by Gafford, Sam
Without waiting for an answer, Dr. Sybaris turned and walked down the street, leaving Morgan to stare after him. “It’s wrong,” Dr. Sybaris muttered, “everything’s all wrong.”
For the next week, Morgan’s attention was consumed with the war against Germany. The attack by the British Air Fleet had essentially decimated the German Fleet, but the Kaiser was not one to sit idly and allow his empire to fall. He had quickly ordered his force of automata to march into Poland in a lightning strike that threatened the whole of Europe. The combination of mechanical soldiers (half man, half robot) with the electric cannons and shock tanks had virtually leveled the city of Warsaw; and the Kaiser, many felt, would win the war on land if not in the air. The Queen had sent diplomatic communiqués to the American president, Thomas Edison, via his new electric videophone. While Edison had pledged to send food and supplies, he refused to commit any troops or airships. Morgan had heard rumors that Einstein’s electronic brain was hard at work developing a new kind of weapon that would render all others useless. Debate raged over not only whether the rumor was true but also what it could mean and what the country that wielded it would do.
So when Morgan entered the Dog and Duck on Tottenham Lane, he was not thinking about Dr. Sybaris. But once he saw his old friend slumped against the bar, he remembered everything. And yet, Dr. Sybaris had never looked worse.
His eyes were sunken and his skin had a hollow, yellow hue. Even across the room, Morgan could see that Dr. Sybaris’s hands were trembling. He had developed the appearance of a man about to shake himself apart.
Most of the people were congregated near the telescreen that was reporting the latest war news. Dr. Sybaris sat at the end of the bar, drinking alone.
“Anton!” Morgan cried as he playfully slapped his friend on his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
Dr. Sybaris nearly jumped over the bar in shock. Morgan quickly grabbed his friend and gently placed him back on his stool. “My God, Anton! What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
Now that he had gotten closer, Morgan could see that his friend was in worse shape than he thought. The man’s eyes were glazed and bloodshot with the air of a crazed madman. If Morgan hadn’t known better, he’d swear that the man before him had escaped from Bedlam Asylum.
“Morgan!” Dr. Sybaris sobbed. “Is it really you? Or are you a phantom? Come here, let me test you.” He started grabbing and pulling at Morgan, checking his substance.
“Anton, of course it’s me. What on earth has happened to you?”
Dr. Sybaris looked around them. “Not here. Over in one of the booths. Grab the bottle.”
Morgan followed his friend over to the darkened corner booth and placed the bottle of whiskey between them with two glasses. As he filled them, Dr. Sybaris placed a metallic cylinder on the table and pressed the button. It emitted a low-level hum that varied in pitch and intensity. Morgan stared at the cylinder.
“It blocks the signal, but it only works for a little while so we’ll have to speak quickly.”
Dr. Sybaris took a long, hard swig of the whiskey and coughed. His eyes glazed over until Morgan gently nudged his hand.
“Anton, talk to me. What’s happened to you?”
“It’s the signal,” Dr. Sybaris muttered, “the signal. You remember, don’t you, Morgan? How my Visualizer latched onto that signal I couldn’t explain. Remember?”
Morgan nodded his head sympathetically.
“Well, I kept working on it until I discovered what was wrong. It wasn’t an audio signal at all, Morgan—it was something more!”
Dr. Sybaris leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.
“It was something’s thoughts!”
Morgan sat stunned. His friend had obviously lost his mind. “Overworked, poor chap!” he thought.
“Don’t look at me like that, Morgan. I know it sounds mad, but it’s true. That’s why I couldn’t convert it to a video or picture; it wasn’t an audio signal at all. I had managed to find the frequency of thought. And there’s more . . . it was the thoughts of something that wasn’t human!”
Glancing about the room, Morgan could see that no one was paying any attention to them, nor were there any policemen in the room. For the first time, Morgan was afraid for and of his friend.
“I couldn’t tell where the signal was coming from, but it was somewhere in England. Most of the time, the thoughts weren’t even words. They were buzzes and noises but of different tones and pitches. That was how they communicated between themselves. They only thought in English when they were speaking with a human.”
