Last Conflict

by John Russell Fearn

  “We’ve got to do something, Levison,” she told him yet again. “We’re just letting Melvin have all his own way. While he has you chained down here, working only when you’re free from your factory bench, you will never do the job before him. For all we know, he may have this thing practically finished. And when once he starts to use it—”

  Levison looked up from the delicate piece of apparatus to which he was making adjustments.

  “We’re very lucky to be able to work on it all, Lalia,” he reminded her patiently. “Don’t forget we’re not the only ones to have our work interrupted. At the bench next to me at the factory is a professor of physics—”

  “I know!” Lalia had grown tired of his attempts to console her. “But Melvin may not even know we’re alive. Some official must have put our names down on that list of Intellectuals who have been turned into menial Workers—slaves, in fact; for that’s all we are, all we ever shall be. There are thousands of us, all doomed to this existence for the rest of our lives if Melvin gets his way. But if he knew we were here, he might have the decency to reinstate us.”

  “And let us work on the Amplifier, which he wants to use for his own ends? You know that’s not reasonable, Lalia. We’ve been here two months. If he thought we were alive, he would have sought us out by now. At least, he’d have seen to it that I wasn’t allowed to continue my work here. I’d have been refused permission. No, it’s best to let things stay as they are.”

  Lalia’s eyes flashed. “How do you know he isn’t doing it deliberately—letting you get on with the job while all the time he’s got you tied down? When you’ve finished the Amplifier, he’ll step in and confiscate it. We’re helpless either way. If only we could find out how much he knows, how far he’s made progress!”

  “I think we should wait, Lalia.” he insisted gently.

  But she could wait no longer. She could not bear to see Levison toiling night after night, getting no rest, when all his efforts might be in vain. She had to see Melvin, to find out the truth. He need never know that Levison lived, if he thought him dead, She could delude him; perhaps persuade him, in spite of what had happened, to reinstate her so that she could use her influence to get Levison released from his slavery without Melvin’s knowledge.

  Her mind made up, she did not hesitate. Leaving Levison to his labours as early as she could without exciting his suspicions, she made her way through the deserted, ill-lighted streets towards the narrow belt of grassland that separated the inner rim of the Workers’ Circle from the centre of the city. Soon she came to one of the great portals through which all traffic entering the inner section filtered to the various levels, and where a pedestrian was such a rarity that only a single narrow subway on either side of the towering arch had been provided for foot passengers, as though as an afterthought. Beyond the portal, a flood of light from the great city buildings, resplendent with flashing sky-signs, reached into the heavens to put the stars to shame.

  As she drew nearer the subway entrance, Lalia searched in vain for some suggestion of shadow in which she night escape the mechanical eyes of the. grey-uniformed police who made their vigil here, ever watchful lest some unauthorised Worker attempt to enter the forbidden precincts of the city. But it was impossible to gain the subway without passing their observation posts, smooth domes of shining plastic from whose summits revolving lights swept the footway with their merciless beams. Once she stepped into that light they would see the olive-green uniform that marked her as a Worker, and a Worker had to be questioned. It was unavoidable.

  For a moment Lalia stopped, blinking at the whirling rays of light, and wondered if she should not wait until she could obtain a permit to enter the city on some legitimate errand. But the formality would take time; the document would require her Overseer’s signature. It was all designed to discourage Workers from encroaching on the rightful preserves of the Intellectuals. She had to see Melvin now—that night; he would almost certainly be working in his office in the Science Institute. She would get there somehow.

  She continued towards the subway, whose dim inner lights seemed poorer still against the bright glare outside. She almost ran, knowing that if the men in the observation post saw she was in a hurry they would keep her waiting longer at the turnstile before they started their interrogation. Just before she reached the viewplate, which would present her life-size image to them inside the post, a mechanical voice grated:

  “Halt! Stand by for questioning.”

  But she did not halt. Instead she plunged forward into the ill-lit subway and, keeping as close to the wall as she could, ran faster than she had ever done in her life before. She had gone ten yards when the robot voice repeated: “Halt! Stand by—” Then a human voice commanded, “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” as she heard the clatter of heavy boots behind her: someone inside the post must have moved as fast as she.

  She was almost on the point of staying her headlong progress down the straight, narrow tunnel when something blazed behind her, a fierce burst of pain racked her spine, and she fell into a pit of absolute blackness.

  * * * *

  Lalia had been gone less than an hour when Levison Read was startled by a sudden peremptory knocking on the door of the billet. He was alone in the house; the others always spent their evenings at the Recreation Centre. Hurriedly he pushed aside the apparatus on which he was working, and went downstairs to the door. A man in Workers’ Hospital uniform stood waiting. There was a car in the road outside.

  “Levison Read?” he asked briefly, then went on at the other’s nod. “A girl named Melbridge was shot by the police while trying to pass the barrier without permission. She’s in hospital, in a pretty bad way—gave your name. You can come with me.”

  As the car sped through the narrow streets, Levison’s mind was an agonizing muddle of hope, fear, and regret. The few minutes before he was standing at Lalia’s bedside, looking down at her white face, seemed an interminable age.

  “Only a moment,” the nurse cautioned as she left them.

