the saddle. There are the two helmets. All we have to do is get on and go. In ten minutes we’ll steam away on the Silver Belle.”

  “I’m not sure, Adolph. That is, I can’t realize—”

  “You’ll get used to me, dear.”

  He placed himself in the saddle, took her hand and drew her on back of him. They fastened the diving helmets over their heads.

  With a slap of the reins Kuntz urged the big fish forward. Down they came into the deep waters, straight toward me.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Bullets and Arms

  Neither Adolph Kuntz nor Marcia could know, in the moment that I leaped out of a mammoth shell to spread my eight arms across their path, that they were crashing into an octopus with a human motive.

  If the little volcanic island which I had named after myself were to stand against the tides of the Pacific for a million years, some of its secrets might remain secrets still.

  Sutter’s Lake might never yield up” its mysteries to any man.

  I had become a manifestation of a power of metamorphosis which I did not understand. I had been made an octopus, I knew not how or why.

  But as an octopus I knew perfectly well what I did and did not want. By every living cell in my ugly body, I did not want Captain Kuntz to ride away with Marcia.

  I blocked the path of the alligator gar, and no doubt I had the look of an enemy that meant business. Captain Kuntz brought his pistol up with a flash and perforated my gelatinous body with bullets.

  I gave out with a smoke screen of black ink as the gunfire cut through me. But no smoke screen could save me now. The bullets were splitting my nerves into shreds. In that instant I knew how it must feel to disintegrate. All the fibers of my being were electrified by the shock—

  And reintegrated!

  More swiftly than from any crushing volcano my protoplasm leaped into an old familiar form. I was Walter Sutter, the man. I was swimming under water, reaching out to seize a murderous gun-hand with my tentacled left arm.

  Even as I hurled my strength against the strength of Adolph Kuntz I caught an instant’s glimpse of Marcia’s amazed face. Her trembling lips parted and I knew she pronounced my name.

  I jerked the helmet off the Nazi’s head. I threw my tentacled arm around his throat. Automatically the rows of suction cups tightened. We kicked to the surface. I caught my breath. His face was purple with rage and choking. His bulging eyes begged for mercy.

  I relaxed the coiled tenacle. With his first breath he cried out.

  “Marcia! Marcia! Tell him I’m not—”

  I threw a blow at his jaw with my only fist.

  Marcia, clinging to the gar’s saddle, came to the surface a few yards away. Again Kuntz cried to her.

  “Marcia! Tell him I’m no Nazi. Tell him—”

  I threw punches as fast as my right arm would work. His gun was gone now. But he couldn’t have asked for a fairer fight. The tenacle with which I might have choked his life out was only being used to whip the water so I could indulge my right fist.

  When gunfire broke in upon the fray, just as we locked in a clinch. This time it was the captain’s body that caught the bullets.

  They were intended for him. His long-time enemy, Blagg, stood on the shore, backed by a dozen or more gunmen.

  “So you’ve never been a Nazi!” Blagg yelled. “Vot a turn-coat captain!”

  The impact of bullets came like a volcano blast. Kuntz went down, and I with him, feeling the shock of every missile that struck into his kicking, squirming body.

  For a moment I thought I was changing back . . . my left arm felt so strange.

  But I didn’t go back to the form of an octopus. It was Captain Kuntz who made that change.

  Before Marcia’s eyes and mine he transformed into a shapeless, eightarmed creature—with one wounded tentacle!

  As for me, Sutter’s Lake had somehow treated me to the possession I had so long missed—a whole left arm.

  (That arm, as I later reflected, would have to be watched for mischievous tendencies. It looked as if it had been borrowed from Kuntz. But it was all mine now, to become subject to my will—and there was no longer a trace of the octopus about me.)

  Marcia and I rode out into the sea before the men on the shore could make out what had happened. From where they stood I doubt if they realized their captain did not go down to his death.

  The alligator gar must have known what changes took place, for he followed us far out into the sea, and Marcia and I, watching him from the rail, doubted whether he would ever return to the angry group of men we left on the island!

  The angry men would not lack for company, however. After our first contact with a radio station we saw to it that they would soon be visited by a company of International Police.

  “Do you think they’ll get hungry, waiting there on the island?” Marcia asked, as she looked back across the blue waters wistfully.

  “Not a chance,” I said. “There in the cave they’ll find biscuits enough to last a year.”

  “If they should care for delicacies,” said Marcia, “I suppose they could boil an octopus.”

  Which they probably did.

  CONFESSIONS OF A MECHANICAL MAN

  First published in Amazing Stories, May 1947

  I stood there, hands on hips, my eyes glaring at the two policemen, who stood as though they were facing an awful menace . . .

  Dear Mr. Palmer:

  I am a robot looking for a job and I wonder whether you can use me in your office.

  What are you blinking about? I expect blinks and stares from most people, but I thought the editor of Amazing Stories would be just the guy to understand. Wait till you see me. I have a satin-silver forehead and a chromium-plated smile. I have an iron will, a steel determination, and in case you need help handling your tough customers, I can come up with plenty of brass.

  When I snap my stainless steel teeth together they click like a meat cleaver on an anvil.

  I’m only ten months old but I’m learning fast.

  Almost any sort of job will do, just so it’s something amazing. I’m a pretty versatile hunk of ore—refined, of course, and highly polished. When I haven’t anything else to do, I shine my ankles and knee caps with silver polish for the she
er pleasure of feeling bright.

  I’m very strong for my size, in case you wish me to lift your car up and grease it or move you! front porch around to the other side of the house.

  I stand six and a half feet tall and weigh nearly six hundred pounds, nevertheless I’m light on my feet, and speedy. I have rollers built into my soles so I can keep pace with the traffic on any pavement. In some ways I think I’m quite an improvement over the ordinary flesh-and-bone human being, but since there’s only one of me, I don’t often find anyone that agrees with me.

  My metal fingers are swift and clever. You’d be surprised at how clever I am at filing cards or running the typewriter, if you need a stenographer. I can also chew gum and giggle, and I suppose I could sit on your lap, though I’m rather heavy. V.V. Blackridge, my recent boss, never cared for that sort of thing anyway.

  If you need an errand boy, I can run nights as well as days. The Williams Brothers, who manufactured me, equipped me with headlights. Also a parlor reading lamp, built into the visor around my forehead. Also a tail light—which glows doubly bright whenever I’m embarrassed.

  Speaking of the Williams Brothers, you’d probably like to know how they happened to manufacture me in the first place. So I’ll tell you all about it, and also about my first job. Then you’ll know whether we can do business.

  CHAPTER I

  Out of My Crate

  For me, life began when I began to realize that Madge LaGrange was a very lovely girl who worked—much too hard—over a desk in a real estate office. She was blond, beautiful (so everyone said), a trifle plump and quite soft (as judged by my metallic standards). It was her nature to be cheerful and good-humored. But she had a boss, V.V. Blackridge, who was too stupid to appreciate her.

  Blackridge was a grouchy old bear, not a bit like his two nephews, the Williams brothers. They’re the inventors, you understand, who gave birth to me.

  The ink flew one day in Blackridge’s real estate office.

  “You can’t talk that way to me!” Madge LaGrange exploded, and suddenly she picked up an ink bottle and hurled it straight at her boss.