Complete Fiction

by Hal Annas

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  Complete Fiction

  Hal Annas

  (custom book cover)

  Jerry eBooks

  “Introducing the Author”

  Bibliography

  Short Fiction Series

  The Ultimate Quest

  Maid—To Order!

  The Longsnozzle Event

  No Sons Left to Die!

  Fishers of Men

  Man-Trap

  Invasion of the Dark Ones

  Reckoning from Eternity

  Daughter of Doom

  Infinity to Infinity: Witch of the Dark Star

  My Head is Ticking

  Magician-Second Class

  Introducing the AUTHOR

  «

  Hal Annas

  «

  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC sketches are considered apologies or alibis by the cynical.

  Well, I’ve always needed an alibi and I might as well fix up a good one to cover all circumstances.

  I was born in a house beside a stream of red mud connecting two cottonmill hamlets in the Bible Belt of the South. I was young and adventurous and soon moved to a house on a hill overlooking a cornmill.

  The mill had a big waterwheel. It was about as tall as a corncrib after the hay has been gathered into the barn. On the same shaft was a wooden pulley. It was bigger than a henhouse even when the hens are setting. Around the pulley went a rope belt and on to a smaller pulley. This powered the whole works.

  To the mill would come rosy cheeked girls in overalls carrying a sack of corn and leading a cow. The cow would eat the husk on the spot and the girls would have to carry only the ground meal back home.

  Also would come, astride flopeared mules, redfaced young men, a shotgun under one arm, a pair of brass knucks in the hip pocket, and a sack of corn before and aft.

  The corn would be emptied into the hopper. Everybody would get ready, sort of holding his breath. The miller would climb upon a box and push upward on the scantling that ran through the roof. That would lift the floodgate.

  Water would come rushing down the millrace, bringing ducks and fish, and pouring into the buckets of the waterwheel. The wheel would creak and groan and strain and labor and begin to turn. The wheels inside the mill would go faster and faster, the grinding stones would begin to sing, the millhouse would shake, the ducks would quack, the fish leap.

  The corn would be crushed by the whirling stones and the meal would come out and go through the sifter, separating the husk. The miller would then take his share, as toll for the grinding, up to the house on the hill where his wife would make part of it into cornbread and where he would make the remainder into a mash that would later become a nourishing liquid. Thus he lived off the fat of the land, always with plenty to eat—and drink.

  This Golden Age was in some dim past—the first year of my life! The remainder can be summarized briefly.

  It is customary to list schools attended. I never was very ignorant and didn’t need to go to school. I did go five years, though, and became marble champion.

  We were told then that boys that got educated would become president. It was a responsibility I didn’t want. I quit and went to work. I’ve been working at one thing and another since, mostly news reporting.

  That ought to be alibi enough for just about anything.

  —Hal Annas

  Originally appeared in Imagination, September 1953

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  The Ultimate Quest, Imagination, December 1950

  Maid—To Order!, Imagination, February 1951

  The Longsnozzle Event, Imagination, April 1951

  No Sons Left to Die!, Imagination, September 1953

  Fishers of Men, Dynamic Science Fiction, October 1953

  Man-Trap, Imagination, December 1953

  Invasion of the Dark Ones, Mystic Magazine, January 1954

  Reckoning from Eternity, Other Worlds Science Stories, November 1955

  Daughter of Doom, Other Worlds Science Stories, February 1956

  Infinity to Infinity: Witch of the Dark Star, Other Worlds Science Stories, April 1956

  My Head is Ticking, Other Worlds Science Stories, November 1956

  Magician-Second Class, Other Worlds Science Stories, March 1957

  SHORT FICTION SERIES

  Novakkan

  Reckoning from Eternity

  Daughter of Doom

  Infinity to Infinity: Witch of the Dark Star

  The Ultimate Quest

  Man has evolved slowly, always striving toward a nebulous goal somewhere in his future. Will he attain it—to regret it? . . .

  STRIDING down the corridor on long thin legs, Art Fillmore mentally glanced over the news and his wide brow puckered. “Scientists to awaken twentieth century man,” the mental beam proclaimed. “Dark age to yield untold volumes of ignorance.”

  Fillmore paused before the twelve-foot door, closed his eyes and concentrated until he had achieved the proper attenuation, then entered the office without opening the door. The bald man in the reclining chair dropped his feet from the five-foot-high desk and sat up with a start.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Art,” he said nervously. “You know I’ve got the itch.”

  “Sorry,” Fillmore apologized. “Wasn’t thinking. Had my mind on my forthcoming wedding.”

  “Wedding?” The bald man’s narrow mouth dropped open, revealing small fragile teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me? What does she look like?”

  “Haven’t seen her yet,” Fillmore grinned, “Just mental images, and you know how girls are when they project their own images. But she’s a mental pippin: seven feet eight or nine with a shape you dream about. Must weigh about eighty-two or three pounds.”

  “Too fat,” the bald man grunted. “I never liked the short and fat type. Have you paid for her yet?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve got the cash and I’ll get a discount.”

