Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  Court walked forward and moved the lever slightly. The port swung open. Air gusted from the Terra to the golden ship. He stepped across the threshold and halted, staring around.

  He was in a good-sized room, apparently only one of several in this huge vessel. Open doorways gaped in the walls. The chamber was bare, with nothing but a few couches.

  But on the couches lay human beings!

  A gigantic gargoyle-faced man was naked, save for a clout, his bronzed body glistening in the dim illumination that came from no discernible source. Another man, Oriental, fat as a Buddha, sprawled untidily on a pile of cushions. On the floor beside him lay a lute with one broken string. And there was a girl. . . .

  An elfin creature with ivory skin, her lips curved into a tender smile, she slept with her golden hair partially veiling her face.

  On the floor near a doorway lay another figure, face down. Court crossed to it and turned it over. He stared at a slight form and chiseled, patrician features. That face had some vague yet unmistakable touch of the alien visitor to Earth.

  Something caught Court’s eye beyond the threshold of the next room. A huge body sprawled there, one hand outstretched toward an instrument panel.

  Court strode toward it.

  He halted, realizing that he was in a laboratory—but no Earthly one! He blinked in astonishment at sight of the apparatus surrounding him. Then, forcing down his curiosity, he knelt beside the prone figure and turned it on its back.

  The man’s face was handsome in an arrogantly ferocious way, though a black spade-bread jutted from his pugnacious chin. The giant lay motionless, and Court saw that no breath lifted the hairy barrel chest. Nevertheless he made careful tests, only to realize that the man was pulseless, apparently dead.

  For some reason, Court was not convinced. Could corpses remain in such a perfect state of preservation? Was there not such a thing as catalepsy? He returned to the others, and found that they were equally lifeless, equally well preserved.

  THERE was the long chance of a wild hunch. Court returned to his own ship and came back with heating pads and stimulants. He paused to consider.

  Which one should he attempt to revive first? The girl? The Chinese? Why not the bearded man? His presence in the laboratory—the heart of the ship—indicated that he was probably a scientist.

  With a grunt of decision, Court went to the prostrate giant and put down his burden.

  Warmth must come first. The heating pads were arranged in armpits and thighs.

  He followed them with adrenalin, with brandy, artificial respiration.

  Court placed his hands in the proper position and forced air from the giant’s lungs. Then back, and down again. Down, and up. . . .

  With a surge and a rush, the man came back to life. He flung Court off with a swift gesture and sprang up. His hand closed on the switch he had been striving for.

  But he halted and whirled, his yellow cat’s-eyes glowering at the smaller man.

  He said something Court did not understand.

  Rising to his feet, Court kept one hand on his gun as he watched the giant warily.

  Abruptly the blackbeard strode past Court and into the next room. When he returned, he was grinning. He stopped at the door and stood with arms akimbo. After a moment he spoke slowly in Latin.

  It was a language that Court, being a scientist, had studied with some thoroughness.

  “I come from Earth,” he explained. “The third planet of this Sun. I mean no harm. I awoke you—”

  The other nodded. “I am Thordred. But there is no time to talk now. Tell me, swiftly as you can, how you found us.”

  Court obeyed. As he talked, Thordred went into the adjoining room and stood contemplating the silent figures. He stooped beside the slim body on the floor.

  “Dead, I think. Yet—this is your ship?”

  He pointed toward the port.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you will not need it. My ship is yours now.”

  A gleam of amusement shone in the yellow eyes as Thordred lifted Ardath’s body and carried him into the Terra. He paused to study the controls. After making a careful adjustment, he returned.

  The door of the Terra he closed behind him, then both ports of the larger ship. Court felt a touch of apprehension.

  “Thordred,” he said with quick anger in his voice. “What are you doing?” The giant turned to a vision screen in the wall.

  He flicked it on.

  “Look!”

  ON the screen, Court saw the Terra, flashing away through space. He felt a sudden pang that chilled to cold rage.