“Wait,” Morgan said. “You’re saying that you’ve tapped into the thoughts of aliens who are speaking to humans?”
“Not so much speaking as giving them orders. I’ve been listening to them all week, Morgan, and I don’t think I’ve slept at all in five days. They’re here, Morgan, they’re everywhere! They’re on every continent, in every nation. They’ve been here for millennia; watching, plotting, planning, manipulating.”
“Are they here now?”
Dr. Sybaris grimaced and took another gulp of whiskey. “They . . . and their cults.”
“What do you mean?”
Dr. Sybaris looked around the room. “There are those who service them—their acolytes. They work for them and keep them safe and protected. These humans,” he said with a sneer, “have pledged their lives to the cause of these creatures and made their alien goals their own.”
“And where are these aliens from?”
“I know you’re humoring me, Morgan. I know that tone. But it’s true!”
Dr. Sybaris slammed his fist on the table, causing others to look in their direction.
“They came here from beyond space, following the trail of the Old Ones. It’s them that they serve and all their minds are pledged toward that goal. They shall be free again and the earth shall be wiped clean and remade in their image! Iä! Shub-Niggurath!”
Morgan slapped his friend across his face and the light of reason slowly returned to his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Morgan, I’m raving. I’ve already said too much. Their slaves are everywhere. I have to be careful. I think they’re onto me. I don’t know how, but I think that they detected my Visualizer and tracked it back to me. That was probably why I was finally able to get a clear picture of them. Oh, God, Morgan! They’re horrible! I can’t even describe them. They look like brains with tentacles stuck on the bodies of huge, misshapen wasps! Their wings allow them to fly through space, but they look like nothing on this planet. Myths have known them in the past and called them demons—Beelzebub, Ashtoreth, Belial. The human mind can only comprehend part of them because they are so full of the outside.
“And that’s not the worst. I’ve listened to their thoughts and commands. I know what they’ve done and what they’re going to do. I know why everything is so wrong. Here, take this.”
Dr. Sybaris pressed a recording disc into Morgan’s hand.
“I recorded what I could. Listen to it and then tell me that I’m insane. I’ve tried to send copies to others, but I know my mail is intercepted. They’re trying to isolate me. It won’t be long now. Watch yourself. Trust no one . . .” Dr. Sybaris got up to leave and pocketed the metal cylinder from the table. “Not even me.”
Faster than Morgan had ever seen him move, Dr. Sybaris was out of the pub and into the street, nearly knocking down several people on the sidewalk. Then he was gone and Morgan was left sitting alone with an empty bottle of whiskey in front of him.
Although shaken by the encounter, Morgan tried to dismiss it as stress from overwork. Dr. Sybaris always had a tendency to take his emotions and theories to the extreme, so perhaps this was just another incident. Still, his eyes showed that he believed what he said, no matter how insane. The story was nonsense, of course, but Morgan worried that his friend had lost his mind. He put the disc in his pocket just as the crowd began to cheer and shout.
The telescreen showed the British line of cybor
gs pushing the Germans back over the Polish border. In their hands were weapons that emitted sonic bursts that blew apart the German troops. The flesh melted off while their metal parts sparked and exploded. It was a complete rout, and the Germans had no defense.
As everyone cheered, the announcer went on to claim that the victory was due to the Americans secretly sending over the Tesla Sonic Disrupter. Hidden among the shipments of food and medical supplies, the Americans had smuggled in the latest weapon designed by Nikola Tesla. Using low-frequency sound, the Disrupter did exactly that: disrupted machines and flesh. British forces, the announcer went on to proclaim, were determined to push the Germans back to Berlin and destroy the German Empire once and for all.
The pub exploded with cheers and yells as everyone celebrated. The war would be over within a matter of weeks! The beer and drinks flowed freely, and men slapped each other on the back and boldly kissed the women. Celebrations continued into the night and for days after.
Morgan quickly forgot about his friend’s wild tale as he drowned himself in beer, wine, and women for the next week. The disc sat forgotten in his coat pocket.
