Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  The horns of the crescent that pursued closed in. The creatures sped faster than a man could run. They formed a great circle barring Powell from the Manhattan.

  But they were oddly changed. They were without their carapaces. Glancing behind him, the cameraman saw the pale shields above him on the slope. Without the armor, the beings were much smaller, simply tapering bodies expanding to the mandibled heads. They were little but murderous jaws on legs.

  Smaller than Mike, they came on, menacing and deadly. The port of the Manhattan was not far distant, but the creatures barred the way to it. Powell jerked out his heat-gun and took careful aim. The blast had no effect on the tough mandibles or the segmented legs. The weapon was useless.

  Quite suddenly Powell figured out something. The monsters had worn armor until they descended into the shadowed valley. Why? To protect them from the sun’s rays? Then those unfiltered ultra-violet rays must be as deadly to them as they were to humans.

  “Oh, Lord,” Powell whispered through white lips, and dropped his gun to fumble frantically in his pocket. He ripped out the powerful flashlight, made a hasty adjustment on it, and from another pocket took a case of camera lenses. One of these he selected and held it in place over the flashlight’s bulb.

  “Ultra-violet lens,” he mumbled, “work! Please work!”

  The lens, used in filming, had the power of stepping up light vibrations to the ultra-violet. Compared with the sun of this alien world it was feeble indeed, despite the powerful flashlight.

  The nearest creature was only ten feet away when Powell shoved the switch. The invisible rays lanced out. The cameraman swung his improvised weapon back and forth, not sure of his aim.

  And the monster halted!

  It paused briefly. Its body jerked in convulsive motion. The segmented legs went into erratic action. The creature blundered away, its sensitive neural structure disrupted by the ultraviolet.

  But the others were moving forward. Powell swung the flashlight in an arc. Two more monsters dropped, then another. Six were left. The path to the ship was open.

  Powell ran toward it. Pounding of unhuman feet on the hard ground warned him. He whirled, swung the weapon again.

  If those deadly mandibles once gripped him, he was done for. That was certain.

  Two more went down. Four were left.

  He gained another few yards before he had to turn again. This time the creatures were wary. They scattered and dodged. It was growing darker, and they were difficult to see in the tricky gloom.

  OVERHEAD the sky was purple and starless. No moon showed. Shadows in the dark closed on Powell. The invisible beam lashed out. The monsters fled.

  A great bulk loomed up. The ship. Where was the port? Powell put his back against the hull and edged forward. He nailed an attacker as the sharp mandibles tore his trouser cuff.

  Under his hand he felt a groove. Near it was the stud that opened the port. Powell’s finger pressed the button.

  Silently the valve slid aside.

  There was an onrush of shadows. Powell flashed his light at random, hearing muffled sounds from the dark. He stumbled back, kicking at a black thing that reached for him. He sprang aside and played the ray on the ported. The sounds grew fainter.

  Hastily, he shut the valve and switched on the light. The control room was empty, save for himself.

  For a short while, anyhow, Mike was relatively safe. How much time he could spend searching for the drive mechanism, which Owen had boasted was well hidden, depended on the dominant’s cleverness. If the mineral-corroders were sent, Mike thought, goodbye space ship!

  Carefully, then, and without allowing the pressure of time to panic him, he began at the bow and worked back. Rocket ships have little free space. Their floors are solidly welded, walls are usually of one piece. Short, strong girders take up every bit of space between.

  He had been in the hold while Owen was hiding the mechanism, which ruled that out. Somewhere in the barren rooms up forward was that vital machine.

  The single clue Mike had was that the instrument was quite small. Thus, it could be almost anywhere. He investigated behind the control panel, where there was a limited pocket in the wires and tubes. Every inch of the walls and floors had been tapped. Lockers, fuse boxes, the stateroom bunks, the galley, washroom, the old fuel hold—he had gone through these twice.

  Eberle’s space drive wasn’t there.

  He sat down, deliberately not looking outside to see how much time he had. Keeping everything else submerged in his mind, he asked himself one question.

