Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

The Gaelic oaths continued. Seated near the table was a dark-haired girl, slim, remarkably pretty, and wearing slacks and a tight sweater that showed off her figure to advantage. She gave Danton a glance from under her long lashes, nodded, and continued her mystic profanity.

  “Your pardon, Miss Hadley,” the Japanese said, rising. “Pleasant as your presence is, official business must come first. If you will excuse me?” He spoke in excellent English.

  MISS HADLEY grunted. “Okay, handsome. I’ll stick around. Mind?”

  The man waved a deprecating hand. “As you like. Now, Mr—?”

  “Danton.”

  “My men tell me a rather remarkable story. Where is your plane? Or did you use a parachute?”

  “What about introductions?” Miss Hadley put in, producing a thin cheroot and deftly biting off the end. “Find out his name before you have him shot. Then you can mention it in your reports to Headquarters.”

  “I apologize. Miss Deborah Hadley, may I present Mr. Danton—”

  “Er—It’s Doctor. Horace Danton. Glad to know you, Miss Hadley.”

  “Call me Debby,” the lady said. “In return, I won’t call you Horace. Never liked the name. This is Captain Yakuni, Dan. He’s the current dictator of Myapur.”

  Yakuni bowed punctiliously. “Be seated, please. I have some questions.”

  “So have I, Captain. And a request. I’d like transport to Myitkyina.”

  “Oh? Not Mandalay? Or Rangoon?” Danton chuckled. “I won’t trespass that far on your hospitality. Myitkyina’s far enough.”

  “May I ask your plans?”

  “Oh, I want to get back to the United States. I picked up some interesting data in the interior, and I’m anxious to hand it over to the right people.”

  “Fine stuff,” Deborah remarked. “Next thing you’ll drag Pearl Harbor into the conversation.”

  Danton looked at her blankly. “What’s Pearl Harbor got to do with it?”

  “Look, Dan. Crazy people aren’t sacred in Myapur. They just get shot.”

  “One moment,” Yakuni broke in. “Dr. Danton, why were you found in our powerhouse?”

  It was difficult to answer that question without mentioning Kroo. Danton hesitated.

  “I’ve been in Tibet for two years,” he said at last. “I’m an ethnologist and archeologist. Connected with a New York museum. I’ve been collecting specimens and data.”

  “Indeed. Where are these specimens?”

  “Uh—I sent them ahead. Now I’ve got a few questions. This is Burma, isn’t it?”

  YAKUNI nodded.

  “You are correct.”

  “Well what are Japanese soldiers doing here? England hasn’t ceded Burma to Japan, I’m sure.”

  Yakuni fingered his beard in silence. “How did you reach Myapur?” he inquired, after a pause.

  “I flew.”

  “From Tibet?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where is your plane?

  “Darned if I know,” Danton said hopelessly. “You see, Captain Yakuni, I’ve been in a state of hypnosis for a while. I prefer to think that, anyway. If I told you the truth, as I saw it, you’d think I was crazy. I know I’m not. But I do believe I was hypnotized in Tibet, and only snapped out of it a few minutes ago, in your powerhouse.”

  “Have him shot,” Deborah suggested, waving her cheroot. “The loss would be small. He hasn’t brains enough to be a spy.”

  Danton gulped. “What sort of foolishness is this? Captain Yakuni, I’m an American citizen. Bear that in mind!”

  “I am,” Yakuni said cryptically. He rose. “Would you care to inspect Myapur, Doctor? Miss Hadley will escort you.”

  Two soldiers seized Danton and forcibly removed him from the office. Deborah followed, winking at Yakuni. “Farewell, offspring of a toad,” she remarked in Gaelic.

  CHAPTER IV

  Playing It Safe

  OUTSIDE, Danton stood helplessly, not knowing what to do next. Deborah linked his arm with hers familiarly.

  “Come along, Dan,” she urged. “I want a drink. Never mind, Yakuni gave me a lot of occupation money. Down this way. I recommend a ginsling.”

  “Sure you won’t poison it?” Danton asked, with a flash of wry humor. Deborah shrugged.

  “Yakuni’s smart. That’s why I told him to shoot you. He figures you may have important information, and you’re more valuable to him alive. Little Tojo doesn’t trust me any more than I trust him.” Danton glanced over his shoulder at the two soldiers who followed. “What’s the idea?”

