A large anthology of sci.., p.298
A Large Anthology of Science Fiction, page 298
“Let me get this straight,” Norton said in an incredulous tone. “You are a manufactured being?”
“That’s right.”
“But you are flesh and blood.”
“I might as well explain,” the other said, moving to his bench and sitting down. “Here, sit by me. Your friend will be all right.”
NORTON glanced at Witson and saw that he was under the influence of the drug the doctor had administered. The Murian made himself comfortable, drew one leg up on the bench and rested his chin against the knee.
“You’ve got to remember,” he began, “that they were an old civilization when this very planet was young. And there were wise men among them. The race was dying. Their culture was dying! And so, the wise men decreed that before they died out altogether, it was best that they find another planet on which to settle. But with whom? And for what posterity?
“It was a problem that had to be settled before the migration began. We were the solution. So we were born. Fathered by a chemical formula and mothered by a test tube. It is said that there were millions of us here. There are still millions on Pa-Mura. And that is how we are thought of, as a number, into the millions.”
“Incredible,” Norton whispered softly. “But you are—it would be impossible to tell you from . . .”
“Except for one basic, organic difference,” the Murian said. “And with one problematical, religious difference, we are as human as you. We cannot reproduce. And being man-made, we have no soul.”
“Soul?” Norton drew back in surprise. The thought that these people had religious concepts or rather whether they had a philosophical concept of a soul had not occurred to him.
It was as if the Murian had read his mind.
“Why not?” he asked. “We had been given a mind. A mind which functioned. Therefore certain mysteries of concept of morals presented themselves and begged for an answer. It was then we discovered that we had no soul. For in the questions of evil and right, they proved to be words barren of meaning. Machines, whether they are of metal or flesh have no reason for existence beyond their immediate use. And when they are worn out, they can be discarded without any thought for their future. At least that was the condition until, oh, twenty years or so ago. I was the one responsible for the change. And that is the reason I am here!”
Norton’s brain whirled from the impact of the Murian’s words. Questions which once had been burning issues and because there was no one to answer them, had died, might now be answered. He listened, as a child, hearing the wonders of Alice in Wonderland for the first time.
“It was a woman who was responsible for the whole thing,” the other went on. “Beautiful as a childhood dream. Wondrous as the birth of a new day. She,” he sighed in the memory of his lost dream, “awakened in me a something which had never been known by any of us before. Love! Surprised?” he asked as Norton murmured an inaudible something. “Don’t you understand? There can’t be love without a soul from which to stem. Something, perhaps the great Creator, had finally taken pity upon us, or perhaps, but there’s no use in idle speculation. At any rate she reciprocated my feelings. And because it would have been death to have shown our love openly, we were clandestine in our meetings. We couldn’t get married. But listen, Earthman, there is a man-child up there on Pa-Mura and he is mine and some day I shall go back to him.
“I think that I was the first to have realized what happened. Maybe it occurred to all of us mutations at the same time? But in the space of a second, a condition which had existed for eons no longer held. A soul had been granted us. I told you that there were wise men on that planet.
“They realized the change as quickly as we and reasoned out the cause. We were granted full liberty to do as we wished. If it hadn’t been for Jetto!”
“Ah,” Norton said softly. “The villain enters.”
“YES,” the Murian said. And Norton saw the grin on his face. It was not the sort of grin which held humor, however. Rather it was like some grimace which from torture, twisted his lips into the semblance of a smile.
“Yes,” the Murian reiterated. “The villain entered. Jetto the crafty, ruler of the chief city, Pa-Mura. Vain, filled with a consciousness of his power, a treacherous man, who was said to have gained his rule through treachery, he hated the thought of giving us freedom. So he evolved a grand scheme of revolt.
“To the great number of us mutations, a new way of life had been opened. There were moral reasons for our actions. But to some, and I cannot say why, there was no change at all. Jetto attempted to organize these into a band which would openly rebel against those in authority. There were a great number of them and it might have succeeded. But he wanted all the mutations to be part of the revolt.
“We not only refused but went to the Great Council and told them of his plan. War had not been known on Pa-Mura for a long time. And the weapons they had were terrible in their effects. They debated what to do. And Jetto, learning he had been betrayed, struck first. He almost succeeded in doing what he wanted. But there were too many against him. So he took those who were allied with him and using almost the entire space navy of Pa-Mura, set out for this planet. He vowed he would return and obliterate Pa-Mura with the weapons he would bring with him. But now I wonder.”
“About what?”
“Whether he will return. If he finds what he set out to, there will be none who could stand up to him here. And I think that will please him more than having to go back there and take the chance of fighting and maybe not winning.”
A faint snore interrupted their talk. Witson had fallen into a natural sleep. The noises of the other prisoners had died down. The two in the cell seemed to be the only ones alive in all the prison. And Norton had the oddest feeling that they too were dead. The dead speaking of the dead in hushed whispers, as if it would have made any difference had they shouted. Norton didn’t think for a single second that Jetto intended to leave them go free.
“If he finds . . . I thought he knew,” Norton asked.