  “Hello, Levison.” The girl’s whisper was almost inaudible. “I—I tried to see Melvin—but they stopped me—”

  Bitter anguish showed in his eyes as he leaned over the bed. “Whatever made you do it, Lalia? I would have gone myself if I’d thought—” The words choked him. He could only gaze at her, tenderly.

  “Never mind,” she whispered. “You know best. If—if I don’t get better. I want you to know that I’m still on your side.”

  He nodded dumbly. She lay staring up at him until the nurse intervened.

  A moment later, in the corridor outside, he realized dimly that a doctor was speaking to him.

  “We operated the moment she was brought in. We saved her life, but there is a bad spinal injury. She will probably find it difficult to walk again....”

  Levison wandered out into the street in a daze. Never to walk again—

  Involuntarily, his fists clenched. This was another piece of Melvin’s hateful work. Lalia was right—they had to throw off these shackles he had put upon them, to prevent him doing them further injury. He had to show him that with all his power he could not succeed in his crazy scheme of domination.

  He had to match that power with his own—now.

  The numbness passed from his shocked mind, gave place to a burning sense of injustice, which flared into a raging fury towards his brother. Spurred to sudden activity, he swung round, hurried back into the hospital forecourt where a small autogyro stood parked.

  Keeping well in the shadow, his eye on the solitary figure in the light of the main entrance, he opened the door, slipped into the seat, set the vanes revolving as soon as he heard the first soft purr of the engine.

  The man in the doorway turned, stared out into the gloom, waved a hand wildly and came running across the forecourt towards the plane. Levison waited until he was three yards away, then opened the throttle wide. With a lurch that turned his stomach, the plane leapt straight up into the air.

  He turned on t
he jets, climbed swiftly up above the hospital roof, and stilled the whirring helicopter as he brought the machine round towards the blaze of light marking the city’s centre. Within seconds he hung suspended over its twinkling abysses. He peered down, searching; it was a long time since he had piloted his own gyro over London, but at last he made out the expansive roof of the Science Institute. He nosed down towards it, hovered motionless above it for a moment, then let the plane down to a gentle landing on the rooftop where several other tiny machines were parked.

  He went down in the lift without encountering a watchman. The corridors were silent, deserted, though lights still burned here and there. He found an indicator, located Melvin’s office on the third floor. The glass panel of the door glowed with light. He pushed the door open, went through the outer office to where another door stood ajar. He flung it open.

  Melvin looked up with a start from the desk where he was studying a sheet of diagrams. At his side lay several pieces of apparatus, which were not unfamiliar to Levison. The blood drained slowly from the Master’s face as he sat there staring at the visitor in the olive-green uniform. At length he spoke.

  “I—I thought you must be dead. I hadn’t heard—”

  “You could have found out easily enough, couldn’t you?” Levison put the question calmly. His rage was gone now, leaving only grim determination. “The Master surely should be aware of all his citizens’ welfare, Intellectuals and Workers alike. It might interest you to know that Lalia Melbridge also survived the storm—and that she now lies in a Workers’ Hospital, paralysed by the shock-ray of one of your henchmen. She was trying to get to you, to plead with you, even though she now realizes what a cold-blooded monster you are.”

  Uneasily Melvin rose from the desk, forced himself to meet the other’s challenging gaze. With an obvious effort he made his excuses.

  “She attacked me in my laboratory, left me unconscious. If she had only approached me in the proper way I might have overlooked that. If she chooses to defy law and order, I cannot be held responsible.”

  “Law and order!” Levison’s tone was not so cool. “Who are you to speak of such things? You who seek to thrive on violence—yes, and on thievery!” He waved a hand towards the apparatus on the desk. In a renewed burst of uncontrollable anger, he dived forward, swept it to the floor and ground its shining complexities beneath his feet.

  Melvin’s eyes gleamed hateful enmity. He tensed his body, hurled himself at his brother, fingers crooked like talons. But Levison was quicker. Flinging out an arm, he sent him staggering back on to a low settee where he sat panting, glowering.

  “You’ll pay for this,” he growled. “You can’t attack the Master. I’ll have you taught a lesson. I have the power—”

  “Power!” The word came back like a boomerang. “Power! The power to destroy! Too much of that will bring you down before long, Melvin. You can’t control it—”

  “But I can!”

  Melvin leapt to his feet as he shrieked his defiance. Levison backed away, then stood his ground, awaiting a second plunge. But instead of attacking him again, Melvin stepped aside, round the settee, and ran to the other side of the room where a shiny black panel stood out from the surface of the wall. He touched a button, slid the panel aside to disclose an array of switches and dials.

  “You see! I have my power ready to hand—the power that put me here and will keep me here so long as I choose! Unlimited power! You’ve already seen what the release of that power can do, Levison. The Great Storm that almost destroyed London—it was I who caused it. And I can do it again!”

  He was raving now, drunk with wild exultancy. Levison watched him, half contemptuous, half pitying.

