Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “We did not find out much. We never saw the—others. But this we know: the Listeners have hated their mother-world since they were expelled. They slew their pursuers, manned one of the ships with robots, and sent it back to its home planet—laden with plague-spores!”

  “The Silver Plague?” Varr frowned. “Aye. The plague too deadly to release, since it kills all life. The virus against which there is no shield. This was the gift the Listeners sent back to their ancient home. And now, I think, that world is dead.”

  “But why?” Varr pondered. “Such hate is beyond my conception.” Denham answered her.

  “Power and fear go together. The Listeners are afraid of anyone stronger than themselves, or nearly as strong. Their own former people were a menace to them and had to be destroyed for their own safety.”

  His face brightened.

  “The Listeners intend to kill your race, Varr. Can’t you guess the reason? Because—somehow!—they are in danger from you. You have some weapon they fear.”

  “You know all our weapons,” Varr told him, puzzled.

  “Then—well, they must have a weak spot somewhere. They must be terribly vulnerable somehow. If we could only find out!”

  Varr stood up.

  “There will be time enough for that. This day is ended. Tomorrow our work begins!”

  “The hunt ends,” Morlan whispered, and Corek growled deep in his throat.

  “Aye. May it be soon!”

  CHAPTER IX

  Against All Odds

  DENHAM slept well enough that night, on a mound of silks and cushions. But first his brain checked over the possibilities. The Listeners, generations ago, had fled from their own planet. Since then, they had grown strong enough to defeat—and destroy—their former conquerors. Thus there could be no hope of an alliance with the enemies of the Listeners, now.

  What weapon could be used against the master race, the invulnerable ones?

  Pondering, Denham fell asleep, to dream of Lana Bellamy. Purposely he had thrust the girl to the back of his mind, knowing that he must devote all his energies to the task at hand, that he could not afford emotional distractions. Now, however, Lana came back poignantly.

  In the morning Morlan called for him, dapper and smiling as ever. The cat-eyes were unreadable.

  “We work together,” he remarked. “That will make it easier. Varr has her own task to do, and Corek—well, he is not subtle. He feels the masters’ goad, and it infuriates him.”

  “Don’t you mind it?” Denham asked.

  A velvet cruelty showed for an instant in Morlan’s young face.

  “I can wait,” he said.

  They went out to the spiral road-belt, winding in to one of the elevators that lifted them, level after level, up inside the Tower. Scores of slaves were in evidence, and some of the flying “ears.” Occasionally Denham felt the chronometer on his arm grow warm as a scanning ray was turned upon him.

  “Remember,” Morlan cautioned, “you are Ferrad, not Denham. Your job is simple—to tighten a detonator screw. I’ll show you. The Listeners, ever since they arrived, have devoted most of their time to building up impregnable defenses and stronger weapons. But we learn, through our spies, what they do. They underestimate us, Ferrad!” Morlan sounded amused.

  They mounted another moving belt. This entire level, Denham saw, was in effect a factory, producing weapons for the Listeners.

  Morlan was stationed near Denham at a conveyor, and showed the Earthman what his task was. It was simple enough—tightening a connection on a small metal cylinder, each time one slipped past. Monotonous work, but far from arduous. Yet he could realize that it would be torture for a feline temperament.

  Occasionally he had time to talk to Morlan, working nearby.

  “I have remembered something, Denham,” the cat-man remarked once. “The Listeners use wireless power for many of their contrivances and most of their weapons, I know. The power source is at the summit of the Tower. Once it broke down, and the Listeners could not use their weapons till it was repaired.”

  “Ye gods!” Denham exclaimed, gulping. “And you just happened to think of that! Don’t you realize what it means?”

  “It means that if the power can be turned off, the Listeners can’t use their weapons.” Morlan smiled sardonically. “But it can’t be turned off. Only Listeners are allowed in the control room.”

  “The Cloaks of Invisibility?”

  “There are devices to guard against that. They have machines that measure the electrical impulses of bodies crossing the threshold. And other things—Also there are guards. We’ve tried, once or twice, but we were rayed down.”

