Collected fiction, p.180
Collected Fiction, page 180
Like an avalanche, the hoofs of the invaders thundered across the Earth.
“Slay!” they shouted.
Their curved swords glittered. Their horse-tail standards shook in the chill winds that followed them from the North. Their spears drank deep, lifted, dripping red! Great beast-faced giants who rode like centaurs and fought like devils, they bathed the East in rivers of blood.
Slay! Show no mercy. Prisoners mutter and revolt, therefore take no prisoners. Only slay!
Over these barbarians Dro-Ghir ruled.
Ardath’s vision screen had showed him that Dro-Ghir camped with a group of his men, not far away. But night had fallen before he reached the outposts and was accosted by a wary sentry.
In the moonlight, the guard’s face was like that of a gargoyle. He lifted his spear—and held it rigid as Ardath’s gaze met and locked with his. A silent conflict flared without words or actions between the two men.
As the stronger will mastered, the sentry turned and led the Kyrian into the midst of a group of goat-skin tents. Before the largest he paused. A few soldiers were sitting here and there by their fires. They looked up curiously, but none offered to interfere.
The sentry lifted the tent-flap and Ardath entered. He felt an involuntary tension as he faced the baffling Dro-Ghir.
A few small lamps of pottery, with wicks protruding from reeking animal-oil, cast a flickering yellowish gleam on the tent walls. There were some beast-skins scattered around haphazardly, but nothing more. A man reclined at length on a greasy fur, and he looked up sharply as the intruder entered.
Dro-Ghir was a giant as huge as Thordred. He wore nothing but a loose robe, which left his shaggy breast bare. His thick black beard was shiny with oil. His long, thick mustache had been twisted into two short braids and tied with golden wire. A fur cap covered his head. His face was that of a blindly ferocious beast. The low brow slanted back. The thick lips revealed yellow, broken tusks. In the shallow eyes was little sign of intelligence.
Ardath frowned in wonder. Was this the genius he sought?
CHAPTER IX
Li Yang
DRO-GHIR surged up in one swift motion. His hand brought out a short throwing-spear, which he leveled at Ardath.
“Li Yang!” he roared. “Come here!” Ardath had already taken pains to learn the language of the barbarian hordes.
“I mean no harm,” he began. “I merely—”
“Peace, Lord,” a new voice broke in. “He comes unarmed. Wait!”
Someone was crouching in the shadows. Ardath peered intently into the darkness. He saw a gross lump of a man, an absurdly fat Oriental who sat cross-legged in the gloom. Sharp black eyes, almost hidden in the sagging pads of the bland round face, stared back at Ardath. The tiny, red lips were childlike, and the domelike skull was bald and shining. Li Yang wore a loose robe, girt about his bulging waist by a golden cord.
Dro-Ghir had also swiveled to peer at the Oriental.
“Hear his words,” Li Yang counseled, and picked up a lutelike instrument at his side. Idly he strummed the strings as he gave his advice. “There is no harm in words.”
But Dro-Ghir did not release his grip on the spear. He stood with legs wide apart, watching Ardath.
“Well?” he demanded.
The Kyrian spread his hands in appeal.
“I come in peace.”
“How did you get through the lines?”
“That does not matter. I have a message for you.”
Dro-Ghir growled a savage threat deep in his throat.
“Let him speak, Lord,” Li Yang whispered.
“Then speak—but swiftly!”
Swiftly Ardath told his story. He was still puzzled, and he grew more bewildered as he searched the dull, ferocious eyes of the chieftain. No understanding woke in them, yet Ardath plunged on, explaining his purpose, asking Dro-Ghir to come with him into time.
Finally he finished. There was tense silence as the lamps sputtered and flickered eerily. At last the soft twang of the lute murmured vaguely.
“What is your answer?” Ardath asked.
Dro-Ghir tugged at his beard, while his hand was still clenched about the spear. Abruptly the Oriental broke in.
“Lord, I think this foreigner has strange powers. It would be well to make him welcome.”