  “You shall see!” With a hoarse cry, Melvin slammed down a great switch on the panel, started to turn a dial while he kept a careful eye on Levison. “If you and Lalia try to get me removed, the whole of London will answer for it. Better think again, Levison. If you would only co-operate with me—”

  He stopped and stared as he became aware that someone lurked just outside the office door, looking straight at him through the gap where it had been pushed partly open. Levison could see only a vague shadow behind the glass. Then slowly the door swung back, revealing a stocky, muscular figure standing on the threshold

  “Townsend!” Melvin’s face whitened visibly, stark against the blackness of the switchboard. For a moment he struggled in indecision, laid a hand on the panel as though to though to close it, then let it fall to his side. He stood silent, lips twitching nervously eyes shifting from Levison to Townsend and back again.

  Townsend’s tone was confident, commanding. “Release that switch!” he ordered.

  Melvin hesitated again. He made a terrific effort to regain his composure hunching back his shoulders, head held high.

  “Who are you to give orders to the Master?” he demanded. “You had no permission to enter my office.”

  The engineer moved forward purposefully. He had reached the switchboard before Levison caught sight of the vibragun in his hand. Brushing Melvin aside, he reached up with the other, opened the switch, and turned to face them both. He gestured with the gun towards Levison, then levelled it straight at Melvin’s breast.

  “This man—your brother—didn’t wait for permission either. His errand was too important. So is mine—now. I was coming to see you on a matter that is too trifling to mention—it can wait. I hadn’t long landed in my gyro and was digging out some papers when this man touched down on the roof. I saw his Worker’s uniform, followed him down to your office. When I first saw his face I thought it was you, though I couldn’t understand the dress. When I heard you talking, I learned differently. I learned a lot of things—things that have been troubling me for some time but which I couldn’t fit together before.”

  His tone was quietly conversational now. Melvin stood glaring at him, his chest heaving rhythmically, while Levison watched impotently. The stocky man went on.

  “I always knew there was something funny about that storm. There was that beam of violet light that some were supposed to have seen, which led to talk of invaders from space—absolute nonsense! Lots of people had theories—all sorts of fantastic ideas, which they put over the radio and TV. But I never could accept the scientists’ verdict that it couldn’t be anything but a natural phenomenon. It was too restricted, too concentrated. There never was a storm like that, and there never will be again.”

  He looked at Melvin with narrowed eyes as he spoke the last few words, slowly and deliberately. He glanced quickly at Levison, then resumed in a voice that trembled slightly.

  “I lost my wife and youngsters, all I had, in that storm. Thousands died and suffered through it, and are still suffering—because of you, Melvin Read. I was a fool to let you use me in your climb to power, but I’m not the only one you’ve used for your own ends, it seems. This apparatus—” He nodded towards the broken pieces on the floor, turned to Levison again. “It’s some invention he’s filched from you. It must be important. What is it exactly?”

  Levison told him, briefly. Melvin’s face showed dull resentment. Twice he made an effort to speak, but each time Townsend silenced him abruptly.

  “The power to influence men’s minds....” The engineer considered, his gaze wandering aimlessly for a moment. Then he smiled grimly at the Master. “To think what you would have done with that! But your reign of terror’s at an end, Melvin Read. You’ll never be able to satisfy your conscience, perhaps, but I’m going to do what I can to still mine. We put one Master in power. Now we’ll replace him with another—one with rather different motives, if I’m any judge. And without any formalities or elections, either. What do you say, Levison Read?”

  Levison was startled by the sheer audacity of the notion. “You mean that I should take Melvin’s place? I don’t want power—”

  “You have the power! You can work miracles with that invention. Your brother’s crazy lust for it is enough indication of that. But he wants to destroy—you w
ant to build, to cure. Well, now’s your chance!”

  He spoke rapidly, urgently. “When I entered this room, I tell you, I did so with the intention of shooting this blackguard down where he stood, not only for what he’s done to me but to avenge the thousands he’s sinned against. He deserves to die—and I’m still tempted to give him what he deserves, even if you try to stop me. But it will do me no good—I’d have to pay the penalty or blow my own brains out. There’d be a scandal; the people would lose what little faith they have left in the Master, and our enemies would make the most of it.

  “You’re his twin. He must go—you have all the qualifications that are needed. If you stepped into his shoes, we could go on as if nothing had happened, except that you’d take a different line. The people would accept you; our opponents would never know. You’d have me to stand by you—”

  Levison’s mind was a turmoil of confused thoughts. “But—but Melvin—“

  Townsend waved his gun. Melvin nervously watched his every movement. He was thoroughly frightened now. He clutched at the chance desperately.

  “Yes—yes, take my place, Levison! You deserve it. So does Lalia. I know when I’m beaten—I’ll go away.”

  “Take off your clothes,” Townsend told him. “Levison, give him your Workers’ uniform.”

  Silently, while the engineer watched, the brothers exchanged clothes. Neither of them saw the peculiar smile that flickered briefly on Townsend’s lips.

  * * * *

  The Master of London raised his eyes from his desk, gazed through the huge window at the skeleton fingers of metal, which pointed upwards, here and there, between the network of girders and the mass of newly-finished buildings below. He nodded approvingly to himself, leaned back in his chair and sat reflecting. The city wasn’t such a bad place, after all. And it would be better still....