Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  It was a wall of blackness looming upon the horizon. A monstrous pile of cloudy dark, lit luridly by red flashes sparking intermittently through the gloom. The isle swept on toward it—and the bird-people made ready to depart.

  “No life can exist in the Darkness,” Norahn said. “The only land on this world are the floating isles, and they follow the tide. While they are on the light-side, we can dwell on them. When they enter the Darkness, we find another isle, till they have half-circled the planet and emerge once more.”

  Esterling stared at the great cloud. “What about your cities? Aren’t they harmed?”

  “No, we find everything as we left it. Our wise men say there is a certain radiation in the Darkness that destroys life—just as there are radiations here, in the sea, that give us power, and make us winged.”

  “How—”

  “I do not know. There are only legends.” Norahn shrugged. “It does not matter. In a few hours we must leave for another isle. Be ready.”

  Esterling would never forget that strange migration across the glowing sea. Like a cloud the winged people rose, carrying the few belongings they needed—there were not many. Two Valkyries supported Esterling; others took charge of Beale and Damon. Their great wings carried them easily above the ocean.

  Behind them the deserted islet drifted on into the Darkness.

  Looking back, Esterling felt a tiny chill strike through him. His Norse blood thrilled to sudden warning. He thought of Jotunheim, the place of night, where the Frost Giants wait their time to break forth against the Aesir . . .

  THE new isle was like the first, though larger, and with a greater expanse of forest. And the life was unchanged.

  The three Earthmen took little part in it; without wings, they were handicapped. The existence of the winged people went on without touching them, though Esterling was not so far withdrawn as the others. He did not chafe. He was content to watch, and to talk with Norahn; to see her gliding above the shining sea.

  Norahn told them they were prisoners. “If you can call it that, when the freedom of our world is yours. But you cannot leave. In the past, ships from your System have sometimes crashed here, and men have survived. Not for a long time, though. We treated them well. We took them with us to safety when the isles reached the Darkness—and in time they died. You will remain here, too.”

  “Why?” Damon asked.

  “You would bring down the rest of your people upon us. We are happy; we have passed the Age of Science, and no longer need it. We are perfectly adapted to our environment. But we have great sources of power here. Your race would want that power. Our planet would be ruined for us. You would take our islands to build huge, ugly machines. Nor could we fight. We have forgotten how.”

  “You must have some weapons,” Beale said.

  “Perhaps—but we do not need them. We have hidden our world; we guard it against intrusion—that is our greater safety. We could not fight, nor do we wish to. Ages ago all that died out of our race, soon after our science reached its peak and froze there. All we need lies ready to our hand, without further effort on our part.”

  “But the machines—” Beale persisted. “Don’t they ever break down? Don’t they ever need repair?”

  Norahn shrugged her shining wings. “They are so simple a child could make repairs. That was the last interest that held our scientists, so legend says—they worked until no further need remained for invention, and then they worked to simplify. Even one of you, who never saw a food-maker or a noyai-loom before, could repair it in a few minutes if it broke down. No, we have no need any longer for weapons or invention or anything except—flight.” Her great wings lifted away from her body and quivered a little. “It tires me to be still and talk, even to you, Nils. I shall be back.” She dropped from the tower and was gone into the cool, pearly light.

  Beale said, “They have spaceships here, then.” His voice was eager. “That’s obvious, or Norahn wouldn’t have bothered to tell us we were prisoners. And we could fly them if we could find them. I wonder where—”

  “We’ll find out,” Damon told him.

  THEN the incredible happened. For a long time Esterling had been conscious of a curious sensation centering around his shoulder-blades. But he did not realize its significance till the day when, stripped to the waist, he was shaving before an improvised mirror. Damon, lounging by the balcony, said something in a surprised voice.

  “Eh?” Esterling scraped at his cheek. “What’s up?”

  Instead of answering, Damon called for Beale. The scientist came out of an adjoining room, rubbing his eyes.