For three weeks, no one had seen Dr. Sybaris. He was not found at the Diogenes Club, where he had been a regular fixture for years and where the old men cheered the victory and simultaneously maintained how soldiers had it harder in their day. Nor did Dr. Sybaris appear at the Autonomic Explorers Club when Dr. Elias Payton presented his paper on “Cosmic Radio Signals,” in which the diminutive academic had seriously questioned several of Dr. Sybaris’s own theories and published papers. In the midst of Germany’s surrender and resultant celebrations, Dr. Sybaris was almost totally forgotten.
Morgan had attempted to call on his friend several times during those weeks, only to be left standing outside Sybaris’s door unanswered. He couldn’t even clearly recall their last meeting. There was a drunken memory of talking about Dr. Sybaris’s Visualizer, but Morgan was damned if he could remember anything more. In truth, he could barely recall anything of that crazy week. Still, when reason returned, Morgan had sent letters and telegrams that all went unanswered.
Finally, feeling vaguely uneasy but not really knowing why, Morgan determined that he would go to Dr. Sybaris’s house and, if he was not admitted, would return with a policeman. This time he would not be so easily rebuffed.
Outside Dr. Sybaris’s door, the house appeared calm and quiet.
In the street, the steam-powered horses carried their carts back and forth. A newsboy on the corner offered the latest data-sheet that claimed: “Germany’s surrender a hoax! New threat coming! New bomb in German hands!” Morgan ignored the people in the street and pounded heavily on Sybaris’s door with his walking stick.
Morgan could hear the sound reverberate oddly in the building. Almost as if it were hollow. He knocked hard a second time.
He was about to turn away and summon a constable when the door suddenly flew open and Dr. Anton Sybaris was standing in the doorway.
“Morgan!” Dr. Sybaris exclaimed happily. “How wonderful to see you! Come in, come in. It’s been much too long.”
Stunned, Morgan could do nothing but shake the outstretched hand and stumble through the door.
Inside, the building had changed. The entire first floor was now a huge room. All the walls had been taken down, and the space had been converted into some sort of massive factory-type area. Clearly, something had been produced here, but now all that seemed to remain was the space where vast machines had been. To the left was a small sitting area with a few chairs and a work-table. A few papers were still on the table, but it was mostly clean.
Dr. Sybaris motioned Morgan over to the chairs where a dapper young man sat. “Morgan,” Dr. Sybaris exclaimed, “allow me to present Mr. Noyes. He’s a recent colleague of mine, a physicist, actually.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rice,” Noyes said. His voice was kind enough, but it made Morgan uneasy all the same. It was like listening to a polished politician speak—the kind of talk that said one thing but meant something entirely different.
Noyes was a youngish looking fellow but, truth be told, it would be difficult to ascribe any age to him. He was urban and fashionably dressed with a small, thin mustache. His black hair was slicked back over his skull and gleamed icily in the electric light.
“My pleasure, Mr. Noyes. Anton, I hope I’m not intruding, but I was worried about you.”
Dr. Sybaris gave Morgan a puzzled look. “Worried? Whatever for?”
“Well,” Morgan laughed, “I have to admit that I’m not entirely sure why. I just have a vague memory of your being very upset at our last meeting, but I can’t recall any details.”
Noyes smiled. “A bit too much celebrating, Mr. Rice?”
Sheepishly, Morgan nodded. “A tad. We’ve every reason to celebrate, don’t you agree, Mr. Noyes?”
“Oh, yes, yes, indeed. Still, one can never rest, you know. ‘The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.’”
“Thomas Jefferson. True, very true. Anton, I seem to recall it had something to do with your ‘Visualizer’?”
Dr. Sybaris laughed. “That foolish thing? Oh, Morgan, I gave up on that weeks ago. Never could make the blasted thing work. Stupid idea anyway. Fancy trying to turn sound into pictures. Can’t imagine what I was thinking.”
Morgan looked at Dr. Sybaris, confused. “But . . . I thought you said you had gotten it working.”