“Only the general location. I am the only one who knows the specific point. That was why he kidnapped me.”
“F’r the love of heaven, man! Don’t dawdle so!” Norton broke off in exasperation.
“Sorry,” the other murmured. “You see, from the time of our incubation, we have had our paths chosen for us. Mine was science. By the time I reached maturity, I knew what I wanted. Ethnology the study of man. I attained high honors and was made head of the department at our highest university. As such, I had charge of all the records of the expeditions which our peoples had made to other planets. Jetto knew that. What he didn’t know, was that I wouldn’t tell. So I am here. And no matter what he intends to do, I still won’t tell.”
“Ethnology, eh? Well, Witson and you’ll have a time,” Norton said reflectively. “He’s got some odd ideas, that will probably interest you. But what I want to know, is what made you land in such places as this city and others of like importance?”
“Oh that,” the Murian passed it off lightly. “Our space ships are equipped with devices which enabled us to see, long before we were even close, what the situation would be. Jetto planned a landing and the use of the ray to inflict as many casualties as was possible. Then too, the after effect of the ray he used makes people lethargic and easily led. Each of your large cities had a quota of men assigned to it.”
“I think I’ve got the whole picture, now,” Norton said. “His idea was to kill off as many as he could. Then take advantage of the panic which was bound to ensue. Before the people could recover their senses, he was boss. But I don’t get what he wants?”
“Power,” was the answer. “He’s had it for a long time. It doesn’t make any difference over whom. It’s just the idea. He wants to have the say about everything. And if he gets to the bad lands of Utah, he will have that power.”
“Is that where the buried city is located?”
“Yes.”
NORTON whistled shrilly through his teeth, a habit of his boyhood days.
“That is the reason,” the Murian went on, “why we landed on this part of the continent. We observed that the greater part of the population lived to the east of a large river . . .”
“The Mississippi,” Norton interjected.
“. . . it was obvious then, that we had to gain control of that section of the country.”
Norton moved away from the other and sat at his ease, leaning back against the wall. The Murian watched him for a moment, then seeing that Norton wanted to be alone in his thoughts, moved off, to stand against the bars of their cell.
The Murian turned at the sound of a sigh from Norton.
“What of yourself and your friend? How did you incur the enmity of Jetto?”
Norton related what had happened to him and closed with:
“So I guess that we are in the same boat. And from appearance sake, I’d say the boat had an awfully large leak.”
“You mean this prison? Remember that we have the needle the doctor gave you. And that one guard looks like another. Tell me, was it still daylight when you were brought here?”
“Y-yes,” Norton replied. “Why?”
“Because I am of the opinion that the night is about ended. I know how to operate one of our destroyers. All we have to do is get free. That’s where the needle comes in.”
“I don’t get it,” Norton was puzzled.
The Murian grinned broadly and lay down at full length on the bench. A series of horrible groans came from his lips. Norton’s lips twisted in a smile. He knew what the other was driving at.
“Guard!” he shouted. “Guard! Help, quick. This man’s dying.”
There was a few seconds silence. Then other prisoners became aware of Norton’s continuing shouts. A cacophony of shrieks, groans, curses and screams filled the air. Then there was the voice of the guard shouting for silence. And above all the other voices was heard the stentorian one of Norton, still calling for help.
Norton heard the guard approach and ran back to the bench on which the other lay, doubled up in such a way that his back was to whoever made an examination.
The cell door squealed open. A hand descended on Norton’s shoulder, pushing him to one side. The guard knelt and tried to pull the stricken man over to where he could see what was wrong. And as he knelt, Norton inserted the needle into the small vial the doctor had left with him. When he withdrew it the needle was full of a whitish substance. He turned to see if the guard had come alone. He had.
Norton’s right hand went around the guard’s mouth and before the man knew what had happened, the needle had gone in for its entire length into the jugular vein. Norton held him for the space of a minute. When he released him, the guard slumped to the floor. His body had barely touched the floor when the Murian was tearing at his clothes and handing them to Norton.
The last thing he took was the guard’s belt and a small metallic something which resembled a water pistol.
“Now,” the Murian said, as Norton finished dressing. “I defy anyone to tell the difference. Here’s what we do. I’ll carry the old man. You’ll follow close behind. Be sure that you hold the gun close to my back, for realism sake. Only keep your hand from the trigger. The corridor is dark enough so that there won’t be much chance of anyone guessing what happened. There’s a barred door at the head of the stairs. At this hour, I don’t think more than one man will be at the door. I’ll stall him for a moment. Stay close behind. If he shows the slightest suspicion press on the trigger. It’ll blast him to hell. From then on we’re on our own. Let’s go!”
NORTON heard the sound of the prisoner’s catcalls all the way up the stairs. He concentrated on hearing them. And when they made the turn into the last landing, he was sorry that he could no longer hear them. For from here on he knew that reality might be only a figment of his imagination. Then the steel bars of the last door between them and freedom stood before them.
At the sound of their approaching footsteps, a man arose from a low stool on which he had been taking his ease.
“Who goes?” he asked, yawning broadly as if the answer was a foregone conclusion. But it was a formula which had to be gone through.