  “Couldn’t a dozen, say, overcome the guards?”

  “Not many times that number. You do not realize the strength of the Listeners.”

  BUT Denham was unconvinced. “Tell me more about the control room,” he requested. “How the switch works—it is a switch? So.”

  Another thought had been tugging at the back of his mind, and presently he mentioned it.

  “The Listeners, I think, must have some weak spot. They’d hide it, of course, or try to. Is there any place in the Tower that’s especially well guarded, besides the control room?”

  Morlan shook his head.

  “We are allowed everywhere. The Listeners do not fear us. And, as I said, the power switch controls only the weapons. Even without weapons, the Listeners are too strong for us. They cannot be destroyed.”

  “Perhaps. Well—do you have any idea where my size-change machine is?” Denham asked him.

  “As it happens, I do,” Morlan nodded. “It is in the control room; the scientists are puzzling over it.

  The principle isn’t clear to them, but they’ll soon understand.”

  “Another reason to get in the control room.” Denham scowled. “Look here. Suppose the power source could be wrecked—”

  “It couldn’t. It’s armored invulnerably,” Morlan insisted.

  “What, again? Everything here’s invulnerable, it seems. Well, suppose that switch could be turned off and kept off. The Listeners would be powerless. Couldn’t the slaves revolt?”

  “It would be suicide.”

  Denham felt a surge of irritation. “If I could examine one of the Listeners, I’ll bet I could find the chink in their armor.”

  “Then look,” Morlan said softly, and bent to his work.

  Denham glanced up, startled. Coming toward him across the big, machine-filled room was a fantastic figure. Sheer astonishment held the physicist motionless. What he had expected he could not have told. But certainly it was not this—dwarf!

  For the Listener was less than five feet high, a stocky, bizarre figure that had about it little touch of humanity. Denham thought instantly of tyrannosaurus rex, the tyrant lizard of Earth’s chaotic dawn.

  This creature he now saw was a—dinosaur. There were the thick, columnar legs, the balancing, tapering tail, the crooked forearms, the monstrous head—

  Yet it was a dinosaur, actually, no more than Varr was a cat. The reptile heritage was more apparent in the Listener’s form, that was all.

  A reptile; evolved, altered. The cranium indicated an intelligent brain, just as the tapering, narrow fingers showed manual dexterity. Seen from the side, the Listener’s head was triangular, drawn out to a high point at the top, and with strong, vicious jaws. The eyes, too, were reptilian, expressionless. All over the grayish skin, where it was visible, was a vague suggestion of scales.

  It wore clothing, gaudy in red, green and yellow, reminding Denham of the costume of a medieval court jester. Even the tapering head carried out that illusion. A demon jester!

  Had it walked upright, it would have been as tall as Denham himself. But the thick legs were bowed. The tail seemed useless, save for the purpose of balance. All this Denham saw in a moment or two. Then the Listener had paused before him and was staring down at the conveyor belt.

  “You have missed two operations.” His voice was a whistling hiss,
with an odd, guttural undertone. “You are Ferrad?”

  DENHAM had been told how to address a Listener. He bowed his head, without pausing in his work.

  “Obedience, Master. I am Ferrad.” He tried to imitate the cat-peoples’ purring voices.

  “You are Ferrad?”

  The great mouth gaped. One of the slim hands came up, and a dazzling light flashed suddenly into Denham’s eyes as he raised his head.

  “The pupils of your eyes do not react normally,” the Listener said. “You will come with me.”

  Denham turned into ice. What was the next move? If he obeyed, his masquerade would inevitably be discovered. And then—

  Morlan solved the problem. He stepped from behind his machine, and in his hand was a curiously shaped pistol. He aimed it at the Listener’s back—and the reptilian creature turned!

  A ray of light flashed out. It struck Morlan’s forehead. The cat-man went limp, his face suddenly chalk-white, and collapsed in an inert huddle. The gun skittered toward Denham, who snatched it up almost by instinct as the Listener turned again toward him.

