Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “Court!” he said in relief. “Am I glad you’re here! Are you hungry?”

  “No.” Characteristically Court did not bother to introduce anyone. “Where’s the patient?”

  “In the left wing of the hospital. We’ve cleared out everyone else. You’ll have to put on the lead suit. We have only one, unfortunately.”

  Court seemed transformed into a swift, emotionless machine. He hastily donned the form-fitting suit of canvas, with leaden scales sewed closely over the surface. As he followed Granger to the door, the physician paused.

  “I’d better not go farther. I don’t know exactly how far the radiation extends. It wilts gold-leaf at quite some distance.”

  Court nodded, got his directions, and clumped ponderously out the door. He went along the corridor until he found the patient’s room. Any other man would have hesitated before entering, but Court was not like any other man. Without stopping, he pushed open the door.

  The bare, white-walled chamber was spotlessly sterile. A case of instruments lay open on a table, a hypodermic needle in view. On the bed a man was sprawled.

  Peering through lead-infiltrated goggles, Court came closer. Locicault was unconscious. No, he was asleep. His spare, wasted frame was barely flashy to make a visible shape under the coverlets. On the pillow lay the withered, skull-face of an incredibly old man.

  Locicault was twenty-three years of age.

  His mouth was toothless. Hanging open helplessly, it revealed his ugly, blackened gums. His skull was hairless, with ears that were large and malformed, and his nose, too, was enlarged. The repulsive skin dangled in loose, sagging wrinkles. Pouches hung slack on his naked skull.

  Court went to the window and drew down the shades. In the gloom a queer, silvery light was visible at once. It came from the patient’s face!

  COURT stripped off the covers, exposing Locicault’s gaunt, nude body. Like the ghastly face, it gleamed with a silvery radiance that did not pulse or wane, but remained steady. “Locicault,” Court called out sharply. When he gripped the thin shoulder, the man shuddered convulsively and his eyes opened.

  They were not human eyes. They were pools of white radiance, like shining smoke in eye-sockets.

  “Locicault, can you hear me?” Court asked quietly.

  A cracked whisper came from the withered lips.

  “Yes. . . . Yes, m’sieu.”

  “Can you see me?”

  “I can—No, m’sieu, not with my eyes. I am blind—but I can see you, somehow—”

  Court frowned, puzzled, as he pondered the weird reply.

  “What do you see?”

  “You are covered with—armor, I think. I do not know how I can tell this. I am blind. . . .”

  “I am a doctor,” Court said. “If you can talk without pain, I want you to answer some questions.”

  “Oui, m’sieu. Bien.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “No—Yes. I am hungry. It is strange. I am hungry and thirsty, but I do not want food. Something I do not understand—”

  Court waited for him to continue. When Locicault did not, he went on with another line of reasoning.

  “Tell me about this fog.”

  “There is not much to tell,” Locicault said painfully. “When I left my home, I could not find my way. The fog was so heavy—and its smell was not right.”

  Stephen’s eyes sparkled with interest under the thick mask.

  “How did it smell? What did it remind you of?”

  “I don’t know. Wait! Once I was in the big power-house at the dam, and it smelled like that—”

  Ozone? Court shook his head.

  “Well?” he urged.

  “The fog was cold at first, and then it seemed to grow warmer. I had the strange feeling it was getting inside of me. My lungs began to burn like fire. My heart beat faster. I was hungry, yet I had just eaten . . . Doctor,” Locicault said suddenly, without moving, “I am changing—more and more. When it started, I did not change much, but now—I feel like something that is not a man. Can you hear my voice?”

  “Yes,” Court soothed.

  “That is odd. My mind is so wonderfully clear, but my senses—I do not seem to hear with my ears, nor speak with my tongue. I feel strong, though—and hungry—”

  His scrawny head slumped, and Court saw that he had lost consciousness.

  WHISTLING softly, with grim abstraction, Court returned to the main hospital where the others waited. Doffing his suit, he questioned Granger.

  “It’s progressive, isn’t it? Doesn’t the radiation get stronger?”