  “Look at Esterling’s back,” the captain said. “Do you—”

  Beale caught his breath. “Good heavens! Don’t turn around, man; let me see.”

  “What is it?” Esterling squirmed before the mirror.

  “Something’s growing on your shoulder-blades. I’ll be damned!” Damon murmured. “It can’t be. Norahn!”

  The girl’s slim figure appeared above the balcony. “Estan’ha? Oh!” She leaped lightly to the floor and ran forward. “Be still, Nils.” He felt her cool hand touch his back.

  A queer, tingling excitement was pulsing within Esterling. Even before Norahn spoke, he guessed the truth.

  “Wings,” she said. “Yes—that is how they grow. From the buds, slowly expanding till they reach full size.”

  Damon had stripped off his shirt and was at the mirror. “Funny,” he muttered. “I haven’t got ’em. Have you, Beale?”

  The scientist blinked. “Of course not. I haven’t any such recessive characteristics in my background. Nor have you.” Esterling looked at him. “What d’you mean?”

  “The answer’s obvious, isn’t it? I’d wondered how the bracelet, with its rune about the Black Planet, came into your possession. It belonged to your greatgrandmother, didn’t it?”

  “Gudrun. Yes. But—”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “Damned little,” Esterling said. “She was supposed to be blonde, with blue eyes, and very lovely. There was some mystery about her. She didn’t live long, and the bracelet was given to her son.”

  “There was space-travel in your greatgrandmother’s day,” Beale said. “And Norahn said some of her people used to leave this world in their ships. They never came back. It’s pretty obvious where Gudrun came from, isn’t it?”

  “She—she had no wings.”

  “Wings can be amputated. They’re apparently a recessive characteristic, handed down to you from your great-grandmother.”

  Esterling was trembling a little. “Then why should they grow now? Why wasn’t I born with them?”

  Beale nodded toward the window, beyond which the shining sea rolled. “There are certain radiations on this planet—radiations that don’t exist elsewhere in the System. You were born with wing-buds on your back. But they needed the right kind of environment to develop. That particular radiation exists here. If you’d never come to this world, you’d never have grown wings.”

  Norahn smiled happily into Esterling’s eyes.

  “Soon you can fly, Nils! I will show you the way—”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Flight!

  IT WAS like recovering sight after being blind from birth. Flight, to Nils Esterling, unfolded vistas he had never known. The trick of it came with surprising ease. After the wings had reached their full development, the supporting muscles grew stronger, too. He never forgot that first flight. It was not long, but the feeling of complete and absolute freedom, the abrupt and easy checking of his fall, sent the blood singing through his veins. Flight was a heady drunkenness. The wine of it was stronger than any liquor Esterling had ever tasted.

  And Norahn taught him, as she had promised.

  He understood now the intoxication the winged people felt.

  Earthly humanity had dropped from Esterling. He was one of the winged people now. Flight was his heritage, the high, keen delight of utter freedom, not bound by dimensions.


  The islet swept on inexorably toward the Darkness.

  It was time for the migration again. The winged folk rose and sped away, in search of a new home. Beale and Damon delayed, however. They were determined to remain with the island when it entered the Darkness.

  At the window-opening Norahn watched the sky, where the great blackness grew momentarily more menacing. “It is dangerous. You will die.”

  Damon grunted. “The radiation might not harm us. And I’d like to know what’s in the Darkness. Beale thinks—”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Esterling said roughly. “You know damned well you can’t live where the winged people can’t. I can’t stop you from committing suicide, I suppose. But what can you hope to gain by staying with the island?”

  Illogically, Beale and Damon persisted in their arguments—persisted, while the Darkness grew nearer. Norahn’s two companions grew more and more uneasy. At last they took flight, white-faced at their closeness to the barrier of the dark.

  Esterling watched them go. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe Norahn and I can carry you. Make up your minds. Because we’re leaving too—right now!”

  DAMON capitulated with surprising suddenness. “All right. I suppose we’ll have to. If you won’t wait till we get nearer to the Darkness.”

