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diff --git a/18855-8.txt b/18855-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..090c318 --- /dev/null +++ b/18855-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1705 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Return, by H. Beam Piper and John J. McGuire + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Return + +Author: H. Beam Piper and John J. McGuire + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: July 17, 2006 [EBook #18855] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RETURN *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction, + January, 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any + evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + + THE RETURN + + + + BY H. BEAM PIPER + + AND + + JOHN J. McGUIRE + + + [Illustration: ] + + * * * * * + + + + + _The isolated little group they found were doing fine-- + but their religion was most strange--and yet quite logical!_ + + Illustrated by Kelly Freas + + +Altamont cast a quick, routine, glance at the instrument panels and +then looked down through the transparent nose of the helicopter at the +yellow-brown river five hundred feet below. Next he scraped the last +morsel from his plate and ate it. + +"What did you make this out of, Jim?" he asked. "I hope you kept +notes, while you were concocting it. It's good." + +"The two smoked pork chops left over from yesterday evening," Loudons +said, "and that bowl of rice that's been taking up space in the +refrigerator the last couple of days together with a little egg +powder, and some milk. I ground the chops up and mixed them with the +rice and the other stuff. Then added some bacon, to make grease to fry +it in." + +Altamont chuckled. That was Loudons, all right; he could take a few +left-overs, mess them together, pop them in the skillet, and have a +meal that would turn the chef back at the Fort green with envy. He +filled his cup and offered the pot. + +"Caffchoc?" he asked. + +Loudons held his cup out to be filled, blew on it, sipped, and then +hunted on the ledge under the desk for the butt of the cigar he had +half-smoked the evening before. + +"Did you ever drink coffee, Monty?" the socio-psychologist asked, +getting the cigar drawing to his taste. + +"Coffee? No. I've read about it, of course. We'll have to organize an +expedition to Brazil, some time, to get seeds, and try raising some." + +Loudons blew a smoke ring toward the rear of the cabin. + +"A much overrated beverage," he replied. "We found some, once, when I +was on that expedition into Idaho, in what must have been the +stockroom of a hotel. Vacuum-packed in moisture-proof containers, and +free from radioactivity. It wasn't nearly as good as caffchoc. But +then, I suppose, a pre-bustup coffee drinker couldn't stomach this +stuff we're drinking." He looked forward, up the river they were +following. "Get anything on the radio?" he asked. "I noticed you took +us up to about ten thousand, while I was shaving." + +Altamont got out his pipe and tobacco pouch, filling the former slowly +and carefully. + +"Not a whisper. I tried Colony Three, in the Ozarks, and I tried to +call in that tribe of workers in Louisiana; I couldn't get either." + +"Maybe if we tried to get a little more power on the set--" + +That was Loudons, too, Altamont thought. There wasn't a better man at +the Fort, when it came to dealing with people, but confront him with a +problem about things, and he was lost. That was one of the reasons why +he and the stocky, phlegmatic social scientist made such a good team, +he thought. As far as he, himself, was concerned, people were just a +mysterious, exasperatingly unpredictable, order of things which were +subject to no known natural laws. That was about the way Loudons +thought of things; he couldn't psychoanalyze them. + +He gestured with his pipe toward the nuclear-electric conversion unit, +between the control-cabin and the living quarters in the rear of the +box-car-sized helicopter. + +"We have enough power back there to keep this windmill in the air +twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, for +the next fifteen years," he said. "We just don't have enough radio. If +I'd step up the power on this set any more, it'd burn out before I +could say, 'Altamont calling Fort Ridgeway.'" + +"How far are we from Pittsburgh, now?" Loudons wanted to know. + +Altamont looked across the cabin at the big map of the United States, +with its red and green and blue and yellow patchwork of vanished +political divisions, and the transparent overlay on which they had +plotted their course. The red line started at Fort Ridgeway, in what +had once been Arizona It angled east by a little north, to Colony +Three, in northern Arkansas; then sharply northeast to St. Louis and +its lifeless ruins; then Chicago and Gary, where little bands of Stone +Age reversions stalked and fought and ate each other; Detroit, where +things that had completely forgotten that they were human emerged from +their burrows only at night; Cleveland, where a couple of cobalt bombs +must have landed in the lake and drenched everything with +radioactivity that still lingered after two centuries; Akron, where +vegetation was only beginning to break through the glassy