Noyes looked at Dr. Sybaris, who simply smiled at Morgan. “No, you’re mistaken, old boy. Nothing of the sort. Look around you! All my efforts these past weeks have been on helping manufacture and refine Tesla’s Sonic Disruptors for our troops. We’ve just finished actually. The last shipment went out this morning.”
“So I see. You’ve been very busy.”
Morgan pulled Dr. Sybaris aside. “Anton, are you quite sure you’re all right?”
Dr. Sybaris’s gaze darted over to Noyes and back again. “Quite sure, old chap. In fact, I hate to be rude, but Mr. Noyes and I have some pressing business to discuss. What if I meet you later tonight for drinks, eh? At the Diogenes Club?”
Morgan allowed himself to be led back to the door. “Yes, of course, Anton. That’ll be fine. I’m just glad to see you are well.”
Noyes nodded genially to Morgan. “Good day to you, Mr. Rice. Hope to see you again.”
Not knowing what else to do, Morgan nodded back to Noyes, whom he had no desire ever to see again. “Good day, Mr. Noyes.”
As the door slowly closed behind him, Morgan turned back to see Dr. Sybaris’s face disappearing back into the dark. It almost seemed that the skin on his face was loose, but before Morgan could be sure the door was closed. Morgan was back on the street again with the steam horses and newsies.
While he walked back home, Morgan tried desperately to remember his previous meeting with Dr. Sybaris in the Dog and Duck pub. He remembered walking into the pub, seeing his friend in the back, and sitting down at the booth. But what happened then? There was some talk about the Visualizer. No matter what Dr. Sybaris said now, they had talked about the invention—Morgan knew that. Then, he also knew that Dr. Sybaris had gotten it to work. But why would that be unsettling? It would prove several of Dr. Sybaris’s theories, but Morgan remembered that first time—the strange signal and the explosion—and then it all came back to him. The signal being thoughts, not audio, and the aliens and the cults—and then Morgan finally remembered the disc.
Morgan could not run home fast enough.
In a blaze of activity, Morgan went through every pocket of his coats until he found it. The disc gleamed in the light. Frantic, Morgan ran to his disc player and quickly put it in. Suddenly, the speakers erupted with sound. At first it was nothing more than buzzes; then there was the sound of English speech.
“We have not worked so long to be stopped now.” The voice had an odd, unnatural tone to it, not unlike someone speaking in an unfamiliar tongue.
“For years we have subverted their history, change
d science and manufacturing.” Another voice said.
“Agreed. By assimilating their greatest minds we have accelerated their natural evolution. We have introduced technology they were incapable of understanding or controlling. They are now at least sixty sun cycles before where they would have been without our interference.”
“I understand.” This was a different voice. It had a thick German accent but spoke with no hesitation. “I have completed the necessary computations. The bomb can now be mass-produced. The atomic age will begin in four weeks.”
“That is acceptable,” said the first voice. “Our forces are preparing the necessary manufacturing areas in the designated countries.”
“And soon the earth shall be wiped clean and remade in their image,” replied the second voice. “Then the Old Ones will rise and we will fly once again through space and bring the others here. Azathoth shall open the gate and Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, will reward his servants.”
“Iä! Iä! Iä!” shouted all the voices.
“Wait!” shouted the first voice. “I sense an intruder here—one who is not of our thoughts. Noyes, do you feel it?”
“I do,” said a voice that Morgan had only just recently met. “I shall find him, and he will either join us or Nyarlathotep shall walk in his guise.”
Suddenly the disc cut off. There was no more left to hear, but Morgan had heard enough. After all those years, Dr. Sybaris was correct. The world wasn’t right. It had been pushed, shoved into technology it was neither prepared for nor able to handle . . . and it was all around them now.
But there was still time! Morgan grabbed the disc and put it in his pocket. He had friends at the Ministry of Defence and he’d make them listen to the disc. Maybe they weren’t prepared for this technology, but they had it now and could use it against these aliens just as well as they did against the Germans.
Morgan rushed from his room, the call of “cab!” already forming on his lips, when he opened the door to find Noyes standing there.