The Oriental heaved to his feet, a flabby behemoth from the furs, and the pudgy hand made a swift motion to Dro-Ghir. The chieftain hesitated. Then his face broke into a wolfish grin.
“Good. We are not enemies, you and I. Break bread with me.”
Li Yang shuffled ponderously forward, thrust a cake of mealy, unleavened bread into Dro-Ghir’s paw. The chieftain broke the cake into halves and handed Ardath one, stuffing the other into his capacious mouth. The crumbs that fell were caught in his filthy beard.
WARILY the Kyrian ate. Something was amiss here, though what is was, he did not know.
“You will come with me?” he asked. “I am tired of using force. If you refuse, I shall merely leave you and continue my search.”
“Drink!” Dro-Ghir roared.
He seized a hollowed horn from Li Yang and thrust it at Ardath. The Oriental gave Dro-Ghir another cup. The wine was hotly spiced and steaming.
“In friendship—drink!”
The barbarian chief lifted the horn to his lips and drained it. Ardath followed his example. Slowly he lowered the cup.
Li Yang was back in his corner, strumming at the lute.
His voice rose in a monotonous Oriental song.
“All men see the petals of the rose drift down, the jasmine fades, the lotus passes. . . .”
Dro-Ghir stood motionless. Abruptly his huge hand tightened on the drinking-horn, and it shattered.
His hair-fringed mouth gaped open in agony. Only a choking snarl rasped out.
“But no man sees his own doom in the falling of the rose. . . .”
The chieftain’s body arched back. He clawed at his throat, his contorted face blindly upturned. Then he crashed down, as a tree falls, and lay silent on a dirty bear fur. A single shudder shook the gross form, before Dro-Ghir was utterly still.
Ardath caught his breath.
His glance probed the Oriental’s sharp black eyes as Li Yang stood up hurriedly.
“We must go before Dro-Ghir’s body is found. Most of the men are in a drunken stupor, as always after a victory. Hurry!”
“Wait,” Ardath protested. “I do not understand.”
The Oriental’s bland face was immobile, but his black eyes twinkled with malicious amusement.
“Dro-Ghir signaled me to give you the poisoned cup. I gave him the deadly wine, instead. Listen, Ardath—that is your name, I think. Your words were not for this barbarian chief. Ever since Dro-Ghir captured me, years ago, I have served him with my wisdom. He spared me because I gave him good counsel.”
Ardath’s eyes widened, startled by the simple explanation. Li Yang had been the power behind Dro-Ghir’s throne.
The Oriental was the genius who had inspired the invader!
“I am tired of being a slave,” said Li Yang frankly. “Eventually Dro-Ghir would have doubted my wisdom, and would have slain me. Also, I do not like this savage world. Let me go with you, Ardath, into the future”—he glanced at the grease-stained furs—“where, at least, there may be more comfortable couches.”
Involuntarily Ardath’s solemn face relaxed in a gentle smile. He could not help liking this blandly frank Oriental, who played soft music with one hand while he administered poison with the other.
“Very well,” he agreed. “Let us go. What of the guards—can we pass through their lines?”
“Unless Dro-Ghir’s body is discovered. In that case, not even I will be above suspicion, so we must hurry.”
THE two slipped quietly from the tent and under a swollen red moon they walked through the encampment. Only when the fires had grown dim behind them did they breathe freely once more.
Li Yang pointed up to the smoke from the camp that drifted across Earth’s satellite.
“Barbarian flames darken the Moon-lantern,” he said softly. “In future ages, the smoke may have drifted away. Not for many centuries, though, I think.”
Ardath did not answer, for he was concentrating on the brain of the man who walked beside him. Presently he sighed with an emotion that was close to despair.
His quest was not over. Li Yang was wise, far ahead of his time in intelligence, but he was not the superbeing Ardath sought. The search must still go on through the eons. But Li Yang would be a good companion to have, despite his shortcomings.
After awhile, they came in sight of the ship.
The Oriental’s lips quivered, though his face remained immobile.