  “Why, yes,” the physician replied. “For a time, anyway. Locicault was fearfully hungry. His metabolism was high, and this radiation got stronger every time we fed him. Yesterday, though, he refused to eat.”

  “But he’s hungry,” Stephen protested.

  “So he says, and still he won’t eat. The radiation is much fainter now.”

  “I see,” Court muttered. “Get me a guinea-pig, will you? A rabbit will do just as well, if you don’t have a guinea-pig. I want to try something.”

  Putting on the armor again and carrying a wriggling guinea-pig, Court went back to the patient. Locicault was still unconscious. For the first time, Court hesitated, staring at the pale aura surrounding Locicault’s body. Then he slowly extended the guinea-pig till its furry side touched the patient’s hand.

  Gently the weak, bony fingers constricted. Closing upon the tiny animal, they did not harm it though it struggled frantically to escape.

  The little beast went limp, seemed, amazingly, to grow smaller. Swiftly the phosphorescent gleam surrounding Locicault grew brighter.

  “So that’s the way!” Court muttered under his breath.

  He disengaged the guinea-pig from the skeleton fingers and examined the animal. It was dead, as he had expected. Court silently returned to the others.

  “You haven’t been feeding him the right way,” he explained, struggling out of the armor. He gave it to Granger, who put it on. “Locicault is changing, slowly and steadily, into some form of life that is definitely not human. At first he ate normally, though in vast quantity.

  “As his basic matter altered, Locicault lost the power to absorb food as we do, internally. He gets the energy direct—like a vampire, to put it melodramatically. He will kill any living being that touches him.”

  “Good God!” Granger cried in a shocked voice. “We can’t let him live, Court!”

  “We must, because I need him. I have to study the course of the plague in its natural progress. Locicault must be fed whatever he needs now—rabbits, guinea-pigs, and so on. I shall take him to my home as soon as the special ambulance gets here.”

  Sammy shuffled forward, wide-eyed with fear, but desperately stem.

  “Stevie, don’t take any chances.”

  Court ignored the old man as he ignored everyone else when his mind was absorbed.

  “Marion, unpack my equipment. The ambulance should be here by tomorrow or the next day. In the meantime, I want to check every angle. Be sure that there’s a supply of small animals for the patient. I don’t know yet how much energy he needs, but he’s broadcasting it at a terrific rate.”

  GRANGER, clumsy in the lead suit, already left the room. Court looked at his watch.

  “Lucky I got here in time. If Locicault had died—”

  “Can you save him?” she asked eagerly.

  “Of course not! I don’t want to, even if I could. I want to stop the plague, and to do that, I must watch it run its course in a test subject. Locicault happens to be the only one we know about. There may be new cases at any time, but I can’t afford to wait. For all I know, there may never be another case till the final crack-up. Then it will be too late to do anything.”

  “What do you intend?” Marion asked, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “I shall take Locicault back home with me, keep him in isolation, and feed him whatever may be necessary. Eventually the plague will run its course. Locicau
lt may not die, but he may have to be destroyed.”

  The door slammed open. Granger burst into the room, ripped off the lead suit. His gnomish face was gray with horror.

  “Court, he’s dead!”

  “What?” Court’s jaw trembled with indecision. “No, he can’t be. It’s unconsciousness—” But already he was snatching the suit from Granger. “Get me adrenalin, quick, another guinea-pig!”

  They sprang to obey. Bearing his equipment, Court raced away. The minutes ticked slowly past, lagging unendurably. At last he came back, Bis shoulders slumped.

  “You’re right, Granger,” he muttered. “Locicault’s dead. I was too late.”

  “You—” the physician hesitated, biting his lips in helplessness. “You’ll want to have an autopsy?”

  “No, it’s no use. I must watch the progress of the plague on a living being. A corpse is no good for my purposes. I must wait . . . Perhaps the plague will strike again. I—I don’t know.”

  Court went to the window and looked out, his back to the others.

  “Take precautions with the burial,” he said after a time speaking in a strange, tight voice. “The contagion can still be spread. No one must touch him without lead-armor. You will cremate him, of course.”