  “They can’t talk or understand English. Wish you could speak Gaelic, though.”

  “I can. I’m an ethnologist.”

  “Well, blow me down,” Deborah said. “I thought an ethnologist told your fortune.” Danton explained. He was still elucidating when Deborah dragged him into a dim, cool structure where punkahs swayed from the ceiling.

  “Okay. So you’re not a fortune teller. If I’d known that I mightn’t have put in a good word for you. I thought you’d been with a carny.”

  “Carny?”

  “Carnival. That’s my racket. Beetlepuss!” she cried suddenly and a native shuffled out of the shadows, bowing. Deborah made a significant grimace as the Burmese grinned. “Ginsling. Chop-chop. Pronto. Raus!”

  “Ai!” Beetle-puss nodded, and went away. Deborah relaxed at a table, and gestured for Danton to sit down. The Japanese soldiers found seats some distance away, their eyes intent.

  “Now we talk,” Deborah sighed. “First tell me all. No, let me. It’ll go faster.

  Meet Debby Hadley, the best dancer, singer, and shill in all Burma. Used to be with Hart’s Traveling Wondershow. It broke up here months ago. I landed a job singing in a dive. When the Nippies moved in, I headed for a sampan. Too late. I got caught. Yakuni didn’t have me shot. Probably because I called him everything I’d learned in eight years of carny work. Yakuni just grinned at me. ‘You are free,’ he said, like that. ‘Myapur is yours. If you try to leave, you will be shot.’ Now he sits back and licks his chops, waiting for my nerve to break. Meanwhile, I slowly go nuts, and maintain my morale by cussing him out in Gaelic, which he doesn’t understand. End of story. Well?”

  Danton gulped his ginsling. “Now wait a minute, Miss—”

  “Debby.”

  “Debby. Okay. You haven’t explained what Japanese are doing here in Burma. If Tokyo hears about Yakuni’s actions, he’ll be court-martialed.”

  Deborah narrowed her eyes. “You’ve really been in Tibet for two years? Haven’t you heard?”

  “I’ve heard nothing. Are England and Japan at war?”

  “England and Japan!” Deborah said, clamping down on the cheroot. “Ha! MacArthur somewhere around Australia, Jap subs shelling California, Tokyo bombed—and he asks me that. Brother Dan, settle back and listen.”

  SHE spoke cogently. When she had finished, Danton broke into a profuse sweat.

  “Holy Mackerel, so we’re at war.”

  “Just that. War.”

  “I still don’t get the picture,” Danton said. “How come there’s a modern powerhouse in upper Burma? The only hydro-electric places are around Mandalay and Rangoon.”

  “It was built by the English—secret military strategy. They paid the local sawbwa and went ahead. Commissioned an engineer to set up the works.”

  “Then why don’t they bomb it, now the Japs have taken over?”

  “Because they’d rather recapture the powerhouse as is. Look, mister, do you have any idea of the difficulty of getting machinery up the Chindwin? Dynamos and stuff? I don’t know what goes into a powerhouse, but if the British took Myapur again and bombed the works, they couldn’t set up more dynamos in a hurry. They’d rather wait. Besides, they don’t know the powerhouse has any military value.”

  “Well, it hasn’t,” Danton said. “Unless there’s oil around here.”

  “No oil. Jade, some rubies, that’s about all. But the powerhouse ought to be bombed. Myapur’s become a key point
to the Japs. Yakuni makes eggs here, and sends ’em down the river to the Nippie flying fields scattered around.”

  “Eggs?”

  “Very, very nasty little bombs. Tokyo got the formula from Berlin. Superpowerful stuff, and it plays havoc with the Allied bases.”

  Danton narrowed his eyes. “Liquid air?”

  “Nope. Not nerve-gas, either. A pure explosive, with a secret formula. All I know is what Yakuni tells me. They load the eggs here, and they need electricity to make ’em work.”

  “Electrolysis. I get it.”

  “So the Allies don’t know Yakuni’s using Myapur as a manufacturing base to make those bombs. The Tojo flyers have been doing some nasty tricks with the stuff. Naturally, I’ve been doing my darndest to smuggle out word to the right parties.”

  Danton cast a swift glance at the Japanese guards. “Not so loud.”

