by Zach Hughes
populated areas of the planet were half-in, half-out of the light of the sun. The twilight line was passing through the midsection of the populated northern continent. She was sleeping when the alarm entered her mind and brought her into instant awareness. Report. Life force action. Coordinates— She located instantly with the aid of the computers. The area involved was in daylight. She chose to go down with the protection of merely a forcefield and antigravity belt. She went as she was, in a long, flowing garment designed for comfort. The life-force action, incredible emanation coming from such a place, guided her. She could sense it. It was strong.
When she neared the surface, the residual effects of the action clung to the person of a lank-haired, thin, vilely unhealthy male who knelt beside a female on a crowded sidewalk. There was blood in the hair of the female and the male was voiding his stomach contents into the street. She was disgusted. Yet, incredibly, there were the emanations of the life force coming from the ugly male and that was even more serious than the original report of a planet-killing device, for it was impossible for these beings to develop so far. She swallowed her distaste, lowered into the midst of the most nauseating mob of beings she'd ever seen. In order to include him in the force of the belt, she had to touch him. She caught the stink of him. It was unbelievable. And in the short moment when she had to let down the forcefield to take him in, she caught a short breath of the poisoned air. She performed quick repair on the damaged lung cells and closed the field about them, forcing herself to touch him. He made noises with his mouth, like an animal. Silence, she sent. Silence or— The things with which she threatened him would have awed an intelligent being, yet he seemed unaffected, continuing to make noises with his mouth and to look at her with an unmistakable rapture in his eyes. She could not believe
that such as this could exude the life force, for his body was a wreck, a vast open sore of disease and disorder. Luke, rising to the heavens on a cloud, like the Christ resurrected, was in a state of near shock. Ecstasy bubbled in words of praise. At first, he begged the angel to save Caster, but since God lived, since God cared,
since God was lifting him to the heavens, it really did not matter if Caster perished down below, for she would gain eternal life with Him. And the words tumbled from his slack lips in a paroxysm of religious bliss as he
rose and rose and rose and the angel, serene, blindingly beautiful, held his arm and lifted him to—a huge sphere which opened to them and closed behind and heaven was functional metal and materials unrecognizable to him and he was being led by the angel to a small room where a small bed shared space with weird machines which moved toward him, extending tendrils and, suddenly, he was horribly frightened, for heaven was not machines and hard metals and cold surfaces. «Please,» he said, «please, please…» He was being pushed down onto the bed and the machines were closing and he screamed, once, before his mind fuzzed, darkened, went black. She had to stay in the room for decontamination. The sub-being had brought with him a wide array of microorganisms and some of them were already infecting her body. She utilized maximum life force, cleansed herself. The machines were at work. The sub-being was being subjected to an analysis and a purification process. And it was writhing and gasping. Life force, please. But do only the necessary. Its heart— Was failing. She looked into it. The heart was enlarged, weakened. She made minimum repairs. The being was eased and ceased writhing. She left the room, leaving the being to the machines for analysis and study. She stripped out of the long, comfortable garment. She felt unclean. Later, she communicated with the computer. She was vastly relieved when the computer, having contacted the central section on A-l, announced immediate departure. It would require a more thorough study, but the preliminary findings, having compared the brain structure and function of the sub-being aboard the ship with the living brains of a random selection of the population below, indicated that the male aboard the ship was a one-in-a-billion mutation. That, in itself, was cause for concern. Back on A-l, responsible authorities were being brought out of Trang to consider the implications. If cold machines could have expressed consternation the words would have been impossible, incredible. In a way, consternation was expressed in frenzied activity as entire planetary systems of automation and empire wide networks of computers were checked and rechecked. Automated servomechanisms replaced millions of components, discarding any one item which was not one-hundred percent efficient and yet the answer was the same. The odds against a being on Planet 3 of Section G-1034876, Star R-875948 developing even an erratic, uncontrollable life-force potential was expressed in astronomical numbers. Aboard a huge ship of the line, the woman whose mind emanated a beautiful, rosy glow stood over the being who was causing so much activity throughout an empire which spread over the central portions of the galaxy. Her face expressionless, she examined his thin body, his pocked face. There was a smell about him. She felt a mixture of revulsion and pity. He was of a form to the race. His physical makeup was the same down to the minute cells. Yet, he was different. It was more, this difference, than a general wasting of the body mechanisms. The poor condition of every functioning aspect of his being was the most evident defect, but there was a more important one. On a scale of mental ability he would, when compared to the race, rate so low as to be almost off the scale. Before she saw him, this being who had emanated the life force, she'd had fleeting thoughts of having someone for company on the long, boring ride back to the home system? Now, having seen him, having looked into the shallow, worse than retarded mind, she was moodily irritated. The ship made