  “What right—”

  Thordred grinned. “Slowly, Stephen Court. I have said that this ship is yours. As for him”—black hatred shone in the yellow eyes—“he was a renegade and a traitor. He tried to kill us all. He is dead now, but science and magic may bring even a dead man back to life. So Ardath is going where there is neither science nor magic—toward the Sun!”

  “The Sun!”

  “Yes. I set the controls on your ship. They were not difficult to understand. Ardath is doomed, if a dead man can die again. And now we will attend to the others.”

  He glanced at the silent figures on the couches.

  “We’ll awaken them?”

  “One at a time. The girl first.” Thordred hesitated “Revive Jansaiya, Court, while I adjust the apparatus. We are going back to Earth.”

  “Good.” Court smiled. “We need your help.”

  His throat felt achingly dry, for at last his search was at an end. With the science of this Thordred added to his own, the Plague could be fought, perhaps conquered.

  Thordred was smiling triumphantly as he went into the laboratory.

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Sleepers Awake

  COURT busied himself with the golden-haired girl. Jansaiya’s feline, sophisticated green eyes, and the vague suggestion of cruelty about her lips, were not apparent now she lay in cataleptic sleep. Rather she seemed some elfin creature out of Earth’s myth-haunted past, a daughter of Neptune.

  The gossamer, violet-tinted robe scarcely veiled the alluring curves of her slim form. Her lashes lay golden on the rose-petal cheeks. She seemed so helpless, so childlike. Utterly trusting, she lay curled like a kitten on the couch.

  The poignant loveliness of the Atlantean girl was suddenly an aching stab in Court’s heart. He felt no passion for her, no infatuation. She was too completely removed from mundane life for that. But Jansaiya curiously seemed to typify and embody for Court something he had never known. Out of the world’s youth, she was youth, a symbol of the dreams that most men know before they grow too old.

  Staring down at Jansaiya, Court realized that he had never known youth and wondrous dreams. Unexpectedly he thought of Marion Barton, whom he had left on Earth. He put her out of his mind by working swiftly.

  Occasionally Thordred came to the door of the laboratory to watch, but as time wore on the giant appeared less often. Though he had learned much when the thought-transference helmet had given him the knowledge of Ardath’s brain, Thordred had not acquired the Kyrian’s super-mentality.

  Guiding the ship back to Earth was a difficult task. Besides, he was busy making certain adjustments on the thought-helmet. So he remained in the laboratory, and did not see Jansaiya waken.

  Court had turned away to stare curiously at the other two sleepers, Li Yang and Scipio the Carthaginian. The giant warrior puzzled him. Since the man wore only a breech-clout, Court found it hard to guess his origin. The color of the skin was negroid, but the thin, firm, harsh lips and the hair certainly were not. Li Yang, though, was obviously an Oriental. What did that mean? Had this space ship actually come from another world?

  The golden-haired girl might have been born on an alien planet—perhaps even Thordred and the sleeping, naked giant. But the Oriental? Court frowned, and then glanced at Jansaiya as she stirred.

  She had been breathing regularly for some time. Now her lashes fluttered and the green ey
es opened. When she looked up at Court, a soft, wordless sound of inquiry murmured from the red lips.

  “Athloyee s’ya voh—”

  Court matched the girl’s language, which he did not know was Atlantean, with Latin.

  “Don’t try to talk yet. You are safe.”

  The brows wrinkled in puzzlement as the cruel gaze scrutinized him.

  “I am safe? Of course. But where is Ardath?”

  “Dead. Thordred—”

  COURT paused, startled at the look on Jansaiya’s face. He saw fear, and incredulous amazement, and a soft smile of evil triumph that repelled him.

  “Dead?” She turned her head and looked across the room. “Li Yang. Yes. And Scipio. But Thordred, is he dead also?”

  “No. Shall I get him?”

  Court rose, but halted as a slim hand touched him.

  “Wait. Who are you?”

  Before he could reply, Thordred’s harsh voice broke in.

