The 19th Golden Age of Science Fiction

by Charles V. De Vet

  The weight of their numbers bore him down a second time. They drew back then and formed a tight circle around him. They began kicking, and did it as systematically as they did everything else. The first blow struck between his eyes and stunned him. A second boot, with the weight of a green body behind it landed on his chest and he had trouble breathing. He never knew where the boot hit that blanked him out.

  * * * *

  All afternoon Pariseau paced the floor of his hut. He had examined it almost inch by inch since the Lottenbaies had returned and placed him there. The hut, he found, was made of sheet-plastic—obviously of Rex Major manufacture—and each sheet had been heat-welded together in its patented manner. There was no possibility of penetrating it with any of the implements he had on hand.

  The one window was made of a clear plastic, also welded into place, and equally as impenetrable as the rest of the building. The air vents were in the ceiling and their openings were not large enough for a man’s body to squeeze through. The door was the type that locked into its frame and became part of the wall as long as it was closed; the lock mechanism was not set to his hand print. They had him very securely imprisoned.

  Toward evening they brought him a meal of the meat of the sheep-like animal and some leafy vegetable. No one appeared after that and, as the day’s activity quieted outside, Pariseau lay down on his cot and slept. He intended to be as prepared as possible for whatever might come the next day.

  Chapter 6

  Sometime during the following forenoon the sound of many men moving about the front of his hut drew Pariseau to the window. There he saw nearly a hundred of the green men. Each carried a weapon of some kind—mostly sawed-off tree-limb clubs, or metal machine parts. It was obvious they were being carried for a purpose, and the purpose boded no good for him.

  For a moment the iron discipline of the green men had been relaxed. They shouted and laughed and seemed in a festive mood.

  The sound of his door opening turned Pariseau around. Zelda walked in followed closely by Kolls.

  Zelda spoke first. “At my request Leader-Kolls has agreed to speak with you,” she said formally.

  Without comment, Pariseau lifted his glance to Kolls.

  “Underleader Zelda seems to feel that there is some doubt about your having betrayed us,” he said, speaking as a man who has already formed his conclusions and was only allowing them to be corroborated. “In my own mind, I am certain that you attempted to lead us into a trap. However, I will listen to what you have to say.” Pariseau thought quickly. The possibility was small, but his ability to convince Kolls of his innocence was probably his only chance of emerging from this predicament with his life.

  “I brought you to the arms, as I promised. The appearance of the Benz just at that time was an unfortunate coincidence.”

  “A rather improbable coincidence, I would say,” Kolls replied coldly.

  “If I had betrayed you to the Rex Major authorities, why wouldn’t they have been waiting for you in force?” Pariseau asked. “And why would they let you get the arms?”

  “Very easily explained,” Kolls said. “But let me give you the complete picture of the betrayal as I see it. You have no direct association with the Rex Major authorities, and your foremost concern is your own gain. Yet your peculiar form of conscience prompted you to attempt to prevent us from ever getting the arms, even while you made money on them. Your original plan very probably was to inform on us after we had paid you; my forcing you to accompany us rather disrupted that double-cross, as far as you were concerned.

  “However, we know that you made a call just before I picked you up. I would surmise that you gave the authorities only a hint as to the location of the arms—just in case your deal with us was held up. The Benz was on a scouting expedition, covering the territory you had hinted at when it spotted us; unfortunately for you, you were in our hands at the time. Now, if there is any flaw in that reasoning, please point it out.”

  There wasn’t much he could say, Pariseau decided quickly. “I’m under the handicap that I can give you only my word for any arguments I might make against it,” he said.

  “That is true,” Kolls agreed. “Even so, I might be inclined to take your word, except for one thing. While the arms and ammunition you sold us are in prime condition, the ammunition does not fit the weapons; together they are worthless. You were attempting to sell us a product which could not be used. That was the final deciding factor in my decision.”

  “You could be figuring wrong there,” Pariseau said. “When I bought that shipment, it had to be done underground; I bought whatever I could get. If you allow me to make other trips you will soon have a wide variety of weapons and most of the ammunition will be useable then.”

  “Possibly,” Kolls said. “But it is another coincidence. Only a fool would allow that many coincidences as probable, and still accept your sincerity of intent. I am not a fool; my decision is that you must die.”

  “But why?” It was Zelda. “What do you have to lose by letting him go? If he is telling the truth he will bring more of the arms that you desperately need; if he isn’t, then all you lose is your revenge.”

  Kolls did not reply. He merely looked at her long and steadily. Zelda met his look unflinchingly, yet she lost all the color in her cheeks at something-she read there.

  Kolls turned his back on her and walked out the door.

  Zelda walked quickly over to Pariseau. “Listen carefully,” she said urgently. “We have only a minute. They will call you outside very soon, and when you go they will kill you. If you stay in here they will come in after you. Your one small chance is that you can surprise them when they open the door by going out quickly, and making a dash for the river.”

  “They’d shoot me before I reached it,” he said. He noted then that she was trembling and put both arms around her.