its first jump. Behind them, the star R-875948 was lost amid thousands of other stars. Ahead was a long, deadly period of waiting. She prowled the living quarters, scorning the entertainment possibilities of the central memory bank, thinking now of the male from A-7 who had been free, for some rotations now, to make a new commitment. Her frustration caused a slight acid unbalance in her stomach. Impatiently, she adjusted. Her mind, usually a bright, rosy glow, was aureate, a blaze. For lack of something better to do, she forwarded a bitter protest regarding the thoughtless, absolutely punitive lack of Trang aboard the ship. It was explained, once again, that the old-empire planners had deemed it necessary for the autosystems aboard a ship of the line to be backed up by an alert member of the race. It was explained to her, as if she were a child, that emergencies in space can happen with a devastating swiftness. In the time it would take for a member of the race to recover from the euphoria of Trang, an entire ship could be lost in the event of a major system failure. And when has there ever been a systems failure? Never. So it is impossible. On the contrary. It is almost inevitable. Explain. This ship was built in— The date had meaning only to a member of the race. She was surprised. So long ago? No ship has left the old empire in— Again, she was surprised. But no wonder. Who would want to leave? Space was cold and lifeless and lonely and endless and dull. Space was endless sun after endless sun. Space was dull, dead planets and sworls of cosmic dust and beyond the boundaries of the empire there was only
worlds such as the third planet of that sick little yellow sun she'd just left behind. Who would want to leave the comfort and the euphoria and the bliss of eternal love? She had not closed the communications circuit. And a machine, the huge, eternal central computer said, They did. And her mind was filled with a series of outward movements, the first swing into space in quaint, accident-prone chemical vehicles, the first leap to a near star, the vast enthusiasm of exploration and the zesty battles of conquest as one segment of the empire fought another for domination. They did. Ancient barbarians. Who built an empire which covers vast distances, a starfield of glory and achievement. Achievement? You're programmed for the past. We'll have to see about changing your mode. I am programmed for all contingencies which would affect the well-being of the race. The well-being of the race is Trang. And love. We do not need to go out to the stars anymore. Why do we need more planets ? Yes. With Trang we have reached the highest limits of racial fulfillment. The empire was projected into her mind, fa
r-flung systems peopled by the race, all beautiful, all Trangized, scattered widely, isolated in pairs in splendid structures on a thousand thousand worlds. Exactly, she sent. Would you want it differently? I am not programmed for emotions. But she was shown vast autosystems lying idle. Sections capable of directing the landing and takeoff of one ship per heartbeat from a million ports were idle. Fleets of ships were stationary on the ground. Vast places for the making of a million things were silent. I don't care. What right have you, a mere machine, to chide me, a member of the race? Angered, she broke off. She paced the spacious room. She was dressed in a close-fitting singlet which showed her beautiful form to perfection and there was no one to see. She, the most desirable woman on the old, home planet, perhaps in the original system, was alone. With only a sub-being within countless light years. But the sub-being was a male. Once, when she committed with a male from an outlying planet, she was told of an ancient custom. Women of the planet, in the early days of the lovely Trang euphoria, in order to experience the completeness of sexual love, had, said the male, experimented with a form of animal life, an upright animal covered with hair. At the time it had seemed deliciously funny. A woman couple with an animal? Now she was to be isolated on a ship of the line for long, long revolutions with a sub-being. If members of the race had once coupled with animals. It could be amusing, in a revolting sort of way. She stood before him, radiant in a tightly fitted one-piece thing which clung to rounded curves. She had had to wait for the machines to finish with him. Now he had been examined, rated, cataloged. She was not interested in that. She was alone. She was bored. It would be a long, long time before she was back on A-l and it would be in the middle of a commitment period and she would have to join in the conference regarding these sub-beings from Section G-1034876 and, meanwhile, he was looking at her with a stupid, wide-eyed stare, making sounds with his mouth like an animal. An animal. She would pretend that he was one of the hairy, upright beasts of the outlying planets. I am—her mind spread out—Blaze. He made sounds with his mouth. He fell to his knees and held his hands clasped in front of him. She projected the idea she had in mind in all its sweet possibilities. He made noises with his mouth. She moved toward him in a graceful, floating, sensuous walk. She was, to him, eye-burningly beautiful. He'd never seen so perfect a woman before. And, although heaven was, apparently, a thing of metals and other materials he didn't know with machines which probed and searched him and machines which fed and watched him, she was divine, an angel sent from God. Blaze—wants you. Blaze—soft and warm and willing—will make things so nice for you. He cringed away from her. She couldn't read him. Inside his head were the usual arrangements of
things, but in the receptive center was a ball of blackness, a dull non-life which puzzled her. The structure was there. And yet he did not acknowledge her generous invitation. She could not even get his thoughts. He was not sending. He was black inside. Stop making noises with your mouth. He prostrated himself at her feet, looking up at her fearfully, making the noises. Angered, she sent strongly. I am—Blaze. Arise. It is not necessary for you to crawl at my feet. He was making a series of strangled, wet sounds. Tears were running from his eyes. With growing impatience, she probed at the dark ball of nothing in his receptive center and could find nothing. Yet, she thought, he'd exuded the