“This man—he is ill, dying,” Norton’s cell mate answered.
Norton, pressing close to the other, saw the guard’s eyes go wide as he recognized first, Witson, then the man carrying him.
“Where’s his friend?” he demanded.
“The guard wouldn’t let him come,” the Murian said. “Said it would be too hard to watch us both.”
As the guard stepped forward to open the door, Norton moved to one side, so that the guard couldn’t see him. It wasn’t until they were all in the enclosure that the keeper realized something was wrong. The Murian, with Witson in his arms, had continued walking to the head of the short flight of stairs leading to the upper part of the prison. Norton continued to avert his head, as he went past the keeper. It was that which made him suddenly suspicious.
“Wait a minute, you!” he called.
When they continued without heeding his command, he ran after them and grabbed Norton by an arm. It was his last act. Norton turned and blasted him with the gun. There was a blinding flash of white light from the muzzle, a light which ended in the keeper’s throat. His mouth opened and his eyes went wide. Then he buckled at the knees and toppled slowly forward on his face.
“There’s a rear to this building, isn’t there?” the Murian asked quickly.
“Yes,” Norton answered, assuming the lead.
He made off at a run for the stairs. But not the ones before them. There was another series he knew of which were around the bend, past the desk which used to house the lock-up keeper. At the head of those stairs was a narrow passage which in turn led to a steel door, the freight door.
The Murian panted behind him, Witson’s still slumbering body bobbing up and down in the man’s arms.
Norton took the stairs, three at a time. But he came to an abrupt halt at the head. There was a bi-secting corridor to be transversed before they could reach the safety of the alley. He threw up a hand in warning and the Murian panted to a stop beside him. Then he also heard what had brought Norton to a halt.
It was the sound of approaching footsteps, marching in the regular rhythm of soldier’s steps.
“Damn!” the Murian muttered.
“The changing of the guard.”
He was right. A file of men stepped smartly into view. There were eight of them in a column of twos. At their head marched one who was their leader, for he was marking time in a low, cadence count. And before the three at the head of the stairs could retreat, they were seen. The guard’s surprise was the greater.
Norton didn’t wait to see what would happen. He let go once more with the deadly weapon in his hand. Again there was the blinding spurt of white light. Only this time Norton held the trigger down constantly and used the gun in a spray effect. It was terrible in effect. They were as the blades of grass before the steel teeth of the lawn mower. And when he released the trigger, there were only parts of bodies on the floor. The power of the light was fantastic. Whatever it struck was simply consumed as by a holocaust. Norton’s gorge rose as he smelled the odor which came to meet them when they ran past the bodies of the guards.
The door was unlocked. It took a second to lift it. Nor did they worry that it squealed in the process. Safety was too close.
They stood motionless for a moment, breathing in great gulps of the chilly night air.
“What—what happened?” a shrill voice asked.
Witson had finally come out of his drugged sleep.
The Murian set him on his feet. He swayed weakly for a second or two, then recovered quickly. Witson was an old man but there was something of steel in his body, the way he took his knocks and came back for more.
“We’ll explain later,” Norton said, as he peered up and down the alley-way. He knew that there wasn’t much time. The bodies of the men he had killed might be discovered at any moment.
“Come,” the Murian said. “I know the way from here.”
His pace was slower this time, as if he expected that they might meet someone. And men running in the early hours of the morning are targets of suspicious looks. They couldn’t afford to be stopped.
A street lamp shed a feeble glow over the barren street. Dawn was but an hour away. The Murian gave the seemingly empty street a thorough going over with his eyes before he permitted then to venture past the alley mouth. And then not before he gave them final instructions.
“Listen carefully now,” he said. “Our destroyer fleet is parked on the lake front. Give me an hour’s time. Then meet me at the monument of the Indian horsemen.”
He was just another shadow on the street, as he sidled along. Then he was part of the darkness.
ATTHAT very moment Jetto was giving his final instructions for the Murian conquest of the United States. His cruel eyes looked contemptuously at the men gathered about him in the huge office.
“I am done with talk!” his voice shrilled at them. “Especially yours, Fu-ta! Who can oppose us? And if they do, they’ll get the same dose I meted out to the fools who came to stick their noses into our affairs.”
“I don’t think that will be the last of them, Jetto,” Fu-ta said softly.
“No? Well, if there will be more, they too will get the same reception.”
“What of the people here?” Fu-ta demanded.
Jetto, who had been pacing back and forth before the councilors, whirled at the words. They shrank from the look of fury in his face. All but Fu-ta.
“I will do with them as I did with the two who were here earlier. Worse! I will make this the land of the damned for them. And that reminds me, Prime Number, 1, is down there. Another who thinks to defy me. Wait until I tell him of his child: it will do me good to see the knave’s face when I tell him what will happen if he doesn’t do as I say.”
“Jetto!” Futa’s voice suddenly rang out. “The die has been cast. We chose to come with you. But this is not Pa-Mura! We are on foreign soil. And but a handful among enemies. You have scattered our forces over a large area. Bring them here!”