  “How much?”

  “Dollar sixty-nine less three per cent.”

  “Good Lord!” The bald man leaned forward, aghast. “For that price she must be a pippin. Why, you can buy two hundred average women for that and the market’s glutted with them. How old is she?”

  “Hundred and nine.”

  “Oh! That explains it. You’re practically getting her right out of the cradle and can teach her whatever you want her to know and see that she doesn’t learn anything else. Has she got any mental quirks?” Fillmore sighed. “She’s almost perfect in that respect. Doesn’t have to have her mind erased but once every six weeks. Nine power intelligence but she holds it back. That way she doesn’t come anywhere near a nervous breakdown oftener than once in six weeks.”

  “Domestic type?”

  “Definitely. Regular homebody. Never been out of the solar system. She’s the kind that likes a quiet picnic on Mars and will settle for the moon when Mars is crowded. Besides, she’s interested largely in warts and mice. Studies them all the time. Knows how to grow warts on anybody.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Art. Planned the honeymoon yet?”

  “Sure. She’s going to Venus while I go in the opposite direction. Haven’t decided yet where I’ll spend that happy time. On one of the planets of the nearer stars, I suppose.”

  “That’s perfect,” the bald man said approvingly. “My wife made me stay on earth while she went to the moon. That’s too close for comfort. After all, you don’t have but one real honeymoon, and in my opinion every man and woman should strive to make it as nearly perfect as possible. I think the government ought to subsidize that sort of thing. The
n the happy couple could put more distance between them. Think what bliss could be achieved if the man could afford to go the maximum distance in one direction and send his wife twice that far in the other direction. I mean to say, happiness is next to the ultimate, and if they could be separated so far that no trace of one ever got back to the other—well, just think of it! We would never hear of divorce again.”

  FILLMORE’S thin angular features darkened. “It is sad to think of the divorces. There’s been a dozen in the past half a century. But isn’t it because the couples were immature? Some of them married at under eighty years of age, and they insisted on living on the same side of the earth with each other.”

  “You’re pretty young yourself,” the bald man put in.

  “I’m ninety-six,” Fillmore said defensively. “That’s plenty old for a man. All of my people, matured early.”

  “And probably died early.”

  “Yes.” Fillmore nodded. “A few of them lived to be nearly five hundred, but they were mostly females. The males usually check out between two and three hundred. Their fourteen power intelligence burns them up.”

  “Had your mind erased recently?”

  “Yesterday. Did it so I could accept Cynthia’s proposal without any reservation.”

  “Cynthia?”

  “That’s what I call her. Her real name is Xylosh. She found the name Cynthia in one of those books of ignorance unearthed from the ruins of that ancient farm called New York. She asked me to call her by that name. You know how girls are!”

  “Sure. They are all very romantic. She may even expect you to be present at the wedding.”

  Fillmore shook his head and grinned. “She knows better than to spoil things. And I love her too much to let anything like that happen. The ceremony will take place near the earth at the hour when the north pole and the south pole swap places. I’ll be somewhere beyond the sun at that time.”

  “Figuring on any children?”

  “Of course. She wants three. We’ll have them just before the ceremony.”

  “That’s fine. Gets the dirty work out of the way before marriage and then there’s nothing to spoil it. But how are you figuring—”

  “That’s what I came to see you about. I want to borrow your secretary.”

  “For what?”

  “Well, it’s like this. I’m old fashioned. I believe there ought to be some personal contact between a man and his wife before they have children. These laboratory things are so cold-blooded. Mental projections are much better. But there ought to be some personal contact.”

  “So?”

  “So I want to shake hands with your secretary, then she’ll shake hands with you and you shake hands with one of your men who’s going east and he shakes hands with somebody on the east coast who knows Cynthia’s father and that man shakes hands with her father and her father shakes hands with one of his men who shakes hands with his secretary who passes it along until it finally comes to Cynthia. That will give the matter a sort of warmth and personal touch, and then, just before the ceremony, Cynthia and I will mentally project the three children.”

  “Very touching,” the bald man said almost tearfully. “I doubted at first that you and Cynthia actually loved each other, but I see now that any two people so affectionate can’t help but love one another. You’ll love the children, too.”

  “Of course. We’re going to materialize them fully developed in the government nursery. It will take two or three minutes longer, but we intend to give them a well-rounded education at the beginning. I want the boys to understand the simpler mathematics, such as the theory of relativity and why it is possible to add numerals until you get an answer of zero square. Of course, not everyone can square zero, and it may take ten or fifteen seconds just to teach them that, but I don’t want them to grow up to be two or three hours old and still be ignorant. Then, after they’ve learned those little unimportant things, I’ll get down to the business of teaching them everything there is to know. It will take over two minutes and possibly three. Then we’ll erase their minds.”

  “Very ambitious. But what about the girl?”

  “Cynthia thinks she ought to learn about warts and I agree. If she learns to grow warts she’ll have a first-class female education, I can’t think of anything finer in our society. And Cynthia even plans to teach her all about mice.”

