Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1959

by The Dark Destroyers (v1. 1)

  "Odd points?" echoed Darragh sharply.

  "Oh," and Lyle grinned, showing big, even teeth, "I didn't mean I thought you were telling lies."

  "Let's hope not," said Darragh.

  "I meant your attitude toward the Owners—what you call the Cold People. You say you argued against those chiefs of yours. You urged a policy of waiting for the right time."

  "And that's what I did," Darragh assured him.

  "Yet," went on Lyle, sipping his tea, "just now you started talking about escape from here, when the rest of us are content to wait for the right time.

  "And how long have you waited for the right time?" inquired Darragh.

  "Some years now. We don't want to go off half-cocked."

  "Apparendy you don't. When do you think the right time will come?"

  Lyle's eyes grew narrow in thought. "Perhaps not for years," he replied. "Perhaps not for generations. We have an escape committee, made up of our best minds, gathering knowledge, studying . . ."

  "Hold on," interrupted Darragh unceremoniously. "It just happens that I can't wait for years or generations. I have to get back home and make my report to the council of chiefs."

  "Indeed?" Lyle's grin was harsh again above his teacup. "And just how do you propose to escape?"

  "I'm not quite sure yet," Darragh was forced to admit, and felt his ire grow warmer as Lyle's grin broadened. "Yet," and he forced himself to speak calmly and coolly, "it ought to be possible. There are about thirty people here, and . . ."

  "These people obey me, Darragh," Lyle reminded him, frostily and blundy. "They're my people. I'm related to many of them, and I'm a friend of all of them."

  "I want to be their friend, too," Darragh tried to temporize. He glanced toward the front window. "They're out there now, and they seem mighty interested in what's going on in here."

  "They understand cooperation and discipline," elaborated Lyle. "They put their trust in the committee."

  "Please," spoke up Brenda Thompson. "Mr. Darragh's our guest, Orrin."

  "Thank you, ma'am," said Darragh.

  "An uninvited guest, you might say," rejoined Lyle. "I don't want to be impolite or stubborn, Darragh, but you must realize that we are scientists here."

  "Scientists?" repeated Darragh:

  "How's the state of science down there in your jungle?" "Why," said Darragh, "we do what we can ..." "And what can you do? Do you have electricity or steam power?"

  "We have electricity," Darragh told him. "We use steam for things like mills and presses. We have radio—not television, though probably we could have that if we really wanted it."

  "How about airplanes?"

  "We have some of those. Not jet planes—propeller craft."

  "You seem to have done a lot," contributed Brenda Thompson.

  "In this little community, we are scientists," said Lyle again. "Our fathers were captured at the moment of the original invasion; they've kept books and plans, have set out their knowledge and passed it on."

  Darragh stared. "You've been here from the time the Cold People landed? Fifty years?"

  "We have picked up considerable knowledge from the Owners—the Cold People," went on Lyle. "We understand some of their science, things like the rays."

  Darragh leaned forward eagerly, almost spilling his tea. "You can make the ray-throwers?"

  Lyle shook his head. "I said we understand those things. Well manufacture them some day. We're learning; it has been a slow process but it's been a steady one."

  "Try to understand, Mr. Darragh," Brenda Thompson's soft voice pleaded.

  "Yes," said Lyle, "try to understand. We work in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. After all, we've been penned up here for two generations or so. But well find out how to build and operate one of their ships, and in that ship . . ." He spread his free hand. "In that ship, well fly out of this prison shaft and away to freedom."

  "I've flown one of their ships," reminded Darragh.

  "Yes, yes, so you've told us," nodded Lyle impatiendy; "but can you make one?"

  "No. I can see how that would take years, all right." He set down his teacup. "Sorry I can't hang around here and watch it work out."

  "What do you think you'll do?"

  "Look, Lyle, I've been forming a plan while we've been talking here," said Darragh. "Why don't you let me offer it to your crowd here—let them take it or leave it?"

  "I'd rather you didn't," said Lyle, his eyes bright and un-

  friendly. "In fact, I'm going to have to ask you not .to make

  any orations at all."