  If he had to hide a compact, portable article, easily detached and reconnected, where would he put it? From wall to wall, remember, rocket ships have nothing but necessary furniture, bolted for security. Sliding panels are not customary. With the exception of the few places he had already examined twice, everything could be seen at a glance.

  “Oh, you dope!” he suddenly yelled at himself. “This isn’t a rocket ship! Owen hid the machinery in the sealed tubes, of course!”

  And that, naturally, was where Owen had concealed it. A brief search discovered the boxlike instrument in a bow tube. Quickly, Powell bore it to the panel, attached the wires, plumped into the snug, cushioned pilot’s seat.

  He pressed a button, gently moved a metal bar. The Manhattan lifted.

  It rose up silently, till it hung a hundred feet above the valley floor. Silhouetted against the last red sunset glow was the fortress of the Colossi. Mike sent the ship driving toward it.

  WITHIN an hour the Manhattan was dropping toward the city for which it had been named. Emerging, Mike found himself surrounded by a dozen mechanics, superintended by Eberle. The scientist’s rubicund face was contorted with amazement.

  “Powell! Good Lord! What’s happened? Why did you run off like that?”

  “I—” The cameraman swallowed desperately. “I want a drink. Bad!”

  “Come along!” Eberle guided the other toward the elevator. “I was outfitting another ship to go after you.” The elevator stopped. Eberle urged the cameraman out.

  “Here’s what you want, I think,” Mike said. He took a chunk of ore from his pocket and put the radiant mineral on the table. Eberle’s jaw dropped. “The source of the ray?”

  Powell nodded.

  Eberle picked up an electroscope and placed it near the radiant rock. The gold leaf remained unwilted. Frowning, the scientist filled a test tube with colorless liquid and spilled a drop on the shining surface. Nothing happened.

  “You’ve done it!” Eberle shouted. “You’ve turned the trick. I’m sure of that. It’ll be simply a matter of finding out how to release the energy in this mineral, and I already have telescopic photos of the Colossi’s ray machine.”

  “I don’t see how that’ll help,” Mike objected.

  “No? To release all the energy at once, to turn the full power of the ray on a human being—on myself? If the mere touch of the ray turned me into a super-scientist, imagine what its complete strength would do!

  “I believe this is the weapon, Powell. I shall turn the power of the ray on myself—the full power—and see what effect it has.

  “My scientific potentialities will be so far advanced that I can, I believe, defeat the Colossi and save New York!”

  He picked up the mineral, and fled. The cameraman sighed. Events were moving too swiftly. But it felt good to be back in New York, even though on another planet and in another continuum.

  Powell drank more whiskey, called a messenger, and sent the films to Summit for development. He was finishing the bottle when the door opened and a man in baggy tweeds walked in stiffly. Glacial blue eyes in a sunburnt face scrutinized Powell.

  It was Somerset, the IIB agent.

  “So here you are,” he said shortly. “Gwynn told me you were back. Got anything?”

  “I think so.” Powell nodded. “I’d offer you a drink, but there’s none left. Yes, I found what I went after.”

  “Good. There’ve been more monsters appearing,
you know. New York can’t hold up much longer. What’s the dope?”

  Powell explained in detail. Finally, Somerset, lighting his pipe, stood up.

  “I’d better see Eberle. You’ve done a fine job, but it’s up to him now. If the IIB can help—”

  The cameraman wasn’t listening. His eyes were intent on an instrument on the table. An instrument that told him something almost unbelievable. Powell’s hand, at his side, moved swiftly. It held a lancet he had picked up from the table. He drove it deep into Somerset’s leg.

  The man ignored the powerful stab.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Come to Death!

  SOMETHING in Powell’s face warned Somerset. The agent glanced down, saw the lancet, and sprang back. Powell lunged at him.

  Somerset’s arm lifted. A beam of pale light lashed out. It gripped Powell and held him motionless. The cameraman stood silent, straining every muscle against the paralysis ray.

