The Mammoth Book of Golden Age SF

by Martin Greenberg

  Sutt said, “Your last chance.”

  Mallow stubbed out his cigar and never looked up.

  And five minutes later, Jael stirred and said, wearily, “Well, now that you’ve made a martyr for the cause, what next?”

  Mallow stopped playing with the ash tray and looked up. “That’s not the Sutt I used to know. He’s a blood-blind bull. Galaxy, he hates me.”

  “All the more dangerous then.”

  “More dangerous? Nonsense! He’s lost all power of judgment.”

  Jael said grimly, “You’re overconfident, Mallow. You’re ignoring the possibility of a popular rebellion.”

  Mallow looked up, grim in his turn. “Once and for all, Jael, there is no possibility of a popular rebellion.”

  “You’re sure of yourself!”

  “I’m sure of the Seldon crisis and the historical validity of their solutions, externally and internally. There are some things I didn’t tell Stutt right now. He tried to control the Foundation itself by religious forces as he controlled the outer worlds, and he failed – which is the surest sign that in the Seldon scheme, religion is played out.

  “Economic control worked differently. And to paraphrase that famous Salvor Hardin quotation of yours, it’s a poor atom blaster that won’t point both ways. If Korell prospered with our trade, so did we. If Korellian factories fail without our trade; and if the prosperity of the outer worlds vanishes with commercial isolation; so will our factories fail and our prosperity vanish.

  “And there isn’t a factory, not a trading center, not a shipping line that isn’t under my control; that I couldn’t squeeze to nothing if Sutt attempts revolutionary propaganda. Where his propaganda succeeds, or even looks as though it might succeed, I will make certain that prosperity dies. Where it fails, prosperity will continue, because my factories will remain fully staffed.

  “So by the same reasoning which makes me sure that the Korellians will revolt in favor of prosperity, I am sure we will not revolt against it. The game will be played out to its end.”

  “So then,” said Jael, “you’re establishing a plutocracy. You’re making us a land of traders and merchant princes. Then what of the future?”

  Mallow lifted his gloomy face, and exclaimed fiercely, “What business of mine is the future? No doubt Seldon has foreseen it and prepared against it. There will be other crises in the time to come when money power has become as dead a force as religion is now. Let my successors solve those new problems, as I have solved the one of today.”

  KORELL – . . . And so after three years of a war which was certainly the most unfought war on record, the Republic of Korell surrendered unconditionally, and Hober Mallow took his place next to Hari Seldon and Salvor Hardin in the hearts of the people of the Foundation.

  ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

  GIANT KILLER

  A. Bertram Chandler

  Shrick should have died before his baby eyes had opened on his world. Shrick would have died, but Weena, his mother, was determined that he, alone of all her children, should live. Three previous times since her mating with Skreer had she borne, and on each occasion the old, gray Sterret, Judge of the Newborn, had condemned her young as Different Ones.

  Weena had no objection to the Law when it did not affect her or hers. She, as much as any other member of the Tribe, keenly enjoyed the feasts of fresh, tasty meat following the ritual slaughter of Different Ones. But when those sacrificed were the fruit of her own womb it wasn’t the same.

  It was quiet in the cave where Weena awaited the coming of her lord. Quiet, that is, save for the sound of her breathing and an occasional plaintive, mewling cry from the newborn child. And even these sounds were deadened by the soft spongy walls and ceiling.

  She sensed the coming of Skreer long before his actual arrival. She anticipated his first question and, as he entered the cave, said quietly, “One. A male.”

  “A male?” Skreer radiated approval. Then she felt his mood change to one of questioning, of doubt. “Is it . . . he—?”

  “Yes.”

  Skreer caught the tiny, warm being in his arms. There was no light, but he, like all his race, was accustomed to the dark. His fingers told him all that he needed to know. The child was hairless. The legs were too straight. And – this was worst of all – the head was a great, bulging dome.

  “Skreer!” Weena’s voice was anxious. “Do you—?”