  "Why," said Darragh, "I hadn't any notion of making orations."

  "Thanks for your promise." Lyle got up. "Will you wait here? I'm going to bring someone else back to talk to you." "More tea first, Orrin?" asked the girl.

  "No thanks," Lyle almost snapped. "Ill be back in a little while."

  He was gone. Darragh, too, rose. "This leatherwork's getting hot," he said to Brenda Thompson. "Mind if I shed it?"

  "Please do," she granted, and he kicked off his moccasins, then pulled the jacket over his head. Her blue eyes grew round as she watched, and he realized that he stood stripped to the waist.

  "Oh," and he tried to laugh, "excuse me. I didn't stop to think—down in the tropics we wear just as few clothes as we can get by with."

  "I just was thinking that you have such big shoulders." She turned. "Let me bring you some things my father used to wear. A robe."

  She was gone. Darragh wriggled out of his heavy trousers. He put the garments on the chair, then turned suddenly.

  He had felt an intent study of his back. But behind him was only that mirror-like rectangle of glass in the rear wall. He walked toward it.

  On the other side a Cold Creature pressed close, as though watching him in rapt interest.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Darragh fairly sprang at that window, his hand going to the knife at his belt. Close to the pane he came, craning his neck to look into what would be a face if Cold Creatures had faces. He felt his skin tighten and twitch, his hair bristle. At his sudden rush, the thing outside seemed to shrink back in the dimly lighted corridor. It paused, and its tentacles made fluttering motions, as though trying to signal him.

  "I'd like to give you this, you damned jelly-blob!" snarled Darragh aloud, whirling the knife up above his head.

  A gasp behind him, and he swung around on his bare heel.

  Brenda Thompson had come back. Over her arm was slung a folded robe, black with dark red belt, collar and cuffs.

  "Heavens!" she said, and smiled with lips that seemed to quiver.

  He gestured furiously at the pane. "That thing out there-it was gaping in at me."

  "They often watch us," she said, as though to reassure him. "They never do harm."

  "I don't want to be watched," Darragh growled, and walked toward her. For a moment he thought she might retreat before him, as the Cold Creature out there had retreated. But she smiled again, and offered him the robe. He took it.

  "Thanks," he said, and put it on. He pulled the sandals out of his belt and stooped to pull one, then the other, upon his bare feet. Her eyes were still on the knife he held, and he laid it on the table beside the tea-tray.

  "You looked as though you'd actually kill that Owner," she half-whispered.

  "I've killed two already," he reminded her. "I told you about that. Didn't you believe me?"

  She pursed her lips, and a tiny crease marked her brow. "Now that you ask me," she said slowly, "I don't really think I did believe you. Not until this moment. But I believe you now."

  She sat down, and so did he.

  "Haven't any of your people tried to kill one?" he asked.

  A shake of her bright head. "Nobody ever really thought of trying. But you—yes, I can believe you would. I can believe you could." She smiled suddenly, and radiantiy, with mouth and eyes and a bunching of-her round cheeks. "You're not like these men here. You're—I don't know exactiy how to put it.. ."

  "Yo
u think I'm a wild man?" he suggested, smiling back at her.

  "Well, you're certainly not a tame man," she suddenly laughed, and there was happy admiration in that laugh. "You've been living out of reach of the Owners—what you call the Cold People. You've been living in spite of them; you've dared spy on them and oppose them and strike them down."

  "That's all new to you, Miss Thompson."

  "You're new to me, Mr. Darragh. You're a stranger. Do you realize that you're the first stranger I ever met? I've grown up without seeing any stranger before."

  He smiled at her again, and shook his head slowly. "Let's not go on being strangers. Let's start by using our first names. I'm Mark."

  "And I'm Brenda. More tea?"

  She filled his cup, and hers. Yet another smile they shared as they sipped.

  "I have a feeling that I'm not such a big success with Orrin Lyle as I seem to be with you," he ventured.

  "Orrin doesn't like to have anybody oppose him, he's not used to it."

  "I'm used to it, but I don't like it either. I hope he and I can get along together." "So do I, Mark."