slag; +Cincinnati, where they had last stopped-- + + * * * * * + +"How's the leg, this morning, Jim?" he asked. + +"Little stiff. Doesn't hurt much, though." + +"Why, we're about fifty miles, as we follow the river, and that's +relatively straight." He looked down through the transparent nose of +the 'copter at a town, now choked with trees that grew among tumbled +walls. "I think that's Aliquippa." + +Loudons looked and shrugged, then looked again and pointed. + +"There's a bear. Just ducked into that church or movie theater or +whatever. I wonder what he thinks we are." + +Altamont puffed slowly at his pipe, "I wonder if we're going to find +anything at all in Pittsburgh." + +"You mean people, as distinct from those biped beasts we've found so +far? I doubt it," Loudons replied, finishing his caffchoc and wiping +his mustache on the back of his hand. "I think the whole eastern half +of the country is nothing but forest like this, and the highest type +of life is just about three cuts below _Homo Neanderthalensis_, almost +impossible to contact, and even more impossible to educate." + +"I wasn't thinking about that; I've just about given up hope of +finding anybody or even a reasonably high level of barbarism," +Altamont said. "I was thinking about that cache of microfilmed books +that was buried at the Carnegie Library." + +"If it was buried," Loudons qualified. "All we have is that article in +that two-century-old copy of _Time_ about how the people at the +library had constructed the crypt and were beginning the microfilming. +We don't know if they ever had a chance to get it finished, before the +rockets started landing." + +They passed over a dam of flotsam that had banked up at a wrecked +bridge and accumulated enough mass to resist the periodic floods that +had kept the river usually clear. Three human figures fled across a +sand-flat at one end of it and disappeared into the woods; two of them +carried spears tipped with something that sparkled in the sunlight, +probably shards of glass. + +"You know, Monty, I get nightmares, sometimes, about what things must +be like in Europe," Loudons said. + +Five or six wild cows went crashing through the brush below. Altamont +nodded when he saw them. + +"Maybe tomorrow, we'll let down and shoot a cow," he said. "I was +looking in the freezer-locker; the fresh meat's getting a little low. +Or a wild pig, if we find a good stand of oak trees. I could enjoy +what you'd do with some acorn-fed pork. Finished?" he asked Loudons. +"Take over, then; I'll go back and wash the dishes." + +They rose, and Loudons, favoring his left leg, moved over to the seat +at the controls. Altamont gathered up the two cups, the +stainless-steel dishes, and the knives and forks and spoons, going up +the steps over the shielded converter and ducking his head to avoid +the seat in the forward top machine-gun turret. He washed and dried +the dishes, noting with satisfaction that the gauge of the water tank +was still reasonably high, and glanced out one of the windows. Loudons +was taking the big helicopter upstairs, for a better view. + +Now and then, among the trees, there would be a glint of glassy slag, +usually in a fairly small circle. That was to be expected; beside the +three or four H-bombs that had fallen on the Pittsburgh area, +mentioned in the transcripts of the last news to reach the Fort from +outside, the whole district had been pelted, more or less at random, +with fission bombs. West of the confluence of the Allegheny and +Monongahela, it would probably be worse than this. + +"Can you see Pittsburgh yet, Jim?" he called out. + +"Yes; it's a mess! Worse than Gary; worse than Akron, even. _Monty_! +Come here! I think I have something!" + +Picking up the pipe he had laid down, Altamont hurried forward, +dodging his six-foot length under the gun turret and swinging down +from the walkway over the converter. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Smoke. A lot of smoke, twenty or thirty fires, at the very least." +Loudons had shifted from _Forward_ to _Hover_, and was peering through +a pair of binoculars. "See that island, the long one? Across the river +from it, on the north side, toward this end. Yes, by Einstein! And I +can see cleared ground, and what I think are houses, inside a +stockade--" + + * * * * * + +Murray Hughes walked around the corner of the cabin, into the morning +sunlight, lacing his trousers, with his hunting shirt thrown over his +bare shoulders, and found, without much surprise, that his father had +also slept late. Verner Hughes was just beginning to shave. Inside the +kitchen, his mother and the girls were clattering pots and skillets; +his younger brother, Hector, was noisily chopping wood. Going through +the door, he filled another of the light-metal basins with hot water, +found his razor, and went outside again, setting the basin on the +bench. + +Most of the ware in the Hughes cabin was of light-metal; Murray and +his father had mined it in the dead city up the river, from a place +where it had floated to the top of a puddle of slag, back when the +city had been blasted, at the end of the Old Times. It had been hard +work, but the stuff had been easy to carry down to where they had +hidden their boat, and, for once, they'd had no trouble with the +Scowrers. Too