  “Put it down,” the reptilian being whispered. “Have you not yet learned that nothing can harm your masters? Put it down, fool!”

  For answer Denham pressed the button-trigger of the gun. Searing red fire lanced out in a blazing ray. It caught the Listener full in the chest. The gaudy green and yellow garments burst into flame. They charred and fell away. But the grayish, scaly skin beneath was unharmed.

  The Listener moved forward, his mouth gaping in what seemed to be a smile. Desperately Denham changed his aim, playing the flame across the creature’s eyes, into the open mouth. And still the Listener came on.

  “For this you must die,” the thing said. “Slowly, and by torture, as an example. But first the secrets of your mind will be dragged out. I am curious.”

  From the corner of his eye Denham caught a movement. One of the other slaves was stealing forward, a curiously shaped sword in his hand somewhat similar to a lacrosse racquet. A cat’s claw, in effect, Denham realized, elongated and specialized. Then the slave struck down, in a blow that should have decapitated the Listener.

  It did not. The tough, scaly hide seemed impervious to steel as well as fire. Yet the Listener was hurled off balance, and went to his knees. The slave who had wielded the sword, Denham saw now, was Corek, his eyes green flame.

  “Take Morlan!” he snapped. “We are marked for death now, unless we can escape. Quick!”

  Denham bent, lifted the unconscious Morlan and slung him across his shoulders. A while ago he could not have done that, but these few weeks had toughened his frame and his muscles. Corek pointed.

  “There—”

  The Listener was rising. Corek chopped down with his blade. A round metal box fell from the master’s scaled hand, went rolling across the floor. But the Listener was still unharmed. He gathered himself and leaped for Corek.

  The cat-man shouted. In response, dozens of slaves sprang from their machines, hurling themselves upon the Listener’s squat, hideous form. The creature was buried beneath their bodies.

  Denham saw Corek running toward him, face contorted in fury.

  “Death for them!” he groaned. “Yet the only way. They will delay the Listener till we can escape. And if we’re caught now, the secrets of our brains will be torn out of our heads!”

  CHAPTER X

  Blackout

  COREK relieved Denham of the unconscious Morlan and led the way. They threaded an intricate course through the level, found an elevator and dropped swiftly down. Corek was breathing harshly.

  “This is ruin! We must leave the Tower, or we die. Soon the scanning rays will be turned on, and nothing can hide from them.”

  Denham gripped his arm.

  “No, Corek! If we run away now, we’ve lost!”

  “We have lost already!”

  “There’s one chance left,” Denham told him, his voice grim and harsh. “If that fails, we’ll all be dead. But it’s worth taking.”

  “The Listeners are invulnerable!” Corek snapped. “Aren’t you convinced of that yet?”

  “They’re vulnerable to one thing. Suppose I can make the Listeners’ weapons harmless. Will the slaves rise then?”

  “Harmless—By my ancestors, Denham! Even weaponless, a Listener has the strength of a dozen, and cannot be harmed. But if you can do that, we will fight—even if we must crush the Listeners beneath the weight of our own bodies!”

  Fury flamed in the green eyes.

  “Too long have we been slaves!” Corek declared. “If this means failure and death, then well enough. We shall not die like cattle!”

  “Good.” Denham nodded. “Now answer this. Can the gravity screens that propel your flying platforms be dismantled?”

  “Yes. They are flexible and compact.”

  “Can they be activated from a distance, without connecting wires?” Corek hesitated.

  “With some adjustment, yes,” he said.

  “All right,” Denham told him. “I need one of those screens, as quickly as possible. Can you get one?”

  “I must go through the lake tunnel—Yes, I can get it for you.”

  “It must be soon. Is there any place we can hide from the scanning rays?”

  “None.” Corek shook his head. “But it will take time for the Listeners to search the entire Tower. Time enough, perhaps, for us to get a gravity screen.”

  “I’m staying here,” Denham said coolly.

  By this time they were racing along one of the moving platforms, on a lower level.

  “I want a new disguise, Corek,” the physicians went on. “As a Listener. Can it be done?”