  He glanced at the pane in the wall. He could not tell whether a Cold Creature lounged there or not. "I don't like being watched," he said. "Can we go to some other room, Brenda?"

  She shook her head. "There's only one other room, and .they can look into that, too. Into every room of every one of these houses, and into the grounds."

  "It's like being in a zoo!" he exploded.

  "That's what it is," she said soberly. "A zoo. We're kept here alive, allowed food and other things for our support. And they study us, I suppose."

  "But to pry into this cottage. Isn't it yours?"

  "I'm afraid not," she told him. "It's theirs. It's a showpiece. It's like the imitation rock den in a bear pit in the zoos we human beings used to have." She made a gesture. "These walls are just mockups. They're flimsy, because we don't have wind down in this shaft. The roof has to be strong, because snow and rain do come down from above in winter time."

  "So," he said, "that's the reason for this center post."

  She looked at it. "Yes, that's to prop up the rafters and riles of the roof. They're substantial, and the stuff of the walls isn't."

  He set down his cup. "I've told you about how my people live. Tell me about yours. Begin at the beginning."

  "All right," she agreed. "At least, I'll begin with what I've been told about the beginning. The Owners . . ."

  "The Cold People," Darragh corrected her. "Don't call them Owners. They don't own me, or you either; they just happen to have us in a box at the moment."

  "All right, when the Cold People came on Earth, like a thief in the night, I suppose your ancestors got away from them."

  "And yours?" he prompted. "How did they stay here and live?"

  "We were situated in a tiny town—a suburb, it was called—on the shores of a lake."

  "I've seen the lake," he remembered.

  "We were professors then. Teachers, at the State University."

  "And probably too deep in study to appreciate the danger."

  She shrugged ruefully. "Something like that, I suppose. It's a failing of scientists and teachers. First thing they knew, it was too late. The—Cold People, I won't say Owners again —they were wiping out armies and cities orf- every side, hemmed in that little suburb." She paused, gloomily reconstructing what it must have been like. "Of course, I'm talking about my grandfather and his family and neighbors. There's nobody alive today who remembers it. Anyway, there was nothing to do but surrender."

  Darragh sat up so suddenly that Brenda Thompson jumped. "Surrender?" he echoed. "How did they manage that? A white flag or something?"

  "No; probably that wouldn't have been understood. Dr. Lyle—that was Orrin's grandfather—took charge. He told everybody to stand quite still, with hands up. There were half a dozen professors and their wives and children. The

  Cold People came crawling around, wearing their armor, pointing their ray-guns."

  "I'm interested in those ray-guns," interposed Darragh.

  "Ill tell you what I know about them, later," Brenda promised. "We've had some communication and understanding with the Cold People, and we've found out some things. But let me get back to the history; That litde knot of human beings was herded into a sort of a pen. There was a conference of Cold People, talking with their tentacle-talk, and then this prison . . ."

  "This zoo," contributed Darragh.

  "It had its beginning."

  "And after that?"

  "We've lived here ever since, a human peep-show for two generations," said Brenda, and she sounded grim and, weary. "They built this refrigerated city of theirs around us, all around our litde central patch of open ground here."

  "And they allowed you to build your cottages," Darragh elaborated.

  They built the cottages for us. They let us plant gardens. From up above we get rain, and there's sunlight. It seems to be reflected down to us with lenses and mirrors around the rim of the upper opening. And other wants are supplied, by thrusting big bundles through the valve-panels from outside."

  "I got thrust through, the same way,", remembered Darragh. "So the Cold People make your food and clothing and so on."

  "Right. They must have examined all the stuff they didn't destroy. They supply us the way keepers used to supply captive monkeys or rabbits."

  "What about food?" asked Darragh.

  "It's frozen, of course, but that way it keeps longer. There's some kind of meatiike stuff, and bread, and tea, and all of it is synthetic. They're masters at making chemical foods and fabrics. We grow green things enough in our gardens to give us vitamins."

  "And you live in a zoo," summed up Darragh.

