It wasn’t the first time he’d had to run. For over a month now, he had been jumping from place to place, all over the world. He had gone to Hong Kong first. When Mars had traced him there and made a grab for him, Forrester had made a quick jump, via Veil, to Durban, South Africa. It had taken Mars all of forty-eight hours to find Forrester hiding in the native quarter, wearing the persona of a Negro laborer. But again Forrester had disappeared, this time reappearing in Lima, Peru.
And so it had gone for five full weeks, with Forrester keeping barely one jump ahead of the God of War.
And, in that month, he had achieved two important things.
First, he had begun to make Mars a little overconfident. By now Mars was fully convinced that Forrester was nothing but a coward, and he was absolutely certain that he could beat the newcomer easily, if he could only come to grips with him.
Second, Forrester had discovered that Mars’ basic reflexes were a trifle slower than his own.
If Mars had been able to form his own Veil and step through it in time to sense the last fading glimmers of Forrester’s Veil, he would have been able to follow immediately. Instead, he had to go to all the trouble of finding Forrester over and over again. That meant slower reflexes—and that, Forrester thought, might just give him the edge he needed.
But this time, Forrester was going to let Mars follow him—slow reflexes and all. This time, he waited that extra fraction of a second—and then stepped through the Veil.
He was in the middle of a great rain forest. Around him towered trees whose great trunks reached up to a leafy sky. The place was dark; little sunlight came through the roof of leaves and curling vines. A bird screamed somewhere in the distance, sounding like a lost soul in agony; the sound was repeated, and then there was silence.
Forrester was exactly where he had intended to be: in the middle of the Amazon jungle.
He had time for one look around. Then Mars stepped out of a shimmering Veil only yards away from where Forrester was standing. Immediately, Forrester felt Mars throw out a suppressor field that would keep him from forming another Veil. He did the same thing. Now, as long as both held their respective fields, neither could leave.
“Greetings,” Forrester said.
The bird screamed again. Mars ignored it.
“You’re just a little too slow,” he said, grinning. “And now, buster, you’re going to get it—and get it good.”
“Who?” Forrester said. “Me?”
Mars hissed his breath in and fired a blast of blue-white energy that would have drilled through a foot of armor plate. But Forrester blocked it; the splatter of free energy struck at the nearby trees, sending them crashing to the ground. A small blaze started.
Forrester followed the blow with one of his own, but Mars parried quickly. A few more little fires began in the vicinity. Then Mars bellowed and charged.
By the time he reached the spot where Forrester had been, Forrester was fifty feet in the air, standing with his arms folded and looking down in an interested manner.
“You ought to watch out,” he said. “You might stumble into a Venus Flycatcher down there. I mean besides the one you’ve got already.”
Mars’ mouth dropped open. He gave vent to an inarticulate roar of rage and leaped into the air. As he rose toward Forrester, the defender closed his eyes and changed shape. He became a rock and dropped. He bounced off Mars’ rising forehead with a great noise.
Mars roared and dived for the stone—and found himself holding a large, angry tiger.
But an old trick like that didn’t fool Mars. Tiger-Forrester, suddenly finding himself fighting with another tiger as ferocious as himself, began clawing and biting his way free in a frenzy of panic. He managed to make it just long enough to become a stone again, dropping toward the Earth.
For a moment, the other tiger seemed uncertain. Then, catching sight of the falling stone, he became an eagle, and went after it with a scream, claws outstretched and a glitter of hatred in the slitted eyes.
Forrester reached the ground first. The eagle braked madly, trying to escape a giant Kodiak bear. Forrester stood on his hind legs and battered the air with great, murderous paws. Mars scooted upward, already changing into something capable of coping with the bear. A huge, bat-winged dragon, breathing barrels of smoke, flapped in the air, looking all around for its opponent. It did not notice Forrester scurrying away in the shape of an ant through the leaves and thick humus of the jungle floor.
