Tempers grew short. The men complained to their immediate superiors, but those officers were afraid to pass the complaints on to Storm. They knew what his reaction would be. He drove the work on by sheer will, and he kept himself going with black coffee liberally laced with whisky.
He had a telescope set up in his office, and this was focused on a visi-screen which he had taken from the Astro Star II. Storm spent part of each day studying the visi-screen. He made notes occasionally and consulted his charts. When he came away from the telescope everyone knew it was time to look busy. His temper was apt to be shortest then.
THIRTEEN days after the landing, the girl, Margo, came to his office. She had tried to see him every day since they arrived but he had been too busy. This time she walked in the door and planted herself beside his desk.
“I must speak to you,” she said.
Storm looked up from his work. He needed a shave and his eyes were tired. He saw that she had made herself a costume of sorts from camouflage material. She wore black leather boots, shorts made of yellow canvas, and a leather vest. Her legs were slim and shapely and her short black hair was brushed back above her ears in small* flaring wings. Except for the bitter darkness of he* eyes, and the sadness of the mouth, she was an exciting woman.
“What do you want?” he said, his voice blunt and unfriendly.
“I came here to find Thatcher,” she said. “I—I want to look for him. Please let me go.”
“No, once and for all, no!” Storm said, and slammed his fist down on his desk top. “You’d get lost and we’d have to take valuable men away from important work to look for you.”
“Don’t you have any heart at all?” she cried, and caught his arm as he got to his feet. “I must know if he’s alive or dead. I’ve got to search for him.”
Storm smiled mirthlessly. “You’re on a planet roughly ten times the size of Earth. Where would you start to look for this man?”
“You were here with him and Commander Griffith,” Margo said breathlessly. “You’d know where to look. Are we in the same area now?”
“We are within a hundred square mile area of where we landed eleven years ago,” Storm said. “But what good does that do? A hundred square miles is as vast a million square miles when you’re on foot.”
“You aren’t going to send out a searching party?”
“No,” Storm said flatly.
“What is so important about this work you’re doing?” Margo cried. “You’re killing your men, digging holes and working all night to get space ships ready. Is that more important than looking for human brings who still may be alive, who may need help?”
“My job comes first,” Storm said, angrily. “Now get back to your quarters.”
Margo stood facing him, her breasts rising and falling under her quick breathing. Her eyes were flashing and Storm was suddenly acutely conscious of her as a woman. He saw the smooth swelling sweetness of her breasts, the long supple lines of her bare legs, the smooth column of her throat.
They were alone in a vacuum then into which nothing else could penetrate. Outside, the noises of work seemed distant and faint.
She came closer to him and suddenly her arms were around his neck and her mouth was pressed against his and her slender body strained against him. Storm felt a sharp desperate need that drove everything else from his mind.
And then he suddenly tore her arms from his neck and flung her away from him. She fell to the floor and began to sob.
Storm wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face black and bitter. “You thought I had a price, didn’t you? You thought to buy me as you would buy a hungry man with a beefsteak. Get out!”
When he was alone he went into the bedroom and splashed cold water over his hands and face, and rubbed himself dry with a coarse towel. Then, he poured a canteen cup full of black coffee and dumped four ounces of whisky into it. He drank it down in three gulps and then adjusted the telescope and turned his eyes on the void . . .
He was still at the scope when McDonald, his chief engineer, entered. They exchanged perfunctory salutes and McDonald said, “The fighter ships are ready, sir. We had some trouble with the tubes on number three ship, but it’s all cleared up.”
“Good,” Storm said. “Then we can blast-off any time now?”
“Well . . . yes, but I don’t know that it would be the right thing.”
“What do you mean?” Storm asked sharply.
“The men, sir. They’re tired, worn out. If we start patrols now, it’ll mean keeping extra crews at the field, plus the pilots and crew members for the flying—”
Storm lit a cigar and glanced almost involuntarily at the visi-screen. Then he turned back to McDonald. “I’m not a martinet for the fun of it,” he said. “But it is necessary that we use the men up to their last ounce of strength. That’s all there is to it.”
“Very well, sir,” McDonald said. “The ships are ready.”
“Fine. You’ve done good work. Tell the flight captains to report to me here immediately.”
THERE were four flight captains assigned to the Astro Star II to pilot the fighter ships she carried and these men were in Storm’s office within five minutes. Boyd, a stocky tow-head; Miller, a gangling, sleepy looking man with lightning reflexes; Carney, a grinning Irishman; and Larry Masterson, looking like a sullen angel—stood before Storm, who was seated at his desk.
The captains were tired now, their clothes dusty, their eyes bloodshot, and they needed shaves, baths and sleep.
Storm’s first words caused an almost imperceptible sigh from all four men.
“Regular patrols will start tonight. Two ships will cruise this area continuously. During a change of relief, one ship will remain out, well away from the planet* and continue to reconnoiter, while the two ships of the next shift get away.”
“What are we supposed to be looking for?” Larry Masterson said, sarcastically.
Storm ignored his tone. He turned, faced the visi-screen and pointed to a milky chain of star clusters in its upper left comer.