  “There is no doubt. Sterret will condemn it as a Different One.”

  “But—”

  “There is no hope.” Weena sensed that her mate shuddered, heard the faint, silken rustle of his fur as he did so. “His head! He is like the Giants!”

  The mother sighed. It was hard, but she knew the Law. And yet— This was her fourth child-bearing, and she was never to know, perhaps, what it was to watch and wait with mingled pride and terror while her sons set out with the other young males to raid the Giant’s territory, to bring back spoils from the great Cave-of-Food, the Place-of-Green-Growing-Things or, even, precious scraps of shiny metal from the Place-of-Life-That-Is-Not-Life.

  She clutched at a faint hope.

  “His head is like a Giant’s? Can it be, do you think, that the Giants are Different Ones? I have heard it said.

  “What if they are?”

  “Only this. Perhaps he will grow to be a Giant. Perhaps he will fight the other Giants for us, his own people. Perhaps—”

  “Perhaps Sterret will let him live, you mean.” Skreer made the short, unpleasant sound that passed among his people for a laugh. “No, Weena. He must die. And it is long since we feasted—”

  “But—”

  “Enough. Or do you wish to provide meat for the Tribe also? I may wish to find a mate who will bear me sturdy sons, not monsters!”

  The Place-of-Meeting was almost deserted when Skreer and Weena, she with Shrick clutched tightly in her arms, entered. Two more couples were there, each with newborn. One of the mothers was holding two babies, each of whom appeared to be normal. The other had three, her mate holding one of them.

  Weena recognized her as Teeza, and flashed her a little half smile of sympathy when she saw that the child carried by Teeza’s mate would certainly be condemned by Sterret when he chose to appear. For it was, perhaps, even more revolting than her own Different One, having two hands growing from the end of each arm.

  Skreer approached one of the other males, he unburdened with a child.

  “How long have you been waiting? he asked.”

  “Many heartbeats. We—”

  The guard stationed at the doorway through which light entered from Inside hissed a warning:

  “Quiet! A Giant is coming!”

  The mothers clutched their children to them yet more tightly, their fur standing on end with superstitious dread. They knew that if they remained silent there was no danger, that even if they should betray themselves by some slight noise there was no immediate peril. It was not size alone that made the Giants dreaded, it was the supernatural powers that they were known to possess. The food-that-kills had slain many an unwary member of the Tribe, also their fiendishly cunning devices that crushed and mangled any of the People unwise enough to reach greedily for the savory morsels left exposed on a kind of little platform. Although there were those who averred that, in the latter case, the risk was well worth it, for the yellow grains from the many bags in the Cave-of-Food were as monotonous as they were nourishing.

  “The Giant has passed!”

  Before those in the Place-of-Meeting could resume their talk, Sterret drifted out from the entrance of his cave. He held in his right hand his wand of office, a straight staff of the hard, yet soft, stuff dividing the territory of the People from that of the Giants. It was tipped with a sharp point of metal.

  He was old, was Sterret.

  Those who were themselves grandparents had heard their grandparents speak of him. For generations he had survived attacks by young males jealous of his prerogatives as chief, and the more rare assaults by parents di
spleased by his rulings as Judge of the Newborn. In this latter case, however, he had had nothing to fear, for on those isolated occasions the Tribe had risen as one and torn the offenders to pieces.

  Behind Sterret came his personal guards and then, floating out from the many cave entrances, the bulk of the Tribe. There had been no need to summon them; they knew.

  The chief, deliberate and unhurried, took his position in the center of the Place-of-Meeting. Without orders, the crowd made way for the parents and their newborn. Weena winced as she saw their gloating eyes fixed on Shrick’s revolting baldness, his misshapen skull. She knew what the verdict would be.

  She hoped that the newborn of the others would be judged before her own, although that would merely delay the death of her own child by the space of a very few heartbeats. She hoped—

  “Weena! Bring the child to me that I may see and pass judgment!”