By now, the air was becoming smoky and the flames were licking up the sides of trees all through the vicinity, and racing along the giant vines that curled around them. The dragon belched more smoke, adding to the general confusion, and roared in a voice like thunder:
“Coward! Dionysus! Come out and fight!”
There was an instant of crackling silence.
Then Forrester stepped out from behind a blazing tree. He, too, was a dragon.
Mars snarled, breathed smoke and made a power dive. Forrester dodged and the fangs of the monster missed him by inches. Mars sank claw-deep into the ground, and Forrester slammed the War God on the side of his head with one mighty forepaw. Mars blew out a cloud of evil-smelling smoke and managed to jerk himself free. He leaped to all four feet, glaring at Forrester with great, bulging, hate-filled eyes.
“Man to man, you bastard!” he said in a flame-filled roar.
Forrester leaped back to avoid being scorched. He poured out some smoke of his own. Mars coughed.
“Damn it, no more shape-changing!” the War God thundered.
“Fair enough!” Forrester shouted. He changed back to his Dionysian form, circling warily until Mars had followed suit. Then the two began to close in slowly.
Around them the forest burned, vegetation even on the swampy ground catching fire as the entire vicinity crackled and hissed with heat. Neither of them seemed to take any notice of the fact.
Mars was a trained boxer and wrestler, Forrester knew. But it was probably a good many centuries since he’d had any real workouts, and Forrester was counting heavily on slowed-down reflexes. Those would give him a slight edge.
At any rate, he hoped so.
The circling ceased as Mars leaped forward suddenly and lashed out with a right to the jaw that could end the fight. But Forrester moved his head aside just in time and the fist glanced off his cheek. He staggered back just as Mars followed with a left jab to the belly.
Forrester clamped down on the War God’s wrist and twisted violently, pulling Mars on past him. The War God, caught off balance, lunged forward, tripping over his own feet, and almost fell as he went by. Forrester, grinning savagely, brought his right hand down on the back of Mars’ neck with a blow whose force would have killed an elephant outright.
Mars, however, was no mere elephant. He grunted and went down on his hands and knees, shaking his head groggily. But he wasn’t out. Not quite.
Forrester doubled up his fist as Mars tried to rise, and came down again with all the force he could muster, squarely on his opponent’s neck.
There was a satisfyingly loud crack, audible, even in the roar of the burning forest. Mars collapsed to the ground, smothering small fires beneath his bulk. Forrester leaped on top of him and grabbed his head, beard with one hand and hair with the other. He twisted and the War God screamed in agony. Forrester relaxed the pressure.
“All right, now,” he said through clenched teeth. “Your neck’s broken, and all I’ve got to do is twist enough to sever your spinal column. You’ll be crippled for as long as Vulcan has—maybe longer.”
Mars shrieked again. “I yield! I yield!”
Forrester held on. “Not just yet you don’t,” he said grimly. “I want some information, and I’m going to get it out of you if I have to wring them out vertebra by vertebra.”
Mars tried to buck. Forrester twisted again and the War God subsided, breathing hard. At last he muttered: “What do you want to know?”
“Why did you and the other Gods leave Earth for three
thousand years? And where did you come from in the first place? I want the real reason, chum.” He applied a little pressure, just as a reminder.
“I’ll tell you!” Mars screamed. “I’ll tell you!”
And as the roaring flames crackled in the Amazon forest, the agonized Mars began to talk.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Zeus, Venus, Diana and Forrester sat in the Court of the Gods, listening to a large, blue-skinned individual with bright red eyes and two long white fangs coming from a lipless mouth. The eyes were like a cat’s, with slitted pupils, and the general expression on the individual’s face was one of feral hatred and bestial madness. However, as he had explained, he was not responsible for the arrangement of his features. He was, he kept saying, only interested in the general welfare. What was more, it was his business to be interested. He was, as a matter of fact, a cop: Bor Mellistos, of the Interstellar Police.