bad they couldn't say as much for yesterday's hunting +trip! + +As he rubbed lather into the stubble on his face, he cursed with +irritation. That had been a bad-luck hunt, all around. They'd gone out +before dawn, hunting into the hills to the north, they'd spent all day +at it, and shot one small wild pig. Lucky it was small, at that. +They'd have had to abandon a full-grown one, after the Scowrers began +hunting them. Six of them, as big a band as he'd ever seen together at +one time, and they'd gotten between them and the stockade and forced +them to circle miles out of their way. His father had shot one, and +he'd had to leave his hatchet sticking in the skull of another, when +his rifle had misfired. + +That meant a trip to the gunsmith's, for a new hatchet and to have the +mainspring of the rifle replaced. Nobody could afford to have a rifle +that couldn't be trusted, least of all a hunter and prospector. And +he'd had words with Alex Barrett, the gunsmith, just the other day. +Not that Barrett wouldn't be more than glad to do business with him, +once he saw that hard tool-steel he'd dug out of that place down the +river. Hardest steel he'd ever found, and hadn't been atom-spoiled, +either. + +He cleaned, wiped and stropped his razor and put it back in the case; +he threw out the wash-water on the compost-pile, and went into the +cabin, putting on his shirt and his belt, and passed on through to the +front porch, where his father was already eating at the table. The +people of the Toon liked to eat in the open; it was something they'd +always done, just as they'd always liked to eat together in the +evenings. + +He sweetened his mug of chicory with a lump of maple sugar and began +to sip it before he sat down, standing with one foot on the bench and +looking down across the parade ground, past the Aitch-Cue House, +toward the river and the wall. + +"If you're coming around to Alex's way of thinking--and mine--it won't +hurt you to admit it, son," his father said. + +He turned, looking at his father with the beginning of anger, and then +grinned. The elders were constantly keeping the young men alert with +these tests. He checked back over his actions since he had come out +onto the porch. + +To the table, sugar in his chicory, one foot on the bench, which had +reminded him again of the absence of the hatchet from his belt and +brought an automatic frown. Then the glance toward the gunsmith's +shop, and across the parade ground, at the houses into which so much +labor had gone; the wall that had been built from rubble and topped +with pointed stakes; the white slabs of marble from the ruined +building that marked the graves of the First Tenant and the men of the +Old Toon. He _had_ thought, in that moment, that maybe his father and +Alex Barrett and Reader Rawson and Tenant Mycroft Jones and the others +were right--there were too many things here that could not be moved +along with them, if they decided to move. + +It would be false modesty, refusal to see things as they were, not to +admit that he was the leader of the younger men, and the boys of the +Irregulars. And last winter, the usual theological arguments about the +proper chronological order of the Sacred Books and the true nature of +the Risen One had been replaced by a violent controversy when Sholto +Jiminez and Birdy Edwards had reopened the old question of the +advisability of moving the Toon and settling elsewhere. He'd been in +favor of the idea himself, but, for the last month or so, he had begun +to doubt the wisdom of it. It was probably reluctance to admit this to +himself that had brought on the strained feelings between himself and +his old friend the gunsmith. + +"I'll have to drill the Irregulars, today," he said. "Birdy Edwards +has been drilling them, while we've been hunting. But I'll go up and +see Alex about a new hatchet and fixing my rifle. I'll have a talk +with him." + +He stepped forward to the edge of the porch, still munching on a +honey-dipped piece of corn bread, and glanced up at the sky. That was +a queer bird; he'd never seen a bird with a wing action like that. +Then he realized that the object was not a bird at all. + +His father was staring at it, too. + +"Murray! That's ... that's like the old stories from the time of the +wars!" + +But Murray was already racing across the parade ground toward the +Aitch-Cue House, where the big iron ring hung by its chain from a +gallows-like post, with the hammer beside it. + + * * * * * + +The stockaded village grew larger, details became plainer, as the +helicopter came slanting down and began spiraling around it. It was a +fairly big place, some forty or fifty acres in a rough parallelogram, +surrounded by a wall of varicolored stone and brick and concrete +rubble from old ruins, topped with a palisade of pointed poles. There +was a small jetty projecting out into the river, to which six or eight +boats of different sorts were tied; a gate opened onto this from the +wall. Inside the stockade, there were close to a hundred buildings, +ranging from small cabins to a structure with a belfry, which seemed +to have been a church, partly ruined in the war of two centuries ago +and later rebuilt. A stream came down from the woods, across the +cultivated land around the fortified village; there