STRANGE SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY OMNIBUS

by Benson Grayson

  Returning home, the company was given liberty. Harvey dressed himself in the blue dress uniform and inspected himself in the mirror. Yes, he thought, he did resemble the Marine he had seen on that recruiting poster. Surely, he would have no difficulty in attracting the beautiful woman who story had it, fell for any young Marine they saw.

  Once again, military life proved to be a distinct disappointment. He did not attract a crowd of beautiful women, not even one. He sat at the bar, sadly nursing a drink and observing what went on. There many beautiful single women in the bar, most searching for male companionship. Quite naturally, rather than selecting a Marine private, they wisely chose to attract the attention of the well dressed, well heeled civilians, who could provide more attractive entertainment.

  Harvey returned to his barracks a sadder but wiser man. He became increasingly bitter and refused to speak to anyone unless forced to do so. Although he did not like liquor particularly, he got himself drunk one night at the PX and suffered from a horrible hangover for two days. At last, he resolved to make the best of a bad situation. He could not get out of the Marines until he completed his three-year hitch. During that time, he would do his best to be the best Marine possible, to live up to the ideals of the Marine Corps.

  In a few more months, Harvey’s company was again sent into combat, once again to remove another Latin American government the administration in Washington decided had failed to meet the standards urged by the United Nations. Once again, Harvey’s company was in the van of the attack. When the order to charge was given, Harvey sprang forward, rifle in hand, yelling to the men behind him “Follow me!”

  The courageous but foolish Harvey fell to the ground in a heap, his body smashed by seven enemy bullets. After the battle had been won, Harvey’s body was collected and shipped home in a body bag. A few months later, a new democratic regime took power in the country, and Harvey’s company returned to the United States. A few weeks after their departure, the new government promptly annulled the new Constitution and returned to the ways of the previous regime.

  Although it was too late to take advantage of it, in the last fleeting second of his life, as he was falling to the ground, Harvey learned something he should have known all his life. No matter how bad the situation is, do not try to change it if there is a substantial risk of simply making it worse. In other words, as the old proverb puts it, do not jump from the frying pan into the fire.

  FOLLOW THE RATS

  “When the water reaches the gunnels, it’s time to follow the rats off the sinking ship,” is a frequently repeated expression. From the time he first heard it, Livingston Minor was curious about the accuracy of its description of rat judgment. He was the scion of a wealthy old Boston family. As the beneficiary of a large trust fund, he was able to purchase a townhouse in Boston’s prestigious Back Bay Section and to hire a butler and cook to serve him. When he graduated from Princeton he opted not to join the family’s private investment bank founded by his great grandfather, but instead to look into the behavior of rats.

  Minor purchased a boarded up old warehouse and fitted it up as a laboratory. He then purchased ten rats from a laboratory animal supply company and subjected them to careful scruting.He found their behavior very similar to that of humans. Some were obviously possessed with more intelligence than others. They sometimes played with each other, sometimes got into spats, almost always enjoyed eating and had individual preferences with regard to which foods they found most desirable. Their sexual habits were similar, although the sexual activity of female rats was more closely related to the period of fertility than was the case with human females.

  One problem was that Minor’s objectivity in the pursuit of knowledge became seriously compromised by his growing affinity for some of the rats. Several of the more intelligent began to recognize him and rushed eagerly to the front of their cages when they saw him approaching at the time he customarily fed them. Then one day he was startled when one of them brought over to him a piece of the cheese Minor had provided earlier in an apparent gesture to show his gratitude to Minor.

  This was too much. Minor felt guilty treating the rats like mere animals. He promptly abandoned the project and sold the factory and its equipment. The rats he provided for at the family farm, building a rather luxurious rat house for them to live in and hiring one of the farm workers to look after their comfort. The rate enclosure was equipped with air conditioning to make them more comfortable in summer and with electric heating to protect them from the cold of winter.

  Still, Minor remained curious about rats. Walking down the sidewalk of one Boston side street early one morning, he spied a rat keeping pace with him close to the buildings. The rat was obviously aware of his presence but showed no fear of him, all the while keeping him in constant sight., Minor was sure that if he had made a threatening move toward the rat, the rodent would flee to the safety of a hallway or sidewalk grate.

  This could be the opportunity he sought. “Pardon me, sir,” he said politely to the rat, “Do you have a moment for me to ask you a question?”

  The rat stopped. “I’m afraid I’m in rather a hurry,” it said. “I have a pressing engagement. But if you need to speak with me, I can meet you here tomorrow at the same time.” The rat then set off again at his previous pace.

  Minor recognized the futility of trying to press the rat now. Accordingly, he went about his business, but the following day came to the designated meeting spot. Sure enough, he found the rat awaiting his arrival. “Thanks for meeting me,” he began. May I ask you a few questions?”

  “Shoot,” the rat answered, “But please try to make it brief. I’m afraid I have another business meeting today.”

  Minor quoted the old saying about rats leaving sinking ships and asked if it was true. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” the rat answered. “I’ve never been on a ship. I don’t know how I’d act if the shipping, but I probably would get off it. That’s just common sense.”