  The chief extended his skinny arms, took the child from the mother’s reluctant hands. His little, deep-set eyes gleamed at the thought of the draught of rich, red blood that he was soon to enjoy. And yet he was reluctant to lose the savour of a single heartbeat of the mother’s agony. Perhaps she could be provoked into an attack—

  “You insult us,” he said slowly, “by bringing forth this!” He held Shrick, who squalled feebly, at arm’s length. “Look, oh People, at this thing the miserable Weena has brought for my judgment!”

  “He has a Giant’s head,” Weena’s timid voice was barely audible. “Perhaps—”

  “—his father was a Giant!”

  A tittering laugh rang through the Place-of-Meeting.

  “No. But I have heard it said that perhaps the Giants or their fathers and mothers, were Different Ones. And—”

  “Who said that?”

  “Strela.”

  “Yes, Strela the Wise. Who, in his wisdom, ate largely of the food-that-kills!”

  Again the hateful laughter rippled through the assembly.

  Sterret raised the hand that held the spear, shortening his grip on the haft. His face puckered as he tasted in anticipation the bright bubble of blood that would soon well from the throat of the Different One. Weena screamed. With one hand she snatched her child from the hateful grasp of the chief, with the other she seized his spear.

  Sterret was old, and generations of authority had made him careless. Yet, old as he was, he evaded the vicious thrust aimed at him by the mother. He had no need to cry orders, from all sides the People converged upon the rebel.

  Already horrified by her action, Weena knew that she could expect no mercy. And yet life, even as lived by the Tribe, was sweet. Gaining a purchase from the gray, spongy floor of the Place-of-Meeting she jumped. The impetus of her leap carried her up to the doorway through which streamed the light from Inside. The guard there was unarmed, for of what avail would a puny spear be against the Giants? He fell back before the menace of Weena’s bright blade and bared teeth. And then Weena was Inside.

  She could, she knew, hold the doorway indefinitely against pursuit. But this was Giant country. In an agony of indecision she clung to the rim of the door with one hand, the other still holding the spear. A face appeared in the opening, and then vanished, streaming with blood. It was only later that she realized that it had been Skreer’s.

  She became acutely conscious of the fierce light beating around and about her, of the vast spaces on all sides of a body that was accustomed to the close quarters of the caves and tunnels. She felt naked and, in spite of her spear, utterly defenseless.

  Then that which she dreaded came to pass.

  Behind her, she sensed the approach of two of the Giants. Then she could hear their breathing, and the low, infinitely menacing rumble of their voices as they talked one with the other. They hadn’t seen her – of that she was certain, but it was only a matter of heart-beats before they did so. The open doorway, with the certainly of death that lay beyond, seemed infinitely preferable to the terror of the unknown. Had it been only her life at stake she would have returned to face the righteous wrath of her chief, her mate and her Tribe.

  Fighting down her blind panic, she forced herself to a clarity of thought normally foreign to her nature. If she yielded to instinct, if she fled madly before the approaching Giants, she would be seen. Her only hope was to remain utterly still. Skreer, and others of the males who had been on forays Inside, had told her that the Giants, careless in their size and power, more often than not did not notice the People unless they made some betraying movement.

  The Giants were very close.

  Slowly, cautiously, she turned her head.

  She could see them now, two enormous figures floating through the air with easy arrogance. They had not seen her, and she knew that they would not see her unless she made some sudden movement to attract their attention. Yet it was hard not to yield to the impulse to dive back into the doorway to the Place-of-Meeting, there to meet certain death at the hands of the outraged Tribe. It was harder still to fight the urge to relinquish her hold on the rim of the doorway and flee – anywhere – in screaming panic.

  But she held on.

  The Giants passed.

  The dull rumble of their voices died in the distance, their acrid, unpleasant odor, of which she had heard but never before experienced, diminished. Weena dared to raise her head once more.