  "In a zoo," she agreed. "About thirty of us, the children and grandchildren of those professors who surrendered. The adults of the free days have all died; nobody remembers much about freedom. And we're a zoo or an aquarium, for Cold People to stare at."

  "They can stare, all right, whatever they use for eyes," said Darragh. "Now, how about government? Even ants in a hill have that."

  "We've a committee," she told him. "Orrin Lyle sort of inherited the chairmanship, through his father and grandfather. That's all the command there is among us."

  "And what can the committee do?" asked Darragh.

  "Well, communicate with the Cold People. Orrin knows how. He can make signs with his hands, to the creatures outside the windows; they understand, and make signs that he understands. That way he gets us what we need, even medicine. Besides that, the committee figures on escape plans for some future time."

  Darragh glanced at the front window. "Here comes Chairman Lyle now."

  Lyle entered without knocking. Behind him came the stocky grizzled man who had been one of the first to speak to Darragh.

  "Are you feeling better, Mr. Darragh?" asked Lyle.

  "I'm feeling worse," said Darragh. "Nothing is going to make me feel better except getting out of this rat hole."

  Lyle jerked a thumb at his companion. "This is Sam Criddle," he said. "Vice-chairman of the town committee. He's wanted to hear you talk, and maybe he can help calm you down. You don't seem to realize that you're lucky to be alive."

  He sat down on the sofa. Criddle found a seat near the door.

  "That's a point that mystifies me," said Darragh. "How does it happen I didn't get killed outside? The Cold Creatures in the ship tried hard enough."

  "I've been trying to figure that one out," offered Criddle.

  "They must have thought you were one of us, one of this town, that had somehow escaped. They herded you back here, and pushed you in through the valve—the logical thing to do."

  "The more fools they," Darragh said, in a voice that sounded rough in his own ears. "I came here to find a way to overthrow them."

  "You're in an awkward place to start that," said Lyle.

  "Am I?" Darragh flung back. "What better place to start than here? And I can bring you all with me." />
  "How?" Criddle almost squealed in sudden eagerness.

  "If we could get them to come down the shaft with one of their ships ..." began Darragh.

  "You want to be violent," Lyle said accusingly.

  "If violence is indicated, yes," said Darragh, and was aware of Brenda Thompson's eyes, shining more brightly than before.

  Lyle chuckled softly, and his close-set eyes turned toward Criddle. "I'm afraid, Sam, that this man is dangerous. Give him half a chance and hell sabotage all our plans of escape."

  "I'm not trying to do anything of the kind," insisted Darragh; "I'm simply offering a suggestion."

  "Keep your suggestions until they're asked for," Lyle said.

  "Hold on now, Orrin," pleaded Criddle. "We did come to ask him what he proposed to do."

  Darragh was fighting to remain cool. Again he glanced out the window, and there he saw the others of the town, closely grouped and murmuring together.

  "I wonder," he said, "if my suggestions aren't being asked for outside as well as in here."

  Lyle got up. "You're here among us, and you'll act like one of us," he said coldly. "You'll listen to orders .. ."

  Darragh, too, rose, swifdy and smoothly. He towered over Lyle. "I don't take orders when I don't recognize authority. I'm here from another community—another government, you might say. You act as if you're afraid I'm trying to shoulder you out."

  Lyle Orrin shook his head. "I believe your story, Darragh. I believe your friends are like you—brave, ingenious, intelligent, and straightforward. Those are all virtues—but they aren't always enough. You've scouted around a bit, but we've been studying the Owners while they were studying us. We know a lot more about them than you do. Enough to know that courage alone won't do." He shrugged. "The Light Brigade was courageous and they attacked head on. They were wiped out—without ever having a chance of achieving their objective."

  Darragh looked at him for a moment. "Maybe you believe that, but that's only half the story. I've known others like you, Orrin: I know how you tick.

  "However you may try to rationalize it, you've jumped to the conclusion that I'm trying to steal your thunder," went on Darragh. "You think I'm some sort of a rival. I don't want to be anything of the sort. I don't want to push you around; but don't get the idea you can push me around, either."