was a rough flume +which carried the water from a dam close to the edge of the forest and +provided a fall to turn a mill wheel. + +"Look; strip-farming," Loudons pointed. "See the alternate strips of +grass and plowed ground. Those people understand soil conservation. +They have horses, too." + +As he spoke, three riders left the village at a gallop, through a gate +on the far side. They separated, and the people in the fields, who had +all started for the village, turned and began hurrying toward the +woods. Two of the riders headed for a pasture in which cattle had been +grazing, and started herding them, also, into the woods. For a while, +there was a scurrying of little figures in the village below, and then +not a moving thing was in sight. + +"There's good organization," Loudons said. "Everybody seems to know +what to do, and how to get it done promptly. And look how neat the +whole place is. Policed up. I'll bet anything we'll find that they +have a military organization, or a military tradition at least. We'll +have to find out; you can't understand a people till you understand +their background and their social organization." + +"Humph. Let me have a look at their artifacts; that'll tell what kind +of people they are," Altamont said, swinging his glasses back and +forth over the enclosure. "Water-power mill, water-power +sawmill--building on the left side of the water wheel; see the pile of +fresh lumber beside it. Blacksmith shop, and from that chimney I'd say +a small foundry, too. Wonder what that little building out on the tip +of the island is; it has a water wheel. Undershot wheel, and it looks +as though it could be raised or lowered. But the building's too small +for a grist mill. Now, I wonder--" + +[Illustration: ] + +"Monty, I think we ought to land right in the middle of the enclosure, +on that open plaza thing, in front of that building that looks like a +reconditioned church. That's probably the Royal Palace, or the +Pentagon, or the Kremlin, or whatever." + +Altamont started to object, paused, and then nodded. "I think you're +right, Jim. From the way they scattered, and got their livestock into +the woods, they probably expect us to bomb them. We have to get +inside; that's the quickest way to do it." He thought for a moment. +"We'd better be armed, when we go out. Pistols, auto-carbines, and a +few of those concussion-grenades in case we have to break up a +concerted attack. I'll get them." + +The plaza and the houses and cabins around it, and the +two-hundred-year-old church, were silent and, apparently, lifeless as +they set the helicopter down. Once Loudons caught a movement inside +the door of a house, and saw a metallic glint. Altamont pointed up at +the belfry. + +"There's a gun up there," he said. "Looks like about a four-pounder. +Brass. I knew that smith-shop was also a foundry. See that little curl +of smoke? That's the gunner's slow-match. I'd thought maybe that thing +on the island was a powder mill. That would be where they'd put it. +Probably extract their niter from the dung of their horses and cows. +Sulfur probably from coal-mine drainage. Jim, this is really +something!" + +"I hope they don't cut loose on us with that thing," Loudons said, +looking apprehensively at the brass-rimmed black muzzle that was +covering them from the belfry. "I wonder if we ought to--Oh-oh, here +they come!" + + * * * * * + +Three or four young men stepped out of the wide door of the old +church. They wore fringed buckskin trousers and buckskin shirts and +odd caps of deerskin with visors to shade their eyes and similar beaks +behind to protect the neck. They had powder horns and bullet pouches +slung over their shoulders, and long rifles in their hands. They +stepped aside as soon as they were out; carefully avoiding any gesture +of menace, they stood watching the helicopter which had landed among +them. + +Three other men followed them out; they, too, wore buckskins, and the +odd double-visored caps. One had a close-cropped white beard, and on +the shoulders of his buckskin shirt he wore the single silver bars of +a first lieutenant of the vanished United States Army. He had a pistol +on his belt; it had the saw-handle grip of an automatic, but it was a +flintlock, as were the rifles of the young men who stood watchfully on +either side of the two middle-aged men who accompanied him. The whole +party advanced toward the helicopter. + +"All right; come on, Monty." Loudons opened the door and let down the +steps. Picking up an auto-carbine, he slung it and stepped out of the +helicopter, Altamont behind him. They advanced to meet the party from +the old church, halting when they were about twenty feet apart. + +"I must apologize, lieutenant, for dropping in on you so +unceremoniously." He stopped, wondering if the man with the white +beard understood a word of what he was saying. + +"The natural way to come in, when you travel in the air," the old man +replied. "At least, you came in openly. I can promise you a better +reception than you got at that city to the west of us a couple of days +ago." + +"Now how did you know we'd had trouble at Cincinnati +day-before-yesterday?" Loudons demanded. + +The old man's eyes sparkled with childlike pleasure. "That surprises +you, my dear sir? In a moment, I daresay