  In the confused, terrified welter of her thoughts one idea stood out with dreadful clarity. Her only hope of survival, pitifully slim though it was, lay in following the Giants. There was no time to lose, already she could hear the rising clamor of voices as those in the caves sensed that the Giants had passed. She relinquished her hold on the edge of the door and floated slowly up.

  When Weena’s head came into sudden contact with something hard she screamed. For long seconds she waited, eyes close shut in terror, for the doom that would surely descend upon her. But nothing happened. The pressure upon the top of her skull neither increased nor diminished.

  Timidly, she opened her eyes.

  As far as she could see, in two directions, stretched a long, straight shaft or rod. Its thickness was that of her own body, and it was made, or covered with, a material not altogether strange to the mother. It was like the ropes woven by the females with fibers from the Place-of-Green-Growing-Things – but incomparably finer. Stuff such as this was brought back sometimes by the males from their expeditions. It had been believed, once, that it was the fur of the Giants, but now it was assumed that it was made by them for their own purposes.

  On three sides of the shaft was the glaring emptiness so terrifying to the people of the caves. On the fourth side was a flat, shiny surface. Weena found that she could insinuate herself into the space between the two without discomfort. She discovered, also, that with comforting solidity at her back and belly she could make reasonably fast progress along the shaft. It was only when she looked to either side that she felt a return of her vertigo. She soon learned not to look.

  It is hard to estimate the time taken by her journey in a world where time was meaningless. Twice she had to stop and feed Shrick – fearful lest his hungry wailings betray their presence either to Giants or any of the People who might – although this was highly improbable – have followed her. Once she felt the shaft vibrating, and froze to its matt surface in utter and abject terror. A Giant passed, pulling himself rapidly along with his two hands. Had either of those hands fallen upon Weena it would have been the finish. For many heartbeats after his passing she clung there limp and helpless, scarcely daring to breathe.

  It seemed that she passed through places of which she had heard the males talk. This may have been so – but she had no means of knowing. For the world of the People, with its caves and tunnels, was familiar territory, while that of the Giants was known only in relation to the doorways through which a daring explorer could enter.

  Weena was sick and faint with hunger and thirst when, at last, the long shaft led her into a place where she could smell the tantalizing aroma of food. She stoppe
d, looked in all directions. But here, as everywhere in this alien country, the light was too dazzling for her untrained eyes. She could see, dimly, vast shapes beyond her limited understanding. She could see no Giants, nor anything that moved.

  Cautiously, keeping a tight hold on the rough surface of the shaft, she edged out to the side away from the polished, flat surface along which she had been traveling. Back and forth her head swung, her sensitive nostrils dilated. The bright light confused her, so she shut her eyes. Once again her nose sought the source of the savory smell, swinging ever more slowly as the position was determined with reasonable accuracy.

  She was loathe to abandon the security of her shaft, but hunger overruled all other considerations. Orienting her body, she jumped. With a thud she brought up against another flat surface. Her free hand found a projection, to which she clung. This she almost relinquished as it turned. Then a crack appeared, with disconcerting suddenness, before her eyes, widening rapidly. Behind this opening was black, welcome darkness. Weena slipped inside, grateful for relief from the glaring light of the Inside. It wasn’t until later that she realized that this was a door such as was made by her own people in the Barrier, but a door of truly gigantic proportions. But all that mattered at first was the cool, refreshing shade.

  Then she took stock of her surroundings.

  Enough light came in through the barely open doorway for her to see that she was in a cave. It was the wrong shape for a cave, it is true, having flat, perfectly regular walls and floor and ceiling. At the far end, each in its own little compartment, were enormous, dully shining globes. From them came a smell that almost drove the famishing mother frantic.

  Yet she held back. She knew that smell. It was that of fragments of food that had been brought into the caves, won by stealth and guile from the killing platforms of the Giants. Was this a killing platform? She wracked her brains to recall the poor description of these devices given by the males, decided that this, after all, must be a Cave-of-Food. Relinquishing her hold of Shrick and Sterret’s spear she made for the nearest globe.