  The portable ray was not powerful enough to prohibit speech. When Powell’s mouth opened, Somerset glanced at the door and hastily reached out a hand to click the latch.

  “The room’s soundproof,” he said. “Nobody can hear you yell.”

  Powell thought fast. Eberle might return at any moment. If he found the door locked, he would become suspicious and investigate. If he could keep Somerset here till then—

  “So you’re the super-criminal, the robot crime-master!” Powell said with difficulty.

  “How much do you know?” Somerset said coldly. His glacial eyes were unrevealing.

  “I know plenty. I know you’re the First, and I know the reason why you walk stiffly. Artificial legs! Nobody with legs could fit inside the body of the robot, but there was plenty of room for a legless man. Remote control, hell! You were inside the robot, directing it personally.”

  “Go on,” the other commanded, glancing at the door.

  “Tell me if I’m wrong,” Powell said, trying to smile. “I’m just piecing things together as I go along. They fit, now. For one thing, you’re not Joe Somerset.”

  “No? Who am I?”

  “The Spacehawk. Max Owen, your stooge, told me your behavior pattern checked with that of the Spacehawk. And Somerset was no crook. He went off to capture you and came back two weeks later alone. He caught you, but he didn’t kill you. There must have been a fight, because you look exactly like Somerset, and you’re wearing artificial legs. How does that work out?” The Spacehawk lifted cynical eyebrows.

  “There was a battle in space, Powell. There wasn’t much left of my body, and Somerset’s legs were burned off with a beam. But my crew won. I knew I was dying. I had an expert surgeon with me. He transferred my brain to Somerset’s skull, got me artificial legs, and I killed him, with the rest of my crew. Then I came back to New York to take Somerset’s place.”

  “Smart of you,” Powell grunted. “Nobody would suspect Somerset of crookedness. You must have gotten a touch of the ray, enough to develop your criminal and scientific potential, and built up your underworld organization in a hurry. What were you chasing after?”

  “Power,” the Spacehawk said quietly. “I was tired of being a hunted criminal. Eventually I would become too powerful for the law forces.” He smiled coldly. “I didn’t want to conquer the planets, Powell. I didn’t want to rule the worlds. That would be a very boring task. But the only escape from my enemies was by becoming stronger than they. When did you guess my identity?”

  “Just now. It was a guess, but it isn’t now. There was an atom-smasher in your underground laboratory. You must have used it a lot. Didn’t you know that people who work around those things start emitting radiation themselves?”

  THE Spacehawk’s eyes changed.

  He glanced at the electroscope on the table.

  “Yeah,” Powell said. “The gold leaf wilted when you came into the room. Your own science gave you away.”

  “Well, you’ve convinced me of one thing. No one but you knows my real identity. Youre right, but your deduction won’t help you now, I’m afraid.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Eberle will become more powerful than I, if he turns the potential ray on himself. I will be the subject of that experiment. It’s simply a matter of self-protection. A gamble, of course, but I am a gambler. If I win, I shall destroy the Colossi and return New York to Earth, if possible. Once that is done, I need fear nothing.”

  Powell’s heart turned to ice.

  “You’re crazy!” he whispered. “The ray might work on Eberle. He’s a scientist. But how do you know what potential it’d develop in you? And how could you kill the Colossi?”

  “That,” said the Spacehawk, “I shall soon learn.”

  He moved his arm slightly. The ray flashed out blindingly. Powell went down into the black pit of unconsciousness.

  LOOKING up at anxious green eyes, Mike’s pupils widened. Sue Clark was bending over him, her red hair tousled, her face pale. She was flipping water on the cameraman’s brow.

  “Let him smell some whiskey,” said the sardonic voice of Lynn Plumb. “That’ll bring him around.”

  Groaning, Powell sat up. He was still in the laboratory. The wrecked door told him what had happened.

  “Tapped our wires again, eh?” he said weakly.

  “Lucky for you we did,” Sue snapped. “We come up to horn in on your story and what do we find? A locked door, and Eberle knocked out in his lab.”

  “Eberle—knocked out?” Painfully, Mike got to his feet. “What’s happened?”