  Marion came across the room to stand beside him.

  “You’re not giving up, are you?” she whispered.

  “No, but I’m at a dead end now. Every hour I delay may mean—”

  The others had shuffled despondently out of the room.

  “We’re going back, then?” Marion asked.

  “Yes. I’ll take a few specimens from Locicault’s body, but it’s useless. I can’t bring back life to a dead man. Damn him!” he snarled with sudden fury. “Why did he have to die?” Marion’s lips trembled and she turned away. Court, after a brief hesitation, replaced the lead-glass helmet and went into the wing. He could, as a matter of routine, take samples of Locicault’s blood and skin, though he knew that would do little good.

  COURT opened the door of Locicault’s room and stopped abruptly, catching his breath. The blood drained from his cheeks. He reached out almost blindly.

  “Sammy!” he whispered. “Oh, my God, you fool!”

  The old man stood motionless beside the bed. In the dimness his face could not be seen. His scant white hair was pale as silver.

  “Hello, Stevie,” he said gently. “Don’t go off the handle, now. After all, I’m not so young any more, and you needed a case of this plague to experiment on. If it’s as contagious as you say, I guess I sure enough got it by now.”

  “Sammy,” Court whispered through dry lips. “Why—”

  He could not go on.

  “Why?” The old man shrugged. “I dunno. I told you about that plague down South, with women and kids dying like flies. I know what it’s like. If I can help you save women and kids, Stevie, I figure I’ve done a pretty good job. So it’s up to you now, boy. It’s up to you.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Mystery of Dro-Ghir

  ARDATH was worried. As he sat immersed in thought, within the laboratory of the golden ship, he felt that he was little nearer to his goal. The barbaric hordes that overran the Earth in this new era promised little. Only in the far Eastern lands did the flame of civilization burn.

  But would Ardath find a super-mentality there? Would there be one he could take with him to a future age, to find a suitable mate? Or must he go on once more?

  There was another matter, too. Neither Jansaiya nor Thordred had proved as intelligent as he had expected. At times Thordred was almost obtuse, despite his eagerness to learn new things. A flash of suspicion crossed Ardath’s mind. Perhaps Thordred was pretending stupidity—

  But why should he? Ardath, unused to guile and deceit, found the question difficult. He had saved Thordred’s life, but humans were completely alien to Ardath. He had come from Kyria, a planet far across the Universe. He did not realize that humans sometimes mistrust and hate those greater than themselves, fearing power which, though benevolent, can also be used for evil. Besides, he knew that Thordred was ambitious, for the giant Earthman had conspired to win Zana’s throne.

  Ardath rose from his seat and pressed a lever. The veil of flickering light that barred the doorway died. He stepped across the threshold, and once more the barrier flamed with shimmering deadliness. He stood watching Thordred and Jansaiya as they sat near a vision screen, intent on the scene pictured there.

  Thordred turned his vulture face, sensing Ardath’s presence. “There is nothing new, Master”

  Ardath smiled somewhat sadly and shook his head.

  “How often must I tell you not to call me master? Because I have more knowledge than you, Thordred, does not mean that you are my slave. This eternal desire of Earthmen for enslavement . . .”

  He shrugged bewilderedly and his thoughts went back to his home planet, Kyria, long since shattered into cosmic dust. Often he had dreamed of that world, which he had only seen on vision screens. Always he had awakened to this barbarous planet where men hated and fought and died for silly causes. Truly the road of the ages was long.

  Yet he knew there would be an end. Even here, in this Eastern land, the Kyrian had found a clue.

  “Thordred,” he said slowly, “and you, too, Jansaiya—I must leave you for awhile.”

  Intent on his thoughts, Ardath did not notice the quick glow that brightened the others’ eyes.

  “There is a man here I must know, and a mystery I must solve,” he continued. Barbarous hordes have overrun this country, huge hairy giants from the North. They are little more than beasts, but at their head is a chieftain called Dro-Ghir. He puzzles me. His acts are wise. His brain seems highly developed, yet he is filled with the violent emotions of a savage. This is a paradox.”

  Jansaiya’s lovely eyes were narrowed.