  “It’s beautiful,” the bald man said. “I’ll have my secretary in whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks. But not just yet. Chloroform her first. It makes me nervous to be around conscious females. They talk too much.”

  “Naturally. I don’t expect to allow her to speak in your presence. Think I’m a fool without morals? We’ve got to preserve the conventions. If she saw those three strands of hair on your head she’d swoon. You’re the only man in the nation with more than twelve power intelligence who isn’t bald. If I didn’t know you well I’d think you were effeminate. My wife got a mental glimpse of you once and said you were the handsomest man extant. It’s those three strands of blond hair. Even the most beautiful woman in the world doesn’t have more than six or seven. I’ll bet you really projected those in a big way for Cynthia.”

  FILLMORE felt the blood rising to his pale cheeks. “I didn’t make any special effort,” he denied. “Anyway, I’m very presentable. Just under nine feet tall and weigh close to a hundred. My forehead is twelve inches across and eight inches high from the root of the nose. That’s better than average. Few men measure more than eleven inches across the forehead.”

  “True,” the bald man admitted “And some persons are troubled with a chin. Fortunately you don’t have one. I’ve got to admit that you are typical of the finer specimens of masculine beauty. Do you ever have a headache?”

  “Not since I had my skull cracked. Finest Ducktor in the realm did it with a hammer. Said I needed mare room to let my brain expand.”

  “Of course. I’ve got a two-inch brain expansion myself. Had to soak my skull in oil until it became malleable enough to allow for the normal brain growth. I’ve heard of some men having their brain taken out.”

  “Yeah. Some people are better off without it. But then they have to install an antennae. I wouldn’t like that. Which reminds me of something: Got a news flash that scientists were going to awaken a twentieth century man. I don’t approve of that sort of thing, but I’m going along to watch. Last time they awakened something from the past it took us quite a while to recover from the mental shock. Had to have my mind erased six times in as many days. Couldn’t we do something to stop it?”

  “There might be something,” said the bald man. “Corson was working on something that would eliminate the past and make everything the present. Only trouble seemed to be that the future got mixed up in it. No. We don’t have much chance in that direction—unless—”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Fillmore said. “I’ve been working on it myself. Gave it nine seconds solid thought yesterday. If I hadn’t been interrupted I might have got it. You’re thinking about pure reasoning before the fact.”

  “Exactly. What are your conclusions?”

  “It’s possible. The square of nothing equals nothing. When you put nothing times nothing on paper it comes out minus infinity or infinity minus. Thus you have something. Take a mind without a fact and let it confront nothing. Almost at once it will raise nothing to the power of six. It will still have nothing, and so it will head in the other direction until it gets down to infinity minus. That in itself is reasoning a priori, Now it has a foundation and from that it can arrive at any conclusion extant, and quite a few that don’t exist. Is that what you had in mind?”

  “No. I want a conclusion without troubling to confront the mind with even nothing. That is the only way to get pure reasoning.”

  “If you can give me ten seconds more I’ll work it out for you.”

  “You’ve already been here thirteen seconds and I’m getting bored. I only get three thousand dollars a day for sitting here, a
nd at slave wages like that I can’t put up with too much.”

  Fillmore nodded. “And prices are away out of reach too. Only the other day I spent six cents for twelve barrels of thousand-year-old whiskey. The world has been aiming at high wages and low prices for the past ten thousand years and we’re still slaving and starving. You never told me exactly what you do.”

  “I work pretty hard. You see, this chair has coils in it that convert heat into Zeta Rays by shortening the wave-length. I sit here for twenty-nine minutes each day, two days a month, and concentrate all my heat through the seat of my pants. It goes through the converter and comes out Zeta Rays in China. Zeta Rays are no good for anything except to convert ordinary rock into gold, so the Chinese pipe it to Russia. Gold, being soft, is good for nothing except to bum ceremoniously in accordance with the ancient religious rites, and so a lot of it is stolen and sold on the gray market to be converted into uranium. Uranium, being useless except for fissionable purposes, is used for fertilizer in the mineral laboratories where iron is grown. Iron is no good for anything except food, and you can’t put very much of it in ordinary food, and so it is dissolved into an iron vapor and freed in the atmosphere. Iron vapor gets heavier as it cools, and so it settles on top of the clouds and holds them close to the earth and keeps the warmth of the world from escaping. So, as I sit here and warm this chair, I’m keeping the world warm.”

  “And getting only three thousand dollars for twenty-nine minutes of that sort of slave labor! Scandalous! I’ll bet you can’t afford more than a hundred vacations a year. We might as well be back in the dark age of the twentieth century. I’ve been advocating a one-minute workday for the past decade, one day a month, two months a year. What good is civilization if it doesn’t provide something for the poor working man? And people call me a visionary, with Utopian ideas! Bah! If I’m not mistaken, you’re the man with the seat of his intelligence in the back of his lap! Right? You’re being exploited!”

  THE bald man shook his head.