  Seeing Minor’s disappointment, the rat suggested,” I do have some friends who live along the waterfront. Possibly one or two of them would be able to answer your question.” They arranged to meet again the next evening, when the rat would take Minor to the waterfront and introduce him to his friends.

  The rat proved to be as good as his word. He introduced minor to several rats who had knowledge of the subject. The most helpful to Minor was an old rat who had spent many years at sea on a variety of merchant vessels. He assured Minor that any intelligent rat would leave a sinking ship in enough time not to go down with it. He added that based on his long experience, most seafaring rats were smart enough to make that judgment at the proper time.

  Over the course of time, Minor was introduced to numerous rats by his rat mentor, whose name turned out to be Butterworth. The latter was quite prominent in rat business circles and a leader in the charitable organizations that provided assistance to the city’s large indigent rat population. Minor joined in to assist Butterworth in these activities. He took particular satisfaction from his role in dispensing Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners to poor rats who often did not have enough to eat.

  During his work with the rats, Minor learned a lot about them. He found that some of the popular expressions relating to rats were downright wrong. For example, rats to not engage in a “rat Race” any more than humans do in a “human race>” He learned that most are highly social, helping each other to escape from traps and sharing favored items of food. He met one who had been honored on the battlefield for alerting troops about the presence of landmines.

  It is sad to think that Minor’s involvement with rats brought about his untimely demise Minor and several rat associates were in an abandoned factory, concentrating on bringing a warm, nutritious meal to one parent rat families, when the doors and windows of the building were tightly sealed. Unknown to Minor, the factory owners had become seriously concerned by the large amount of rat droppings found in the plant and had engaged a leading firm of pest exter
minators to deal with the problem.

  The plant was large, and and believed to harbor many rats. Therefore, believed to inhabit it, a new and highly toxic gas was forced into the sealed structure. The next morning, the windows and doors were opened, and the plant aired out. Too late! Entering the building, the factory managers found on the floor amid the bodies of many dead rats the remains of Livingston Minor.

  Everyone involved, the pest exterminating the factory owners, the city authorities and Minor’s own family agreed that it would be better if the news of the tragedy was kept from the public. The rat carcasses were disposed of in the city facility used for the purpose. Minor’s family was planning to bury his remains in the family burial plot. However, when Minor’s will was read, it stated he wished in the event of his death to be laid to rest among his rat friends.

  Today, Minor sleeps in eternal rest along with his friends. We can’t be sure, but it is very likely that if he could smile, there would be an eternal smile on Livingston Minor’s face. Few among us can honestly say we have lived as worthwhile a life as Minor or have accomplished so much good. And, of course, the ambition that set him on his life’s course, to determine rather rats will really leave a sinking ship when the water reaches the gunnels, has been satisfied. The answer is absolutely yes. Beyond that, the average rat is smart enough to leave the ill-fated vessel at the most advantageous time to assure the most favorable chances of survival.

  THE PROBE

  The bystanders who happened to witness Mr. Avery Proctor struck down and killed by a speeding car at 9:23 in the morning of Tuesday, April 23rd while crossing Duke Street in Alexandria, Virginia, agreed that Proctor’s death was accidental. Authorities, investigating the death, reached the same conclusion. The fact that the motorist responsible had not stopped or subsequently reported the incident to the police was not regarded as particularly important. The accident had occurred during rush hour when most of the drivers were hurrying to their jobs in the nation’s capital. Naturally, it was assumed, they would not wish to be late arriving at their office.

  Only Ashley Proctor, Avery’s twin sister, knew his death had not been an accident. Despite the difference in sex, the twins looked remarkably alike. On that particular morning, both had been wearing tan trench coats and dark, felt hats pulled down over the brow. It was not difficult for Ashley to conclude that those responsible for murdering Avery had mistaken him for her.

  As a senior official of the Central Intelligence Agency, Ashley was aware that she was always a prime target for foreign adversaries. Her skillful performance of her duties made her a lightning rod for the country’s many adversaries. Virtually every success the agency had scored in recent years could be laid at her door; most of its failures resulted from senior government officials ignoring her recommendations.

  It took no time for Ashley to resolve to devote all her energy to finding and eliminating those responsible for her brother’s murder. Not only had the twins been very close, but she herself had been the intended target of the planned assassination. She straightaway took extended leave from the CIA.

  This was not as easy as might be thought. In order to protect the personal identity of its clandestine operatives, their submission of formal leave requests was officially frowned upon. Normally this caused no difficulty. The exception was one Tuesday just two days before Christmas, when all of the agents decided separately to take the day off. This happened to coincide with a surprise visit to CIA Headquarters by the President, who intended personally to congratulate the members of the Clandestine Service for their heroic efforts.

  The President arrived at the Headquarters Building to find it totally empty, except for one agent who had come to the office to seek refuge from the unpleasant music being played in his home by his son, home from college. Fortunately, the agent had the presence of mind to whisper to the President that Agency scientists had come up with a working cloak of invisibility. Coupled with a wink, this convinced the Chief Executive that his intelligence agency was even more effective than he had supposed, and he returned to the White House happy about his visit.