  “You must leave us, you said?”

  Ardath nodded. “Remain in the ship till I return. There is plenty of food, and no danger can touch you. I have only one warning—Do not attempt to enter the laboratory.” He smiled as a thought came to him. “Though you know nothing of the apparatus there, yet you might harm yourselves.”

  “We will obey,” Thordred grunted, his harsh face immobile.

  Quickly Ardath made his preparations. As he opened the port, he turned. His gaze dwelt on Thordred, and there was a curiously mocking light in it.

  “Farewell, for a time. I shall rejoin you soon.”

  He stepped out and was gone.

  THE girl made a quick movement, but Thordred lifted his huge hand in warning.

  “Wait!” he whispered.

  They waited, while the minutes dragged past. At last Thordred arose and went to the laboratory door. He fumbled over the wall, and abruptly the flickering veil of light died. The giant’s face twisted in a contemptuous grin.

  “Ardath is a fool,” he rumbled. “Else he would never have left his laboratory unguarded, even though he does not realize that I know the secret of his brain.”

  “But do you?” Jansaiya asked. She stood behind the giant, peering over his shoulder into the laboratory. “You know nothing of his thoughts since you drew the knowledge from his mind, and that was ages ago.”

  “I know enough!” Thordred retorted, eyeing the apparatus wolfishly. “Enough to handle his weapons, once I get my hands on them. We shall follow Ardath now and slay him. Then this new world will be ready for conquests.”

  “I am afraid,” the girl complained. “Do not try to kill Ardath. Sometimes I see that in his eyes which makes me tremble. He is not Earth-born. Let us flee, instead, to where he can never find us.”

  “While he lives, we are not safe,” Thordred growled. “Come!”

  He sprang across the threshold—and was flung back! A wall of flaming blue light reared viciously before him. Crackling, humming, blazing with azure fury, the strange veil rippled weirdly. Sick with amazement and baffled rage, Thordred drew back, a stinging pain in his arm and his side. Jansaiya cried out and
fled into a corner.

  “He—he watches us!” the girl whimpered.” I did not think so, but now I know he is a demon!”

  Thordred was ashly-gray under his brown, hairy skin. His jaw muscles bunched. Like a beast he crouched, great hands shaking, as he glared at the ominous portal.

  “Quiet! He does not watch. Ardath is clever, that is all.”

  “I do not understand—”

  “One lock on a door is good, but two are better. Ardath had put two locks on this one.” Thordred growled deep in his throat. “Does he suspect me? If he does—” He shook his shaggy head. “No, it is a precaution anyone might take. Let me see.”

  Thordred approached and gingerly tested the blue wall of light. It was as solid and resistant as metal.

  “It is a new thing. I know many of Ardath’s secrets, though not this one. Perhaps I can learn how to destroy this barrier before he returns.”

  Jansaiya began trembling with a new fear.

  “If you do not, he may destroy us. Hurry, Thordred!”

  “There is no need for haste. Let me see. . . .”

  The giant began testing the wall beside the door. Under his beetling brows, the amber cat’s-eyes glowed as he worked. Presently sweat began to trickle down the swarthy face and run into the black beard. Could he find the secret of the barrier before Ardath returned?

  MEANWHILE, Ardath walked swiftly through the forest, his thoughts busy. The Kyrian had already forgotten Thordred and Jansaiya. He was pondering the mystery of the savage chief Dro-Ghir, whose actions were those of a genius, but who certainly did not resemble one in any way.

  In a far later age, Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun would ravage the Earth as Dro-Ghir did now. Centuries later, the walled cities of China would again fall victim to the invader, as they had fallen before Dro-Ghir. Out of the Northern steppes the hordes of this scourge had come, huge hairy men on horseback. Their villages were crude collections of dome-shaped huts—yurts, they were called.

  Eastward the ravagers had swept, and down the bleak coasts into Oriental lands. Westward they had been halted, for a time, by the vast mountain range that towered to the skies. In the South they had swarmed into a land or green, lush jungle and carved stone temples, where men worshiped Siva and Kali the Many-armed.