“My rank,” he had told them mildly, “is about the equivalent of your Detective Inspector.”
“Technically,” he was saying now, “you are all four guilty of being accessories—as I understand your local law phrases it. However—”
He smiled. It made him look unbelievably horrible. Forrester tried not to pay any attention to it.
“However,” he went on, “in view of the fact that none of you could possibly have known that you were, in fact, accessories—that is, that you were dealing with a criminal group, if you understand me—plus the fact that Mr. Forrester, as soon as he did discover the facts, called us at once through the power machine—I feel that we can overlook your part in the matter.”
Venus frowned. “Wait a minute. I’m not sure I understand this at all. What crime are the Gods supposed to have committed?”
“Not crime, miss,” Bor Mellistos said. His eyes twinkled. Forrester gulped and turned away. “Crimes. Misuse of a neural power machine, for one—and the domination and enslavement of a less advanced intelligent culture for another. Both those are very serious crimes.”
“Less advanced culture?” Forrester said. “You mean us?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” Bor Mellistos said. “You see, all the members of my culture are attuned to the power nodes of one neural machine or another, but this power is not meant to be misused. We have been searching for this group for a long time now.”
“And you first got wind of them on Earth about three thousand years ago?”
“A little more than that, actually,” Bor Mellistos said, “if you don’t mind the correction.”
“Not at all,” Forrester said, looking at the fangs of the Detective Inspector.
“We were alerted after the radiations had been coming in for some time. The search for this group wasn’t nearly as urgent then.”
“And that’s why they had to go into hiding?” Diana asked.
“Correct, miss,” Bor Mellistos said. “The only one we managed to catch was the woman calling herself Aphrodite, or Venus.” He looked at the substitute Venus. “That’s the one you replaced, miss.”
“How did you catch her?” Forrester pursued.
“Well,” Bor Mellistos said, turning a faint shade of orange with embarrassment, “she was—ah—engaged in a secret liaison with a mortal at the time. Knowing that two of the other gentlemen would be furious with her if they discovered this fact—”
“Mars and Vulcan,” Forrester supplied.
“Quite correct, sir,” Bor Mellistos said. “Knowing, as I say, that they would be furious, she had taken special pains to hide herself. When the alarm reached the others that we were coming, they could not warn her. As a result, when she returned to Mount Olympus, we were waiting for her.”
“Serves her right!” Zeus said with indignation.
Bor Mellistos said: “Quite,” very politely.
“And then,” Forrester said, “you patrolled this place for a while.”
Bor Mellistos nodded. “We left about three hundred years ago, finally deciding that they had gone elsewhere. By the way, do you know where they were hiding all this time?”
“My guess,” Diana said, “is that they were here on Earth, of course.”
“Naturally, miss,” Bor Mellistos said. “But where?”
Zeus shrugged. “All sorts of places. I ran a tailor shop myself, pressing and cleaning. I understand that Poseidon and Pluto entered freak shows—they were fine attractions, too. Pan lived mostly in the forests, doing well enough for himself running wild. Diana and Athena ran a small hairdressing studio in Queens. And Venus—”
“Please,” Venus interrupted.
“Perfectly honorable profession,” Zeus objected. “One of the oldest. Perhaps the very oldest. And I don’t see why—”
“Please!” Venus insisted.
Zeus shut up with a little sigh.
“At any rate,” Bor Mellistos said, “that’s the story up to date. And now there’s only the question of the Overseer positions. Would you like to fill them?”
“Who?” Venus asked. “Us?”
“Well,” Bor Mellistos said, “you have the experience. And we do need someone to take over. You see, three thousand years ago your technical attainments were not large. There was little need for an Overseer. Now, however, you are nearly at the stage where you will be invited to join the Galactic Federation. And we must make sure you do not do any irreparable harm to yourselves during the next few years.”