  “Jansaiya! You are awake? Good!” The giant strode into the room, his amber eyes intent on the girl. Briefly they flickered toward Court.

  “We are in the atmosphere now. There is not much time. Come with me.”

  Thordred made a quick, stealthy signal to Jansaiya, which Court failed to understand. The Atlantean girl pursed her lips but said nothing.

  In the laboratory, Thordred pointed to a chair.

  “Sit down, Court. Put on this helmet.”

  He picked up a bulky head-piece, crowned with helical wires, and extended it. Court hesitated.

  “What is it?” he asked cautiously.

  “Nothing dangerous. It will teach you my language, and teach me yours. Certain memory patterns—knowledge of our native tongue—will be transferred from my brain to yours, and vice versa. Come.”

  Thordred placed a duplicate helmet on his own head and sat down. Some inexplicable impulse made Court resist.

  “I’m not sure—”

  The giant grinned suddenly.

  “I told you I mean you no harm. If I had wanted to kill you, I could have done it long ago. I need your knowledge, and you need mine.” Thordred chuckled at some secret thought. “And it is best that we know each other’s language.”

  “All right.”

  Court nodded and slipped the helmet on his head. Simultaneously Thordred leaned forward and touched a keyboard. There was a whining crackle of released energy. Court felt the momentary agony of intolerable structure about his skull, then it was gone. The scene before him was blotted out by a curtain of darkness. He lost consciousness. . . .

  It seemed scarcely a second later when he awoke. Painfully opening his eyes, he saw that the laboratory was empty. His head ached fearfully. The helmet, however, was gone, as he discovered by investigating with his hands.

  “Awake, eh?” The words were unmistakably in English. Thordred stood on the threshold. He went to a shelf, took a flask from it, and gave it to Court. “Drink this. It’s a stimulant. Not like your—what was it—brandy, but equally potent.”

  Court gulped the fluid, which was tasteless and incredibly cold. Immediately his headache was gone. He glanced up at the giant.

  “You learned English, I see. That helmet’s a handy gadget. But I didn’t learn your language!”

  “No,” Thordred admitted. “The adjustment wasn’t quite accurate. But it doesn’t matter. There’s plenty of time. Meanwhile, as you say, I can talk English. Only that was necessary for us to be able to discuss scientific principles.”

  STEPHEN saw the common sense of that. There were no ancient Latin terms for modern scientific theories and devices.

  “Where are we now?” he asked.

  “On Earth.” Thordred glanced searchingly at him. “Court, I’ll be frank with. I learn more than merely your language from your mind. The Plague that worries you, for example. I acquired your memory of that.”

  “You did?”

  Court’s dark face twisted in a scowl as he felt the premonition of danger. Just how much had Thordred learned from him? He shrugged, knowing that it did not matter. The bearded giant was a friend, the only strong ally on Earth. Why look for trouble where none existed?

  “I’ve decided what’s best to be done,” Thordred said. “This Plague—I know no more about it than you do. I don’t know its origin or nature, nor any way of defeating it.”

  Court leaped his feet, a sick emptiness in his stomach.

  “Thordred! With your science and mine, we should be able to find some way of conquering it.”

  “There’s only one way. Earth is doomed. Anyone who remains will eventually be destroyed. But this is a space ship, Court, and it isn’t necessary for us to wait for destruction.” With a lifted hand, Thordred forestalled interruption. “Wait. There are other planets where life is possible, where the Plague doesn’t exist. We can carry from fifty to seventy passengers, men and women. That will be enough to start a new race and civilization on another world.”

  “No!” Court scarcely knew he spoke. “You mean go off and leave the world to doom?”

  “What good would it be to stay? We’d merely guarantee our own destruction. You’re a strong, intelligent man, Court, the sort of person I want in the civilization I shall build. That’s why I did not kill you.”

  Court’s eyes narrowed. There was a dead silence. Thordred’s chill glance did not falter.

  “I can kill you, even now, quite easily,” he went on slowly. “But the choice is yours. Join me, serve me with your fine brain and muscles, and you need not die. What’s your answer?”