  “We’re near enough. You’ll have to forget your curiosity, Beale. Norahn, can you call back some of your people to help?”

  She shook her head. “They are too far. They will not remain on the isle when it drifts near the Darkness. But I can carry the little man easily.”

  “Okay. Get on my back, Damon. That’s it. Lock your legs around my waist. Now—”

  The wings were powerful. Beale was a small man, and Damon no giant. Esterling and Norahn dropped from the balcony, flung their pinions wide, and swooped up, gaining altitude. The islet slid away beneath them.

  They flew on above the shining sea. Far in the distance was a smudge that showed where the bird-people were, in a close band.

  “Listen,” Damon said, into Esterling’s ear, “those people have spaceships, don’t they?”

  “They used to.”

  “Where are they?”

  “On some of the islands. None we’ve ever lived on, though.”

  “But you’ve seen them.”

  “From above—yeah.”

  “So have I. Once, when they carried us off to visit another island. I know where they are from here, allowing for tidal drift.” There was a pause. Damon went on, “How’d you like to get off this world?”

  Esterling smiled a little. “Funny. I’ve never thought of that. This place—I like it here.”

  “Well, I don’t. How about dropping us where we can get at a spaceship?”

  “One of theirs, you mean? Not a chance. For one thing, you couldn’t fly it. For another, what about fuel? Remember, they haven’t used the ships for ages.”

  “Oh, yes, they have. Norahn told us about how some of them go out into space and never return. And about how simple everything here is to operate. I’ll gamble on the fuel. My guess is it’s there ready—that’s how machinery on this world seems to operate. And if the ship’s that simple—well, I can handle anything that flies.”

  “And you’d be back with an army, wouldn’t you? Norahn was right, Damon. This world should be kept isolated. The people here are happy.”

  “Happy, hell! Beale!” Damon’s voice was sharp. “Now!”

  Esterling saw the scientist, a dozen yards away, move quickly. There was a gun in his hand. He pressed its muzzle against Norahn’s temple. Simultaneously the Norseman felt a cold ring of steel touch his own temple.

  “Take it easy,” Damon said quietly. “Don’t try any stunting. I can fire before you can drop me. So can Beale.”

  Esterling’s face was white. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Just keep on, Norahn.”

  “Yeah,” Damon seconded. “Keep on. But in a different direction. You’re going to take us to a spaceship, Esterling, or you and Norahn get your heads blown off.”

  “Where’d you get the guns?” he asked. “Where they’d been hidden,” Damon said. “I’ve been planning this for some time. I couldn’t buck the whole gang of you, but I figured if I could get you and Norahn alone—”

  “Yeah,” Esterling said. “Yeah.”

  IT WAS a long flight. Wing muscles were tired and aching when an islet grew in the distance from a tiny speck to a broad expanse. Beale shouted something and pointed.

  Damon said into Esterling’s ear, “I can see ships down there. No winged people, though. I guess they stay away from anything that reminds them of science. Go down—easy.”

  Obediently Esterling glided down the slopes of shining air, Norahn beside him. The silvery, torpedo-shaped rows of ships grew larger. Damon whistled at their design.

  “I’ll bet they’re plenty fast!”

  Esterling landed lightly. Damon leaped from his back, gun ready, waiting till Norahn and Beale were down.

  “Keep your gun out,” he said to the scientist. “I want to check up on this ship.”

  Its lock was childishly simple. In a moment he had vanished into the interior. The others waited tensely. Presently Beale reappeared, smiling.

  “I was right. Simple instruments and controls. Anybody could operate who could astrogate. And there’s plenty of fuel. Now, Esterling, what about going with us?”

  The Norseman looked at Norahn. “No,” he said. “I’m staying.”

  Beale bit at his thin lips. “Drat it,” he mumbled. “Damon, we should take some proof back with us—”

  “We’ve got the ship.”