“You know something about Galaxy X, I presume?”
Three captains nodded, but Larry said, “The old bogey man, eh?” Storm looked at him and said, “Men a damn sight smarter than you, Captain, think otherwise.” He turned to the screen again. “Fifteen years ago we knew there was a life force in this galaxy. Commander Griffith proved to his own satisfaction that sections of this vast universe were at war with other sections of it. He theorized that one section might win a decisive victory and then turn its war-like attentions toward Earth.
“Commander Griffith was called a crackpot, of course. But time has proven him right. There is one section of the galaxy in the ascendancy now. That section has been massing its life units along a chain of stars on the earth-side of the galaxy. Our mission is to patrol the area between Jupiter and the galaxy, to watch what happens to that star-chain on this side of the galaxy, and to relay our information to Earth.”
“You say this starts tonight?” Larry said.
“Yes,” Storm said, standing. “Why?”
LARRY looked at the other three captains, and then squared his shoulders. His curly blond hair hung over his forehead and his face was smudged with dirt. “I’ll speak for myself then,” he said. “We’re worn out with this damn work here. We need a day or two to get rested.”
Storm laughed harshly. “You boasted to me once of loving to fly, of knowing what it was all about, of liking the Space Arm. Sure! You liked flying fat admirals and their wives on trips around the moon. You liked the idea of being a space flyer. You like the uniform. That’s all the Space Arm has been for the last fifteen years. A repository of incompetents. Well, times change. We’re going to work here and do our job. And the patrols will start tonight and continue twenty-four hours every day that were here. That’s all, gentlemen.”
Larry stared at Storm and his face and eyes were rebellious, hot. But he shrugged finally and strode from the office.
Storm sat
at his desk for a few moments studying the visi-screen. He lifted his cup and drank a last mouthful of cold coffee and whisky, then rail a tired hand across his forehead. It was four in the afternoon. He went into his bedroom and threw himself down on the cot, an arm across hi* eyes. The fighter ships wouldn’t blast-off for two or three hours yet, he estimated. Time for him to get some sleep. He closed his burning eyes.
But sleep wouldn’t come, He thought of Margo, of the feel of her body against his, of the smoothness of her skin, the womanly sweep of her hips and breasts . . .
Storm clenched his big hands and tossed restlessly on the cot. She had said once to him that he had never loved! That was both right and wrong. He had loved and loved ardently, but the object of his passion was a cold abstraction. He had loved Earth. He had wanted it to be free and safe. But nothing had come from that love but bitterness and shame.
At last without warning sleep came. His body triumphed. The swirling weary thoughts were conquered by the needs of bone and muscle. He slept deeply, dreamlessly, an arm across his eyes, one leg trailing on the floor.
CHAPTER IV
A SHOUT penetrated Storm’s sleep. Another brought him to full wakefulness. He swung himself up and was striding into his office when the door flew open and a cadet dashed in, his face and eyes terrified.
“What is it?” Storm snapped.
“They’re coming up the hill,” the cadet gasped. “Major McDonald sent me to get you. He—”
Storm shoved past the cadet and stepped outside. Directly ahead of him, about two hundred yards away, a slope began that led down into a broad valley. Storm had gone over the valley carefully the first day they arrived and found nothing but the usual purple-tinted, flint-like soil, and occasional tufts of vegetation tougher than steel wire.
Now Storm saw a knot of his men at the crest of the slope, and several men running back toward the compound.
He started to run.
Major McDonald turned as he charged up and Storm was shocked at the ghastly pallor of the engineer’s face. The man couldn’t speak. He waved to Storm and pointed toward the valley.
Storm trotted up the sharp rise to the crest of the hill and looked out at the valley, and the sight that met his eyes brought an icy film of perspiration to his face.
Coming toward him with the inexorability of a glacier, were hordes of great metal monsters, rank after rank of them, stretching down into the valley as far as his eye reached. The clanking, grinding noise they made carried clearly on the dank cold air, and there was something in their progress, an inevitability in their approach, that raised the hackles on his neck.
They were moving faster than he had first judged. Within five minutes the vanguard of the weird creatures would reach the spot where the Earthmen were standing. Storm could see them clearly, now make out the details of their construction.
They stood six feet tall, with arms and legs attached in a semblance of the human form, and above the broad flat shoulders were bucket-like heads cut in square ugly angles, with slits for mouth and eyes.
Light from the artificial suns at the compound reflected off the rows of rivets on the machines, and as they moved forward toward Storm they winked and flashed as if charged with electricity.
Storm drew his heat gun and took careful aim on one of the foremost robots.
He fired a beam that hit the creature below its left knee joint. The metal dissolved and the robot fell ponderously to the ground where it lay like a broken toy.
But the remaining horde continued its inevitable, engulfing march.
“It won’t do any good to shoot them,” McDonald said, desperately.
“No,” Storm said. “Not with hand weapons, at any rate.” He swung around to survey the situation. Men were coming out of their huts at the compound and staring toward the hill where Storm stood. To his right, a mile off, was the space ship field with the blast-off tubes pointing up to the sky. And beyond that was the mighty bulk of the bistro Star II. A tight grimace of satisfaction touched Storm’s face as he saw the giant atomic cannons protruding from the hull of their ship.