  “The louder the better. They can’t understand English. Can you fly a plane, Dan?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I can. So that’s all right. We’ll see what we can work out. If We can get through, somehow, to the Allies, the bombers will come over Myapur and blow Yakuni’s dynamos into the Yellow Sea. And there aren’t any other dynamos near enough to help Tojo do what he wants.”

  Danton sipped his ginsling. “Could we slip down river in a sampan?”

  “That’s out. Yakuni isn’t dumb. You’re a scientist. Make a radio. Then we can send a message.”

  “I’m not that sort of scientist,” Danton pointed out.

  She scowled at him. “Well, what are you? You haven’t told me your yarn yet.”

  “Well, it’s a bit hard. All I know is what I think happened to me. I’ve a hunch I was hypnotized.”

  “Tell Debby. I’ve a swell shoulder to cry on.”

  Danton sighed. “I suppose I might as well. You won’t believe a word of it. I don’t either. Still here goes.” He explained about Kroo.

  WHEN he had finished, Deborah regarded him with a look of impassive gravity.

  Danton moved uncomfortably. “That’s all. Say something.”

  “Okay. Let’s have another drink.” They drank silently. After a while Deborah crushed out her cheroot and narrowed her eyes at Danton.

  “Better forget about Kroo. Take it from me, he won’t be back, unless you get the d.t’s. Now listen, Dan. As long as Yakuni thinks you’ve got valuable information he won’t kill you. He might try torture, but don’t mind that. Keep him wondering how you got here, and why. He’ll want to know whether the Allies suspect what he’s doing in Myapur—making bombs. Give Tojo the old psychological one-two. Keep the conversation polite. He’s nuts about modern culture. I made him plenty mad once when I called him an uncivilized rat. He didn’t object to the noun, either. Get it? Play along, take it easy, and we’ll watch our chance.”

  Danton nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Fine. But remember, if we can’t get a message out, we ought to try and wreck the powerhouse ourselves, somehow. It sounds like a pipe-dream, but those dynamos supply the power for Yakuni’s bombs.”

  “They convert the power, they don’t supply it.”

  “So what? Put the bee on the dynamos, and where can Tojo get any more up here in Burma?”

  “It’d be suicide.”

  “Sure,” Deborah said. “Wouldn’t it? Well?”

  Danton nodded. “Count me in.”

  “Fine. Now let’s take a walk around Myapur. I’m hungry. There’s a leper by the river who sells swell shishkabob.” Deborah had a peculiar sense of humor.

  CHAPTER V

  Leave It to Kroo

  GRANDLY Kroo rode the winds above Burma. Invisible, brutal, cunning, wary, the god spied upon the new world he had entered, and found much to frighten him. He went far afield. In the Pacific the ironclads roared their thunder, and planes battled and fell in grim combat. From Yokohama to Hobart, from Midway to Peiping in Russia and China and Germany, in the Mediterranean and in the Atlantic, on the frozen peaks and in the blazing deserts, there was war.

  It was no place for a little god.

  Kroo fled back to Burma, his plans confirmed. He must play a waiting game, as Amon and so many others had done. First he must establish himself in a small kingdom, build up a monotheistic culture, and slowly expand by conquest. Since the days of the Old Men that had been the way. In the hour of the mammoth Ktskv’s people had warred on their neighbors, had triumphed, and had made new converts and spilled new blood on the basalt altars of Kroo.

  A little kingdom—honest peasant stock, who would work hard and fight hard. The yellow-skinned, sturdy men Kroo had seen in Myapur seemed eligible. They reminded the god of the ancient Tartars and Kalmucks who had once worshipped him.

  Ya! In Myapur Kroo would begin his rule. Already there was a temple built and ready. As for the god it had formerly housed—well, he was away. Perhaps dead. Kroo would take care that he was not permitted to return. Only strong prayers can summon a god, and no one would make such prayers in Myapur, if Kroo could prevent it.

  Definitely he could prevent it.

  Kroo’s flat nose twitched. Already he could smell the smoke of his offerings.

  He headed back toward Myapur, and soon was hovering over the heads of Danton and Deborah Hadley as they strolled through the town. Crafty Kroo had reduced the texture of his cloud until it would hardly be noticed as he sailed along over their heads.

  “The place is disorganized,” Danton was telling Deborah. “I expected that. Occupation always upsets routine. We’re the only whites in Myapur, eh?”