  “No,” she said. “They don’t have guns. The leaders intend to use your execution as a sport. It will serve as a diversion for the men—so they want you to die slowly. If you can catch them by surprise, you might be able to reach the river and escape.”

  The door opened and they heard Kolls’ voice. “Come out, Zelda.” Suddenly she threw her arms about his waist and hugged him fiercely. She kissed him once—hard—before she pulled herself away. Straightening, and holding herself with a rigid self-control, she walked on stiff, wooden legs through the doorway. The door closed behind her.

  Something in her attitude aroused a vague unease in Pariseau’s mind and he strode to the window and looked out.

  He was just in time to see Kolls bring down a short length of ragged-end pipe in his hand across her face.

  The blow acted as a signal and the Lottenbaies bore down on her like a pack of savage beasts of prey. Shouting and screaming they fought to gain a position where they could strike her. She stood unwavering, until she went down under their blows.

  They hacked and beat at her lifeless form.

  It had happened so unexpectedly and suddenly that it had caught Pariseau unprepared and frozen where he stood; he could not even turn his eyes away from the sight.

  He understood then that she had known that this was going to happen; she had known that when she attempted to shield him, she was risking her own life. And he had thought that the only danger was to himself. But at last the realization of what had happened penetrated, and he felt something within him swell and erupt.

  His cheeks paled as his heart drew blood from his head and sent it to the muscles of his body. He attempted to swallow, and his mouth was dry. His glands poured out their adrenalin.

  His animal body was preparing itself to fight. It was the same process that all animals, man included, experienced in the presence of danger. The only difference was that most men associated the reaction with fear, and were afraid. They used the extra energy and strength to flee. And they were right; they lived to enjoy another day.

  But other men, like Pariseau, by their nature, could not flee. They stayed and fought.
And while in most men the adrenalin was a quick flow, in him it was a tide.

  Pariseau recognized the chemical change in his muscles for what it was. He knew that the rage that held him was not a blind thing, but rather an instinctive reaction, and that instinct was least liable to error in matters of survival. Where survival was concerned it was more acute than his reasoning powers ever could be.

  He felt the tide sweep into his brain and he willingly let it carry all reason before it. There was almost a picture in his mind of that reasoning portion of his brain being swept into a remote corner of his skull where it hung, trapped, only an interested spectator in what was about to happen.

  The moment had not quite come when it would turn amuck.

  Now he stared out of eyes that were calm—but clearly showed the tiger just below the surface—and discovered quickly what he must do.

  He strode across the room to his cot and turned it on its side. Along the bottom of the cot ran two heavy metaloid runners, placed there to give weight and stability to the piece. He rested both feet on the lower runner, bent his back and, with palms facing out, wrapped his powerful fingers around the upper bar. He straightened and the bar came loose with a screeching of tortured, torn metal.

  The weapon he held in his hands must have weighed well over thirty pounds, yet he hefted it a quarter way down its length as though it were weightless. At the far end hung a strip of pliable metaloid whose function had been to shorten or lengthen the bed to fit the sleeper’s form.

  Pariseau was not quite satisfied with the balance of his weapon and he bent the metaloid end around the shaft and looped the tip beneath the final twist. This time when he hefted it in his two hands he was satisfied.

  When the door opened, Pariseau was waiting. He walked slowly out. Suddenly the clamor stopped. The green men looked up, and their faces showed that they knew they were facing something primeval: something above and beyond anything imagined possible, in a human or humanoid.

  It was the potential of wanton, fearsome, destruction that awed them, and from the beginning the Lottenbaies were on the defensive.

  Pariseau singled out his man, Kolls, standing midway back in the crowd. He raised his metal bar and advanced.

  Kolls yelled in his own language, and abruptly the spell was broken. The green men did not advance but they began yelling to give themselves courage and raised their pipes, clubs, and makeshift weapons to meet the advancing engine of destruction.

  Pariseau lifted his heavy bar with both hands and swung it viciously, laying its weight against the first of the green men that opposed him. They were not cowards, however, and now that their momentary funk had left them, they fought back ferociously. Only the speed and power with which Pariseau swung his weapon enabled him to stand up against them.

  But as the fight heightened in fury, Pariseau’s strength seemed to increase—the berserk thing within was in full command now—and he beat the green men down and back. The smile on his face was terrible to see.

  Not once in all this time had he taken his eyes off Kolls. And finally there came the moment when the bodies of the fallen Lottenbaies tangled in the feet of those still fighting—and suddenly Pariseau was face-to-face with his enemy.

  The terror that had been building up in Kolls’ brain, as Pariseau slowly fought his way nearer, showed stark and naked on his face now, and it was an act of desperation as he raised the steel pipe in his hand to strike at his avenger.

  Pariseau’s bar battered the pipe aside and continued on until it struck against the side of Kolls’ head, and Kolls was dead while he still stood on his feet.

  Pariseau slashed three more savage blows into the mob—and he had broken through.

  The factor within him that demanded, his survival—his instinct of self-preservation—acted then, and he dropped his bar and sprinted to the river bank and dove in. The current of the mighty river swept him down and under. He went down and down until the breath left his lungs and he knew that he would never be able to reach the top again. Yet he did.