“We’ll retreat to the Astro Star,” he snapped. “We can burn these robots down with one sweep of those starboard cannons.”
“That’s right,” McDonald said. “I didn’t think of it!”
THEY began a careful but hasty retreat. Storm trotted ahead and rounded up all crew members at the compound and told them to head for the Astro Star. The girl, Margo, came out of her hut and he sent her along with the advance section from the crew.
Now the leading robots had topped the crest of the hill and were lumbering along toward the compound. But half-way there they changed direction and continued after Storm and his followers, who were bringing up the rear of the retreat.
“The damn things are after us!” McDonald shouted. “They’re passing up the compound entirely.”
“Let’s keep ahead of them, then,” Storm said grimly. He didn’t know whether the robots’ intentions were lethal; but he didn’t intend to investigate that possibility yet.
Suddenly a shout sounded at the head of the ragged column of Earthmen.
“Good God!” McDonald cried.
Storm swung around and saw that another column of the massive robots had appeared on the slope below the space-ship base. This contingent swarmed in seemingly endless numbers past the blast-off tubes and surged along to meet the first group.
Storm and his crew were caught in a pinchers movement. They were cut off from the Astro Star.
There was only one course left to take, Storm saw. That was to make a right-angle turn and attempt to get around the first horde and back to the compound, where there were steel shelters and rifles.
Storm heard a scream then went through him like a cold knife. Wheeling, he saw that the girl, Margo, had fallen in the pathway of the advancing robots. She tried to rise, then fell back to the ground. One crew member started back for her. The rest of the crew were rushing to get out of the closing jaws of the robot attack.
Storm said to McDonald, “Get to the compound, and into my office as fast as you can. You’re in charge.”
HE turned then and raced back toward Margo. The ground was uneven and treacherous beneath his feet, and he saw with horror that he and the leading robot were going to reach the girl at about the same time. The crew member who had gone to her aid was a mechanic, a husky fearless man, but his face was ashen as he tugged at the girl’s arm.
Storm whipped out his ray gun and burned the metal legs off the charging robot. The creature fell with a metallic crash, both great arms still reaching out for the two humans.
That gave them, ten seconds. Storm saw that Margo’s face was white and drawn. She was pushing the crew member away from her.
“Don’t stay with me!” she gasped. “It’s my knee. They’ll get us both!” Storm scooped her up in his arms and flipped his gun to the mechanic.
“Cover us,” he shouted to the man, and ran as fast as he could to get clear of the engulfing tide of robots, There was a pathway now about fifty yards between the two waves of metal monsters, and through this rapidly narrowing channel Storm dashed with the girl. Beside him the mechanic was picking off robots, first on one side, then the other.
The robots, Storm saw, were slow in changing course. On a straightaway they could lumber ahead at surprising speed; but now some of them were starting to turn to follow him, and they performed this maneuver clumsily, haltingly.
It was this delay that gave him a chance to get away. He dodged through the last of the creatures as the two waves came together with a crack. Some of the robots were bowled over by the impact, and the others milled and churned around as they attempted to get clear and follow Storm.
By that time Storm was twenty-five yards up the side of the mountain, and from there he cut left and ran alongside the unorganized mass of robots. Some of the creatures on the fringe of the horde turned and began a clumsy ascent of the rocky hill; but Storm outdistanced them easily.
The compound loomed ahead. Every steel door was closed tight, and from every window squat deadly atomic rifles were thrust. Nothing stirred except the slowly moving muzzles that covered Storm, the girl, and the mechanic.
Storm trotted straight to his headquarters. His arms were aching and each breath seared his lungs painfully.
The door swung open and they were inside. The girl was lifted from Storm’s arm and carried into his bedroom. Someone thrust a rifle into his hands.
Questions, babbled questions, beat at his ears. He held up a hand and called for silence in his harsh voice.
“I don’t know what they are, how they operate, or who sent them,” he said. “So don’t worry about that now. By God, we’re in for a fight! Don’t waste a round. Shoot them in bunches if you can. Maybe we can build a wall of disabled robots that the rest can’t climb.”
He told McDonald to call him when the first robots appeared in the compound. Then he went into his bedroom. The girl lay on his cot. She was pale and her mouth was twisted with pain.
“You said I’d cause trouble,” she said weakly.
“Never mind that.” He straightened her leg and then felt her knee gently. “Nothing broken,” he said. “A bad wrench.”
“It doesn’t matter. What in the name of God are they?”
“I don’t know. I’m going now. Are you afraid.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, “But it’s all right.”
“Good girl,” he said. He felt sorry for her. This was bad enough for a man. He put his hand awkwardly on her forehead in a gesture of comfort then got to his feet.
He was turning to the door when McDonald’s voice, loud and fear-laden, shouted his name.
STORM hurried through the door into his office and pushed his way through the knots of men who were clustered there. McDonald was at a window, staring out into the compound, his jaw slack with astonishment.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 252