“Well,” Forrester said, “how could we—”
“If you’ll permit me, sir,” Bor Mellistos said, “I can explain. You would work much as the so-called Gods did—but with no publicity, and a greater sense of responsibility, if you understand me. Earth would never know you were there.”
“I’d have to—stay away from mortals?” Forrester asked.
“Exactly,” Bor Mellistos said.
Well, Forrester thought, it had its compensations. In the three days that the Detective Inspector had been on Earth, Forrester had had time to think and to find out some things. Gerda, for instance, was getting married to Alvin Sherdlap. Forrester wondered what kind of love would let a woman choose a name like Gerda Sherdlap, and decided it was better not to think about it.
What did he have to go back to? History classes? Students? Even students like Maya Wilson?
Well, he was sure he could do better than that. He looked at Diana and became even surer.
“The remaining eleven Overseers,” Bor Mellistos was saying, “will be along shortly. You will then be able to draw fully on the machine. You need merely follow world events and make sure that any—ah—regrettably final decisions are not made. Your actions will, of course, be very much undercover.”
Forrester nodded. “This mass arrest of the Gods is going to cause an upheaval all by itself.”
“Quite true, sir. But that will be worked out. I’m afraid I don’t really know the details, but doubtless the other eleven who are coming will inform you more thoroughly on that score.”
Forrester sighed. “About the Gods—what kind of punishment will they receive?”
“Well, sir,” Bor Mellistos said, “it varies. Vulcan, for instance—the person who called himself Vulcan, or Hephaestus—will probably get off with a lighter sentence than the others. He was a mechanic, brought along under some duress to service the machine. But the sentences will be severe, you may be sure. Very severe.”
Forrester didn’t feel like asking any more questions about that. There was a pause. He looked at Diana again, and she looked back at him.
“Do you accept?” Bor Mellistos said.
Forrester and the others nodded.
Bor Mellistos said: “Very well. In that case, I will inform the other eleven Overseers already picked that they will be met by you here, on Mount Olympus, and that—”
But Forrester wasn’t listening.
He had begun whistling, very softly.
The song he was whistling was Tenting Tonight.
VIEWPOINT (1960)
There was a dizzy, sickening whirl of mental blackness
—not true blackness, but a mind-enveloping darkness that was filled with the multi-colored little sparks of thoughts and memories that scattered through the darkness like tiny glowing mice, fleeing from something unknown, fleeing outwards and away toward a somewhere that was equally unknown; scurrying, moving, changing—each half recognizable as it passed, but leaving only a vague impression behind.
Memories were shattered into their component data bits in that maelstrom of not-quite-darkness, and scattered throughout infinity and eternity. Then the pseudo-dark stopped its violent motion and became still, no longer scattering the fleeing memories, but merely blanketing them. And slowly—ever so slowly—the powerful cohesive forces that existed between the data-bits began pulling them back together again as the not-blackness faded. The associative powers of the mind began putting the frightened little things together as they drifted back in from vast distances, trying to fit them together again in an ordered whole. Like a vast jigsaw puzzle in five dimensions, little clots and patches formed as the bits were snuggled into place here and there.
The process was far from complete when Broom regained consciousness.
* * * *
Broom sat up abruptly and looked around him. The room was totally unfamiliar. For a moment, that seemed perfectly understandable. Why shouldn’t the room look odd, after he had gone through—
What?
He rubbed his head and looked around more carefully. It was not just that the room itself was unfamiliar as a whole; the effect was greater than that. It was not the first time in his life he had regained consciousness in unfamiliar surroundings, but always before he had been aware that only the pattern was different, not the details.
He sat there on the floor and took stock of himself and his surroundings.
He was a big man—six feet tall when he stood up, and proportionately heavy, a big-boned frame covered with hard, well-trained muscles. His hair and beard were a dark blond, and rather shaggy because of the time he’d spent in prison.
Prison!
Yes, he’d been in prison. The rough clothing he was wearing was certainly nothing like the type of dress he was used to.
The Second Randall Garrett Megapack Page 23