  His conscious mind had been flogged until it was buried beneath great black clouds of oblivion, yet his body continued to fight, and at last his head broke above the raging waters.

  He sucked the life-giving air into his lungs and regained a glimpse of consciousness before he was carried down once more as the river swept him around a bend. This time he reached the surface still conscious.

  He was able to keep his body afloat now and he let the river carry him away from the Lottenbaie encampment. Only when he was miles down the stream did he crawl out onto the bank.

  * * * *

  For eight days Pariseau walked through the woods and brush. During that time he slept only when completely exhausted; he ate the berries he found as he went along.

  He set his course by the landmarks he had located during his flight with Kolls in the Benz. Toward the end, when his strength threatened to leave him, he kept going by pretending that the next landmark would be the last. And then the next. And the next.

  During the afternoon of the eighth day he came to one of the broad glass highways and stood in the path of the first mobile to come into sight.

  When it stopped he walked over to its side and said to the driver, “I’ve got to have a ride; I’ll pay.”

  The driver stared back at him with wide, apprehensive eyes, but did not argue as Pariseau climbed into the rear seat without waiting for a reply. “Wake me just before we get to the city,” Pariseau said, and was asleep as he finished.

  Rex Major’s sun was making long shadows across the road when the driver woke Pariseau. “The city’s about a mile ahead,” he said.

  Pariseau shook the sleep from his brain and sat up. “Good work,” he muttered. “How much do I owe you?”

  “A five will do.”

  He gave the driver a twenty and climbed out. Mingled pleasure and relief were etched on the man’s face as he drove away.

  Pariseau stood for a time debating whether he should crawl under a bush and sleep, as he felt like doing, or try to get back into the city immediately. He decided quickly not to risk going through the gate again. His best course of action would be to locate the tunnel under the wall. But it might be dark before he succeeded in finding it. He looked around him.

  He was lucky. The tall fir reared its bushy head fifty yards from where he stood. He walked over and let himself into the shack at the edge of the clearing; two hours later he was in his room asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Hesse asked, “How do you feel?”

  “Not too bad,” Pariseau answered. He stretched his legs out on the bed and reached his arms toward the ceiling in a back-arching stretch. “I’m a little stiff and sore yet, but I’ll be all right.”

  The relaxing chair in which Hesse slouched had expanded to its limit to conform with his lounging shape. His shoulders seemed to have absorbed his neck, and his large head rested against the ridge of his collarbone. “Two days isn’t time enough to give you the rest you need,” he said; “you should have at least a couple months.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Pariseau said.

  “It has always been my theory,” Hesse mused, in the tone that told Pariseau that the old man had been delving into the philosophy that was so essential a part of his nature, “that courage is as expendable as physical strength. You have poured out the equivalent of several years of that courage during the past few weeks, and now it must be at its last frayed ends. I’m afraid for you, lad. Perhaps we should stop now.”

  Pariseau watched with a great affection how the harsh strength lines about Hesse’s mouth softened when he spoke; watched the unease that haunted the blue eyes of this man who had never known fear for himself.

  He rose and walked over to the old man. “I’m as fit and ready now as I’ve ever been,” he said, laying an affectionate hand on the bulky shoulder. He made an attempt to turn the conversation to a topic less disquieting for Hesse. “Are the humans getting the unity they need yet?” he asked.

&n
bsp; “They’ve made great progress,” Hesse answered. “They’re fully alerted to their danger now. Rex Major’s delegates have convinced the other worlds that the invasion of the Lottenbaies is imminent, and not a danger of the indefinite future.”

  “Then our work is finished?”

  “Not quite; they still need time. The Arcturian sector has a loose commercial federation and have been able to move fast. They are sending help immediately, but it won’t be enough—alone. The other worlds are acting, but it will be weeks before they can assemble ships, men and equipment—and get them here. Also they should have additional time to build military bases on the rim worlds. We’ve got to find some way to buy that time.”

  “You know I have never had any doubt about the worth of anything you believe is necessary,” Pariseau said thoughtfully, after a minute’s contemplation, “but my contribution to this project of ours has been very nearly all confined to the physical side. I’ve never been too clear in my own mind why we are doing it. Why should we people of Ox II be so determined to maintain the status quo in the galaxy? We ourselves are not interested in racial expansion, and why should the welfare of the humans mean more to us than that of other races—the Lottenbaies included? Why should we be so determined to keep the humans in a dominant position when, by their own admission, they are decadent?”

  Hesse hesitated, searching for the words he wanted. “You,” he said, “have touched a point that often troubles me. The search for truth, and the decision as to what is right and what is wrong, is a long march through the night. We can never be certain, after we’ve made a decision, whether we’ve acted wisely or not.

  “But there are, I suppose, two ways of explaining why we decided as we did in this instance. First, I’ll take the moral basis. We believe in heaven, but it is a heaven that does not exist yet, and which will come into existence only when all men are prepared to attain it. It is a foolhardy moral code that prompts a man to strive alone for that heaven. We must help others—carry them up with us—if our strength is greater than theirs. Otherwise there will be no heaven waiting when we are ready.