“The chariot actually flies?” he asked in awe. “It is truly wonderful, like the fabled dragon of Sti-Shan.”
On the threshold of the golden ship, Ardath paused a moment. His gaze went to the blue curtain that flickered across the laboratory door. Then he looked sharply at Thordred and Jansaiya, who were rising from their couches.
Jansaiya’s elfin features betrayed nothing, though there was a hint of fear in the sea-green eyes. Thordred’s beard bristled with apparent indignation.
“It is time you returned!” he growled. “Look!” He pointed toward the laboratory. Silently Ardath entered, Li Yang at his heels. Ignoring their apparent interest in the Oriental, he lifted his brows in a question.
“Enemies,” Thordred grunted, his yellow eyes angry. “They came from the forest. I—” He looked away involuntarily. “I opened the door, which was wrong, I admit. But I was curious—”
“Go on, “Ardath ordered unemotionally.
“Well, the barbarians saw us. They came toward the ship, yelling and hurling spears. I shut the port and barred it, but they hammered so hard on the metal I feared they’d break through.”
“No spear can pierce the hull,” Ardath replied quietly.
“Jansaiya was frightened, and I was weaponless. I thought I could find a weapon in your laboratory. But when I tried to enter—” He made a quick, angry gesture toward the threshold. “You do not trust us, I see.”
“You are wrong.” Ardath smiled suddenly. “I take precautions against possible enemies, but you are not my enemy, Thordred. The barbarians fled?”
“They gave up at last,” Thordred blurted hurriedly. “But if they had broken in, we would have been slaughtered like trapped beasts.”
Ardath shrugged indifferently.
“It should be forgotten. We have a new companion. And soon we must sleep again for centuries.”
Thordred said nothing. His eyes were veiled, but slow rage mounted within him. Again he had failed. Not completely, though—He had not betrayed himself, and as yet Ardath suspected nothing.
They must sleep again, yet they would awaken.
Thordred’s fist clenched. The next time, he would not fail!
CHAPTER X
The Living Death
STEPHEN Court was in his Wisconsin laboratory-home. With Marion and Sammy, he had returned from Canada and plunged immediately into a desperate succession of experiments. Slowly, painfully, he made progress.
“We have two goals,” he told Marion, his dark eyes gleaming behind lids that were red with lack of sleep. “First—”
“First you’ve got to eat something,” the girl interrupted.
She brought a tray to Court’s desk and set it down. Silently he nodded his thanks. Wolfing a sandwich without tasting it, he kept on talking.
“Remember what I told you about seeing a golden space ship on an orbit around the Earth? I’ve been checking that. I have a hunch there’s some clue connected with that ship.”
“How do you figure that out?” Marion perched on a corner of the desk, her trim legs swinging under the lab smock she wore.
“The ship was obviously created by some civilization far in advance of ours. That means their science was also in advance of today’s. Perhaps in that vessel I can find some weapon—some method unknown to modern science—that will help me fight the plague. The very least it can do is set me on the right track”
Marion patted her dark hair into place, though she boasted that she had lost all the silly feminine habits.
“How can you reach the ship? Space travel is impossible.”
Court smiled. “It was impossible. Rockets are useless as yet, because the fuel problem’s insurmountable. Balloons aren’t practical. But there is a way of overcoming gravitation.”
“Good Lord!” The girl slid down from the desk and stood staring. “You don’t mean—”
“Hold on. I haven’t done anything yet, except make some spectroscopic analyses. Marion, that space ship isn’t made of gold! It’s a yellow metal, an unknown alloy. I haven’t finished analyzing it, but I know there’s magnesium there, tungsten, and other elements. The virtue of that alloy is that, properly magnetized, it becomes resistant to gravitation.”
“How?” she asked, amazed.
Court tapped idly on the tray as he replied.
“I’m just theorizing, though I feel pretty certain. Earth is a gigantic magnet. You know that. Well, like poles repel, opposite poles attract. If we could set up a magnetic force absolutely identical to Earth’s, we could utilize that principle. So far it hasn’t been done, except by the unknowns who built that golden ship. If I can duplicate the alloy—which I think I can do—and shoot the right sort of energy into it, we’ll have a space ship.”