  Court was silent, trying to analyze his feelings. Of course his anxiety to defeat the Plague was purely scientific. How could he, a super-intellect, feel any sympathy for ordinary men and women? What did it matter if Earth died, as long as a new civilization would be built on a distant, safer world?

  A bell rang sharply through the ship. When Thordred flicked on a vision screen, Court stared at it.

  The space ship had landed in what seemed to be a park. Suddenly he recognized it as Central Park, in New York. About the ship, a cordon of police was keeping back a surging crowd. A small group of uniformed men huddled close to the hull, using an acetylene torch to burn through the metal.

  Thordred grinned. “Perhaps I could have landed in a less populated spot, but I’m impregnable, with the weapons at my command. One flash of a certain ray, and that crowd will be burned to cinders.”

  “You don’t intend to—” Court heard himself saying.

  “But I do. The sooner Earth learns my power, the better!”

  THORDRED turned and went to a control board. Stephen Court stared at him. The emotions he had rigidly subdued all his life were flooding up into that cold brain of his. But it was not cold now. Burning in Court’s mind was the face of Marion Barton, tender with humanity. He saw the face of old Sammy, brown and wrinkled. Sammy had sacrificed himself for an ideal—an ideal in which Court did not believe.

  He had not believed in it till now. Court’s heritage, the basic humanity in him, suddenly flooded through the artificial barriers of restraint. He had fought the Plague to save men and women from horrible death, though he had not realized his true motive till now. Falsely he had told himself that he was a scientific machine. He had almost hypnotized himself into believing it. But all along, Court realized now, his motives had been those of common humanity.

  A super-mentality, perhaps, but first of all he was a man! He would instinctively fight to protect those weaker than himself, even against insuperable odds.

  Court’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Thordred push a lever in the control board. With silent desperation he hurled himself at the bearded giant.

  He was hurled back by a paralyzing shock. Thordred whirled, his mouth gaping. As Court tensed himself for another leap, the giant halted him with a lifted hand.

  “You fool, you can’t penetrate this force screen around my body. Stay where you are!”

  COURT did not move, but his lean figure quivered with suppressed fury.


  “You have your science, Thordred, but so have I.”

  “Your science?” Thordred bellowed. He thrust out a huge hand, gripped Court. “Listen to me! I told you I learned more from you than your language. That was true. I drained your brain of all the knowledge it held. Your memory is mine now.

  Court went sick as the import of the words struck home. His gaze went from Thordred’s face, moved swiftly about the laboratory for some weapon. But the apparatus was utterly unfamiliar to him. Yet it had to be based on rigid scientific principles that would be the same in any universe.

  Court’s mind worked with frantic speed, trying to find some coherent pattern. Levers, buttons, wiring, transparent tubes—each one had its definite part. On one panel, several red lights were flashing on and off. Below each light, Court recognized what must have been push-buttons.

  There were two possible answers.

  Either the switchboard had some connection with Thordred’s death ray, of which he had spoken, or else it was part of an alarm system. It was probably an alarm system, since Thordred was busy at another instrument panel. The police outside the ship were trying to burn through a port, and the red light was flashing. The button beneath that light, Court decided, probably opened the door.

  His face was immobile as he shrugged, deliberately letting his shoulders droop despairingly. Thordred’s mouth twisted into a triumphant grin. He half turned from his prisoner, and his hand touched the lever again.

  And then Court sprang—not at Thordred. He leaped toward the panel where the red light glowed. His finger stabbed out and depressed the button!

  CHAPTER XIV

  The Plague Strikes

  THORDRED’S roar came too late.

  A burst of sound welled into the ship. Men were shouting, and footsteps tramped loudly on the metal floor of the air-lock. Court sped to meet them. His hands lifted above his head, he was shouting warning. The skin of his back crawled with expectation of an attack.

  But Thordred did not pursue. Instead, there came a sizzling crackle from behind Court. Strong hands caught him, and he found himself in the midst of a group of police. He turned.