  “Sure. But when we bring men back here, it’ll help to know as much as possible about the winged people. Perhaps they can’t fight, but they’ve inherited weapons. We’ve never been able to locate them. Now Norahn could give us plenty of information—”

  Esterling yelled, “Norahn! Get out of here! Quick!” He jumped Damon, his fist striking at the captain’s gun. There was a rush of footsteps behind him, and something crashed down on his head with sickening force. Weakness ran like water through his body. He scarcely felt Damon’s fist jolt against his jaw.

  Dimly he heard Norahn scream. There was the thud of a valve closing, and then a fiery blast of rockets and a shriek of cleft air. Esterling, flat on his face, groaned weakly and tried to rise. It was useless.

  A black speck dwindled in the sky.

  “Norahn!” he said hoarsely. “Norahn—”

  Somehow Esterling dragged himself to his hands and knees. He was blind and sick with pain, and his skull felt as though it had been fractured. But there was another spaceship looming through the trees, and he had to reach it—

  Somehow he did. He never knew how. Somehow he stumbled along shining corridors and found an instrument board that swam before his eyes. Afterward he knew that he must have done the requisite things his reflexes were trained to do on any ship that plies the spaceways. He must have closed the valves and fallen into the astrogater’s seat and found the proper instruments ready to his fumbling hands. But it was sheer will-power that did it.

  When his head cleared the starry emptiness of space filled the visiplate before him. Already he was through the negasphere. Norahn’s world had vanished. And for an instant he remembered the curse that was said to fall upon all natives who left that world.

  AFTER that was eternity. Esterling could not leave the controls; he scarcely dared glance away from the visiplate. And a throbbing, blazing ache inside his skull pounded at his brain.

  Damon fled sunward. Esterling followed doggedly. They reached the orbit of Pluto.

  And now at last, slowly, by infinite degrees, the fleeing ship grew larger in the visiplate.

  Esterling manipulated the controls with dizzy recklessness. Now they were almost together, the hunter and the pursued. And now—now—

  With a surprisingly light impact he crashed his ship against Damon’s, and without pausing to see the results, turned to the rack where the
spacesuits hung.

  It was while getting into the suit that he noticed for the first time what had happened to his wings. The great shimmering pinions that had carried him over the glowing seas of Norahn’s world were colorless—limp.

  Out in the void, he kicked himself across to the other ship. He didn’t head for the entrance lock; Damon would be expecting that move. Instead, Esterling drew himself, hand over hand, to the emergency escape hatch in the bow. He levered it open.

  Beale was waiting for him.

  Esterling looked to see that the bow compartment was airtight, the door sealed. Norahn was in this ship, and he had to be careful. But the valve was tight.

  Beale fired. The bullet went through Esterling’s suit and shoulder as he lurched aside. But it was only a flesh wound. He plugged the tear in the suit by bunching the fabric together with one hand, and with the other he reached back and opened the escape hatch.

  Beale was not wearing an air-helmet.

  He managed one more shot before his breath was wrenched out of his lungs, but the bullet went wild, spattering against metal. The blasting gust of wind racing out of the hatch pulled Beale with it, smashing him against Esterling. The scientist’s fingers clawed frantically at the other’s suit.

  Beale slid down, his eyes glaring, his tongue protruding. Esterling looked at the dead man without emotion.

  He closed the hatch behind him, opened the door to the rest of the ship, and quickly removed the encumbering suit and helmet. Already fresh air had replaced the vacuum. Esterling picked up Beale’s gun and stepped across the threshold.

  Four strides took him to another door. He thrust it open.

  He was facing Damon. In a corner of the control cabin lay Norahn, bound. Her wings were—withered.

  Damon fired. The bullet struck Esterling somewhere. He took a step forward. Norahn was crying, very softly, like a hurt child.

  Damon whispered, “Get back. Stay where you are. I’ll—”

  He thrust the gun forward, his finger contracting on the trigger. Esterling threw his own weapon straight at the other’s face as he sprang. His right hand found Damon’s gun-wrist. His left touched the corded muscles of a throat.