“Whew!” Marion breathed, and she blinked. “Then you’ll go out after—”
“The golden vessel? Yes. It may be a wild goose chase, for all I know, but the chance is worth taking. I may find scientific knowledge that will be just what I need.”
The girl turned away with such haste that Court looked at her sharply.
“What is it?” he demanded.
She shook her head speechlessly. Court got up swiftly and swung her around to face him. There were tears in her lovely brown eyes.
“Tell me what it is!” he commanded. “What’s wrong?”
She bit her lip. “You’ll think I’m foolish.”
“I said, tell me what it is!”
“I’m just superstitious,” Marion burst out. “It isn’t scientific at all. But for a minute I had the queerest feeling that—that—”
“Well?” he said impatiently, frowning and gripping her shoulders.
“That there’s danger in that ship,” she whispered. “Danger to you, Stephen. As though that golden ship had been waiting for ages, perhaps—just for the moment when you’d enter it.”
HE grinned ironically and sat down again. Gulping milk, he watched Marion laughingly over the rim of the glass.
“A sort of ancient rendezvous.” he teased. “You’re under a nervous tension, Marion. We all are,” he admitted, sobering. “And there’s reason enough, I’m afraid.”
They fell painfully silent. Both were thinking of the man who lay alone in a lead-plated room upstairs. Sammy was already being ravaged by the frightful plague from outer space. Court got up, squaring his shoulders with decision.
“He didn’t back down, you know, and I certainly won’t run from a shadow. Get my suit, Marion. It’s time to check up on Sammy again.”
Nervously she helped Court don the armor.
“There’s something going on at the village,” she said. “Not a—a shadow, either. Since the plague has hit the newspapers, the villagers are frightened.”
“Why?” Court asked, slipping on his gloves. “There’s been only one case in this country as yet, and that was in Georgia. Europe, Africa, China? Sure. But—”
“Somebody’s been talking. They know about Sammy. They claim that you’re exposing the whole village to deadly danger by keeping Sammy here.”
“Damned idiots!” He made an impatient gesture with his lead-gauntleted hand. “Sammy’s completely isolated. There’s no danger at all.”
“There’re not scientists,” she argued. “Just ordinary people, most of them fairly uneducated. But they’ve got families, and—Well, I’m afraid.”
“The police can’t touch me.”
“It’s not that.” Marion bit her lip and paused. Then she shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. But I hope nothing happens.”
“Nothing will,” he assured her.
He went out, hurrying through a long corridor to a lead-plated door. When he knocked, there was no response. Making sure there were no gaps in his armor, Court entered the experimental room.
It was large, yet amazingly cluttered with apparatus. The lead walls dully reflected the dim light. On white-topped tables by the hospital bed lay gauges, indicators, and enigmatic looking devices.
The figure on the bed was completely unrecognizable. The metamorphosis had come so swiftly that Sammy was horribly inhuman in appearance. His skin emitted a silvery radiance. His face was a mere bag of loosely wrinkled skin, hanging repulsively about the jutting nose. His mouth was invisible below eyes that were gleaming but blind.
Court fought down the sick horror that tore at his stomach. He dared not give way to sentiment, nor even admit its existence. Before him was a test case, a laboratory subject. That was all. He must forget that he had ever known the old man, that the faithful regenerated tramp has been his only friend, his entire family. . . .
“Hello, Sammy,” he said in a voice that would not lose its choked quality. “How do you feel?”
There was no motion perceptible in the shrunken body on the bed. But a remarkably clear voice murmured a reply.
“Hello, Stevie.”
“Any change?”
“None. I’m just hungry.”
COURT took a rabbit from a lead-lined box beside the bed, and placed it gently in the malformed talons that once had been Sammy’s hand. Instantly there was a change. The small beast kicked convulsively and was still. The glow emanating from Sammy’s skin brightened slightly. “That better?”