  The cat-man drew in his breath with a sharp hiss.

  “Aye—aye! We were right in making you our ally, Denham. As a Listener, you intend to enter the control room and throw the power switch? But you will be discovered. The Listeners will soon set things to rights.”

  “They’ll have a tough time doing it,” Denham said cryptically.

  Then they were entering Varr’s apartment. The girl was already there, waiting for them.

  “I had word—” Her face was worried. “Are they on the track?”

  “We eluded them,” Corek said. “They’ll use the scanners soon. They may be doing it now.”

  “Morlan?”

  “Stunned. I’ll be back with the screen, Denham. May the hunt end soon. Tell Varr your plan.”

  HE WAS gone, slipping out like a shadow. Denham caught a glimpse of him, stealing through the pallid light outside, and was reminded of a tiger. Corek’s blood heritage was ruling now.

  Quickly Denham explained the situation to Varr. She comprehended the needs of the moment, and went swiftly to work.

  “It will not be easy,” she said. “Such a disguise is no toy. But I have the materials here.”

  From a cupboard she took out a huge bag of odds and ends and spread it out on the floor. The container spilled out an endless variety of things, mostly harmless, but among them was the material of a complete make-up kit.

  “One way to avoid the scanning rays,” Varr said, smiling crookedly.

  She went to work. It was necessary to alter Denham’s face and figure completely. As never before, he appreciated the girl’s mastery of disguise. Swiftly she moulded plastic into shape, painting it with swift-drying glues and colors. She built up a false head-shape on Denham’s own, elongated his fingers, made his legs elephantine in contour.

  “You must walk crook-legged, like the Listeners, or you will seem too tall—So. Eye-cups—” She painted them deftly. “These clothes you must wear.”

  It took a long time, and each moment Denham expected to feel the warning warmth of the chronometer against his arm. But at last it was done. Facing the mirror, he could scarcely repress a shudder. In every respect he seemed a duplicate of the Listener he had seen.

  “It is a fragile disguise,” Varr warned him. “Wear it carefully.”

  “If it lasts for ten mi
nutes, it’s enough.” He turned. “Here’s Corek again. Got the screen?”

  The cat-man was gasping.

  “Aye.” His deep chest pumped. “I—I ran—and—”

  “Good! Now the remote-control adjustments. We must make them quickly.”

  “I—made them—as I ran,” Corek panted. “They are—ready.”

  Denham nodded appreciatively as he examined the device. It was simply a flexible screen of wire, thin as spun glass, that could be spread out to a diameter of twenty-five feet or so. The control box was separate, compact enough to fit into Denham’s hand. Nor was the screen itself bulky.

  He asked questions, learning the details of how it worked.

  “As I understand it, the power’s more or less atomic, in the screen itself. The control box would activate it even if it were reduced in size?”

  “Yes.” Varr hesitated. “Yes, of course it would.”

  “Then we’re ready,” Denham said.

  Simultaneously the chronometer on his arm sent a throb of warmth through his biceps.

  “The scanner!” Corek exclaimed.

  Instantly he was on his feet, tense as wire. But the sensation of warmth was gone.

  “It swept past and missed us,” Varr said shakily. “But it may be back.”

  “Come on!” Denham said.

  Walking unsteadily in his role as a reptilian Listener, he led the way to the door.

  “We separate here. Spread the word for revolt, when I throw the switch. I’ll see the power isn’t turned on again.”

  He looked toward the motionless Morlan. Corek shrugged.

  “We must leave him. If we win, he’ll be safe. If not—”

  In silence they parted. Denham had already learned the route he must take, and swiftly made his way toward one of the elevators. It was empty, luckily, and he sent it driving up toward the summit of the Tower.

  AT last he stepped out into a narrow room. Directly across from him was a closed door. Two Listeners guarded it, enigmatic weapons in their hands. Their eyes scrutinized Denham, but apparently they were not suspicious.

  Heart leaping, he walked toward them. The door would open at his approach, Varr had said.