  As a senior member of the clandestine service, Ashley had many well-placed contacts around the world, both official and unofficial, whom she could rely upon to do her a favor. She tried all of them, without result. None had the slightest knowledge of any plot to assassinate her.

  Ashley was not fazed by this. She recalled attending a briefing of senior officials in the bowels of the CIA Headquarters. The Agency scientists had begun by reporting that their efforts to invent a time machine, stimulated by reports that the Soviet KGB was investigating the possibility, had resulted in the conclusion that this was not technically feasible. However, as an offshoot to the research, the scientists had produced a time probe, whereby events in the recent past could be watched in the Agency. Ashley determined to use the time probe to ascertain the parties responsible for her brother’s murder.

  All of Ashley’s training and experience led her to conclude this was no time to wait. That very night, shortly after dusk, she arrived at the Agency gate. The guards on duty knew her by sight and waved her in, with only a cursory look at her identity badge. Once in the Headquarters, she descended into the bowels of the building. At the lowest level, she reached the door of the chamber which housed the probe.

  The door was locked and sealed, but Ashley was skilled at breaking and entering without leaving a trace. Inside the chamber, she seated herself at the console directing the probe. The controls were well-marked and easily comprehensible. Ashley turned the machine on and steered the probe back to the place, date and exact minute of her brother’s death. She had no doubt that she could spot the murder car, stop the frame, and identify the driver of the vehicle.

  Unfortunately, what came into view on the console screen was not Duke Street in Alexandria, Virginia, but Elm Street in Dallas, Texas on November twenty-second, 1963. Startled, Ashley saw the motorcade carrying President John Kennedy, his wife Jacqueline and Vice President Lyndon Johnson precede to the Texas School Book Depository Building, from which rifle shots rang out. She saw the President, clearly wounded in the head, slump down, and the car sped off.

  “My God!” she exclaimed, almost hysterical. “So that’s it. The failed assassination plot against me was part of a larger plot which succeeded in killing the President.”

  Ashley, of course, could not have known that the probe was not functioning properly. The Iranian Government in retaliation for CIA efforts to cripple the Iranian nuclear weapons program had succeeded in inserting a computer virus into the computer operating the probe. The virus caused the probe dials to register incorrect dates and places from the information fed into its controls. She further was unaware that the probe emitted a low frequency electric wave, which affected the electrical functions of the brain of any human in close proximity.

  Completely muddled by what she had seen, Ashley turned off the probe, left the chamber, carefully sealed the door lock, and made her way out of the Headquarters unobserved. Back home, she fell into a fitful sleep. She awakened the next morning with the problem solved by her subconscious mind. She would go back to the Agency and take another look at the Kennedy assassination. By shifting the coverage slightly, she could examine the top floor of the Texas School Book Depository building and confirm the identity of the shooter, either Lee Harvey Oswald or some other person. Determining the identity of the assassin would go a long way in aiding her to identify those responsible for her brother’s murder.

  That evening, just after dusk, Ashley approached the gate leading into the CIA Headquarters. The scene that greeted her was very different from what it had been on the previous evening. In addition to the customary couple of Agency uniformed guards, a large number of troops posted at close intervals along the Agency perimeter, all grim-faced and holding automatic weapons at the ready, stood watch. She spotted an Agency guard standing awkwardly to one side and approached him. She had seen him occasionally and sometimes had exchanged a few
polite remarks with him.

  “What’s the trouble?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Everyone’s flapping,” he answered. “Word is that the giant secret computer they have in the basement exploded. Seems the Chinese or the Russians hacked into it and gave it an instruction to self-destruct.”

  Ashley thanked the guard and turned away. She knew when she was licked. With all obvious methods of finding her brother’s killer stymied, she ended her leave and returned to duty at the Agency. She has since been promoted and is widely rumored in Washington political circles to be next in line for the post of Agency Deputy Director.

  It is not to be thought, however, that Ashley has given up all efforts to find her attempted assassin. The day before she ended her vacation, she drove to a public library in West Virginia and used the computer there to write and then print a letter. Wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints, she mailed it off to California.

  Ashley knew, of course, that it would risk her future at the Agency if she went public with the fact that her brother’s death was a failed effort to assassinate her and that this was intricately linked to the Kennedy assassination. To have done so would have placed her at odds with the official report of the Warren Commission, which the Agency would find too controversial. To an agent of her intelligence and ability and keen knowledge of how to motivate people, a good alternative was available. Now each day she waits to see what the recipient of her letter, film director Oliver Stone, will reveal in his widely-anticipated new expose of the conspiracy behind Kennedy’s death.

  SCHOOL REFORM

  When Connecticut, one of the richest states in the nation by virtue of its high average annual income, announced it was suffering from unprecedented financial pressures, it was clear that a series challenge faced the country. The primary cause was a steady and rapid rise in education costs, resulting in very sharp increases in local property taxes and a large outflow from the state treasury to the municipalities for educational purposes.