  “Plenty! A new monster, Lord knows what it is or where it came from! A shining globe of green gas, it looked like. It’s killed dozens already.” Horror sprang into Powell’s eyes. He guessed what the “globe of green gas” might be. He turned to the wrecked door.

  “Come on,” he said swiftly. “Got to find Eberle.”

  Together the three ran down the corridor and burst into the scientist’s lab. Eberle was stirring weakly, his rubicund face twisted in pain, his eyes vacantly staring. The light of intelligence came into them.

  “Powell,” he muttered. “Help me up. What happened?”

  “Where’s Somerset?”

  “Somerset? Was that—He tried to ray me. We fought, and that’s all I know.”

  “What about the projector?” Powell said.

  Eberle turned to a series of lenses fitted together in an apparently haphazard manner. Wires dangled from a rheostat within the device.

  “I hadn’t finished it—Wait! It’s finished now! After Somerset knocked me out, he must have completed the machine. And used it! The mineral is gone!”

  “Sue, tell Eberle about that green gas,” Powell commanded quietly.

  As he listened, the scientist’s beefy face paled horrified, incredulous.

  “He used the ray on himself, obviously. His life-potentialities were developed immediately. He became inhuman, tremendously evolved. But why should Somerset do this?”

  “He isn’t Somerset,” Powell said. “He’s the Spacehawk.” Swiftly he explained to the others what had happened.

  Eberle nodded. “He intends to destroy the Colossi, and then return New York to Earth, eh? Perhaps he can accomplish that. He is no longer limited by the laws of matter which bind our own bodies. He is pure energy, an intelligence of energy. Very likely he can kill by thought alone. Yes, he can destroy the Colossi . . .”

  “It was half an hour ago when we got the last reports of the creature,” Sue said. “After that it vanished.” Quite suddenly a violent, ear-splitting roar filled the room. Before the four had a chance to move it faded, changing to a monotonous hum, high-pitched and piercing.

  Lynn Plumb swept out his hand toward the televisor.

  “That’s doing it. What is it?”

  THE vision screen flamed into green fire. Flickering, pulsating flames swept across the surface. The humming deepened in tone. It shaped itself into understandable words.

  Oddly mechanical, perfectly articulated, a voice enunciated.
r />   “I speak to New York. I am tuned in on every televisor. Listen!”

  The green flames flared up brighter. The voice rose.

  “I, who was the Spacehawk, am now in other form, an unconquerable form! I have destroyed the Colossi! With the power of my will I have killed them, and with that same power I can return New York to Earth.

  “But first three men must die, because they know too much and may be dangerous—Eberle, Powell, Stackpole. In half an hour they must be at Times Square. Otherwise I shall seek them out myself! And if I do that, others will die besides these three.”

  The voice was still; the televisor screen went blank. Powell raised his quizzical, trusting glance to Eberle.

  “We’re elected, I guess,” he said grimly. “With Stackpole, the IIB chief.”

  “You’re not going!” Sue said.

  “Of course we are not going,” Eberle growled. “We have half an hour. In that time—” His face hardened. “We may have a chance of defeating this creature that was the Spacehawk. I don’t know how. Powell, are you game to go with me into the outer world and try to find some more of the luminous mineral?”

  “Why?” the cameraman asked. “What good will that do?”

  “So I can use it on myself. As a human, I cannot battle this creature. But if the ray transforms me into a being as strong or stronger, I can fight it with its own weapons. Of course, we can’t make the trip in half an hour—”

  POWELL reached in his pocket and pulled out something that shone faintly.

  “Is that what you need?”

  Eberle almost collapsed under stress of the emotions that tore at him.

  “It—it—you’ve got it! Where? How?”

  “I took a couple of chunks of the mineral,” the cameraman explained. “It was just as easy to pry out two pieces as one. You seemed to want only one, so I thought I’d save the other for some close-up newsreel shots.”

  Eberle tore the rock out of Powell’s hands. Ignoring the others, he fled to his machine and began to work swiftly.