  “We are now. A month ago—” Deborah shrugged. “The natives haven’t yet adjusted themselves to slavery.” She pointed to the window. “That isn’t a normal bazaar. No yelling, for one thing.”

  It was true. The stalls were depleted, instead of brimming with food and other merchandise, and the Burmese had little heart for chaffering. Always they were conscious of the invader, watching, waiting for them to step out of line.

  The two Japanese guards conferred, and one went over to purchase some fruit. He carefully paid for it with occupation money, which was accepted emotionlessly. Danton made a wry face.

  “Civic improvements, yeah. No garbage lying around the streets for example. But the purpose isn’t civic. It’s military. Behold the power of Kroo!”

  “Huh?” Deborah jerked her head around to stare at the man. “What goes? Oh, dear! To think three gin-slings could do that. Dan, snap out of it!”

  Danton’s eyes bulged. He was slowly rising in the air, without visible support, and a small, dark thundercloud hovered over his head, pulsating slightly.

  “Dan, come down.”

  “Kroo works a miracle,” the horrified Danton heard himself roar, drowning out a chorus of cries from the natives. “Lo! Behold!”

  “Dan!”

  DANTON continued to rise, his face expressing stark panic. “Debby,” he gasped. “It’s Kroo. I—I’m hynotized again—Dogs and unbelievers, forsake your false and weakling gods ere Kroo is roused to wrath.”

  “They’ll shoot you.”

  Danton managed to turn his head. The Japanese guards, after conferring excitedly, had lifted their rifles and were taking steady aim.

  “Don’t shoot!” Danton yelped. “I can’t help it!”

  “Return or be shot,” one soldier snapped. “You are forbidden to leave Myapur.”

  He spoke in Japanese, and Danton answered in the same tongue.

  “Cast aside your weapons, lice, or be blasted to cinders. Kroo speaks!”

  “Ha!” a soldier barked, and squeezed the trigger. Danton made a swift Immelmann that left him breathless. The thundercloud rumbled ominously.

  “Look out,” he gasped.

  Lightning shot from the cloud. The guard dropped his rifle just in time. It became a fused, useless pretzel of blasted metal.

  Simultaneously the yak came sailing over the rooftops, grunting impassively, and Danton found himself astride the beast, still about twenty feet abov
e the ground. The Burmese natives were salaaming like mechanical toys wound up to the limit. Deborah was looking up, her head tilted back and her eyes incredibly wide.

  “Kroo demands a sacrifice,” Danton bellowed, and then found his tongue for a moment. “Debby! Grab that carcass in the stall behind you. Throw it out in the open somewhere. I’ve got a hunch.” Then through him, Kroo spoke again. “Delay not. Kroo hungers for a burnt offering.”

  The Japanese soldiers were still hesitant. One of them shrilled something and scuttered off at a rapid pace, leaving the other holding his gun uncomfortably. “Come down or be shot,” he ordered finally. “You must stay in Myapur. It is an order.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Danton argued frantically. “Captain Yakuni didn’t, say I had to stay on the ground, did he?”

  “No, but—”

  “I like it up here. The air’s better. Debby, quick! Kroo’s going to—Lo! Fear Kroo’s wrath! Make haste!” Deborah, quite white, seized the skinned body of a kid and flung it away from her, in the general direction of Danton. There was a crackle of lightning, a crash from the thundercloud, and the kid vanished, leaving behind it an odor of roasted meat.

  “I am pleased,” Danton shouted. “You have acknowledged the greatness of Kroo. Come now to his temple to worship. Follow my priest.”

  With that, the yak, bearing Danton, was levitated gently to the ground. The cloud disappeared. Danton, sweating profusely, clambered off his steed and almost fell into Deborah’s arms.

  “He—he’s gone. I can tell. Debby, I’m not crazy! I wasn’t hypnotized. You saw?”

  ‘“if-yes. I saw what happened. This is awful. What are we going to do?”

  “You will please come with me,” a cold voice requested. Danton looked across a sea of brown, salaaming backs at the Japanese officer who stood waiting, a file of soldiers behind him.

  “All right,” Danton said weakly. “I suppose we’d better, Debby.”

  “But—didn’t Kroo tell you to come to his temple? Do you suppose he meant the powerhouse?”

  “I guess so. But how the blazes can I do that? See?” Danton jerked his head toward the soldiers.