life force, so that part of his brain was not totally useless. She searched for the crack, the opening which had to be there, a vent leading into that dark, shelled portion of his mind from which the healing force had to come. The ship's system was sending. Stop! Stop! But she felt an entrance and probed it. The male, still groveling at her feet, moaned and made noises with his mouth. She had to reach him. Her need was great. Stop! the machines warned. Don't force it. The examination concludes that there is a potential there, but it is dangerous. She listened. This is an alien mind. Should you penetrate it, the effects could be traumatic. We do not, yet, understand. There have been developments in this mind, developments which should not have happened. Yet, behind a
—shield—an encasing—a madness—there is potential. It is best not to tamper with it except under the most rigidly controlled conditions. She laughed. What did she care for his traumas? She needed. Not him, the ship's system sent frantically, its warning reinforced by a joint communication from the base on A-l, but she had found the crack, the opening, the entrance. I am —Blaze. I need. And with an effort of concentration, her mind entered, probed, saw horror and tried to retreat but too late; for the shell, the shield, the encasing, weakened by the emergence, at odd times, of the life force, split and exploded and her mind flowed in an opened and madness leaped out at her and overwhelmed her with a power which sent her reeling back, physically, as her mind trembled and cringed under the onslaught of the alien things, the mad, sick, evil things which filled the male mind before her. Her mind screamed and fought, but was helpless to overcome the terrible power of the raw sickness which poured out of the male. Weakly, she fell against the door and it opened and she stumbled out into the corridor, her mind retching, crying out in agony, knowing for the first time fear and hopelessness and rot and death and horror, knowing torture on the rack and the illness of body she'd never experienced and the worst of it was the repulsion which was the strongest immediate force which drowned her in putrid, mad, raw emotions. Stop! Stop! But compared to the power of the emanations coming from the alien male her mind was weak and she could do nothing to stop the horror. It sapped her strength. It oozed and slimed her own sanity and she could only retreat, get as far from it as possible. Huddled in her bed, hands to her head as if to stop the flow of horror, she sobbed and cringed in real pain as she was deluged, her mind helpless to stop it, her barrier down from the sheer power of it. Help me. Help me. Help me. CHAPTER THIRTEEN When Luke awakened in heaven he saw only a pastel ceiling and then, turning his head, walls lined with machines. He was not able to move. At first, he thought he was back on the rack, and he braced himself for the jolt of pain, but it didn't come. Flexible, snaky things were moving about his body. Things touched and probed and moved and there was not pain. There was in fact, a feeling of well-being much like that he'd experienced while he was being treated back in Zachary Wundt's underground hospital. Gradually, he was able to relax. When he was offered food, he ate. Afterward, he rose, unhindered, from the bed. He walked the small space of the room, tried the door. It had no visible way of opening. He prayed. There was a sort of hum about him. He could feel it in the floor, in the
walls. Once there was a slight, internal jolt, as if he'd been moved in some way. He was in a high state of excitement, his adrenals pumping, his pulse pounding. God was near. He had been raised. He'd risen above the miseries of the Earth and was now—where? «Oh, God,» he prayed. «Blessed be thy name and praise everlasting. Lead me to understanding. Show me the light. Help me to serve you, Lord.» And, in answer to his prayers, the door opened. The angel was there,
tall, radiant, beautiful, serene. He feel to his knees and clasped his hands. «Praise be to God in His glory and eternal wisdom. Thank you, Jesus.» She looked at him. She was disturbingly exposed. And he hated himself for seeing not her glory, her godliness, but her body with rounded breasts half exposed, her long legs bare. «Forgive me, Lord, I am unworthy.» And, in punishment, there was a pain in his head. He fell to his stomach and groveled in shame and atonement. He could not, however, resist turning his head to look up at the angel. «Speak to me,» he begged. «Blessed being, tell me where I fail. Help me to be worthy.» She looked down at him calmly, a half-smile on her beautiful face. She was trying to help him! He sobbed in grateful emotion, his heart pumping,
his entire being trembling with ecstasy. «Oh, beautiful, blessed angel, help me. Tell me what I must do.» The pain in his head, far back, deep, doubled, grew to be more than he could bear. He screamed and writhed on the smooth, warm softness of the floor. He sobbed and begged, his words incoherent as the pain grew and exploded and, suddenly, she was speaking to him. No, not speaking. Suddenly there was
in his mind her. I am Blaze. And he screamed again with fear and horror as he knew the rest, the filthy, perverted things she was saying, the dirty, pornographic, lasciviousness of it. And he was aware then that she was no angel but a thing of the devil sent to punish him and that he was not in heaven but on his way to hell and she was there to do horrible, sickening things to him and he screamed and fell back as she left the room, an unreadable expression on her face, leaving him to fall onto the bed, his mind in agony, still seeing the filthy things. Fear, horror, madness. So beautiful she was and so filthy, so evil. The pictures in his mind of her beautiful body in contorted, perverted