you'll be amazed at the +simplicity of it. You have a nasty rip in the left leg of your +trousers, and the cloth around it is stained with blood. Through the +rip, I perceive a bandage. Obviously, you have suffered a recent +wound. I further observe that the side of your flying machine bears +recent scratches, as though from the spears or throwing-hatchets of +the Scowrers. Evidently they attacked you as you were leaving it; it +is fortunate that these cannibal devils are too stupid and too anxious +for human flesh to exercise patience." + +"Well, that explains how you knew we'd been recently attacked," +Loudons told him. "But how did you guess that it had been to the west +of here, in a ruined city?" + +"I never guess," the oldster with the silver bar and the +keystone-shaped red patch on his left shoulder replied. "It is a +shocking habit--destructive to the logical faculty. What seems strange +to you is only so because you do not follow my train of thought. For +example, the wheels and their framework under your flying machine are +splashed with mud which seems to be predominantly brick-dust, mixed +with plaster. Obviously, you landed recently in a dead city, either +during or after a rain. There was a rain here yesterday evening, the +wind being from the west. Obviously, you followed behind the rain as +it came up the river. And now that I look at your boots, I see traces +of the same sort of mud, around the soles and in front of the heels. +But this is heartless of us, keeping you standing here on a wounded +leg, sir. Come in, and let our medic look at it." + +"Well, thank you, lieutenant," Loudons replied. "But don't bother your +medic; I've attended to the wound myself, and it wasn't serious to +begin with." + +"You are a doctor?" the white-bearded man asked. + +"Of sorts. A sort of general scientist. My name is Loudons. My friend, +Mr. Altamont, here, is a scientist, also." + +There was an immediate reaction; all three of the elders of the +village, and the young riflemen who had accompanied them, exchanged +glances of surprise. Loudons dropped his hand to the grip of his slung +auto-carbine, and Altamont sidled unobtrusively away from him, his +hand moving as by accident toward the butt of his pistol. The same +thought was in both men's minds, that these people might feel, as a +heritage of the war of two centuries ago, a hostility to science and +scientists. There was no hostility, however, in their manner as the +old man advanced and held out his hand. + +"I am Tenant Mycroft Jones, the Toon Leader here," he said. "This is +Stamford Rawson, our Reader, and Verner Hughes, our Toon Sarge. This +is his son, Murray Hughes, the Toon Sarge of the Irregulars. But come +into the Aitch-Cue House, gentlemen. We have much to talk about." + + * * * * * + +By this time, the villagers had begun to emerge from the log cabins +and rubble-walled houses around the plaza and the old church. Some of +them, mostly young men, were carrying rifles, but the majority of them +were unarmed. About half of them were women, in short deerskin or +homespun dresses; there were a number of children, the younger ones +almost completely naked. + +"Sarge," the old man told one of the youths, "post a guard over this +flying machine; don't let anybody meddle with it. And have all the +noncoms and techs report here, on the double." He turned and shouted +up at the truncated steeple: "Atherton, sound 'All Clear!'" + +A horn, up in the belfry, began blowing, to advise the people who had +run from the fields into the woods that there was no danger. + +They went through the open doorway of the old stone church, and +entered the big room inside. The building had evidently been gutted by +fire, two centuries before, and portions of the wall had been +restored. Now there was a rough plank floor, and a plank ceiling at +about twelve feet; the room was apparently used as a community center. +There were a number of benches and chairs, all very neatly made, and +along one wall, out of the way, ten or fifteen long tables had been +stacked, the tops in a pile and the trestles on them. The walls were +decorated with trophies of weapons--a number of old M-12 rifles and +M-16 submachine guns, all in good clean condition, a light machine +rifle, two bazookas. Among them were stone and metal-tipped spears and +crude hatchets and knives and clubs, the work of the wild men of the +woods. A stairway led to the second floor, and it was up this that the +man who bore the title of Toon Leader conducted them, to a small room +furnished with a long table, a number of chairs, and several big +wooden chests bound with iron. + +"Sit down, gentlemen," the Toon Leader invited, going to a cupboard +and producing a large bottle stopped with a corncob and a number of +small cups. "It's a little early in the day," he said, "but this is a +very special occasion. You smoke a pipe, I take it?" he asked +Altamont. "Then try some of this; of our own growth and curing." He +extended a doeskin moccasin, which seemed to be the tobacco-container. + +Altamont looked at the thing dubiously, then filled his pipe from it. +The oldster drew his pistol, pushed a little wooden plug into the +vent, added some tow to the priming, and, aiming at the wall, snapped +it. Evidently, at times the formality of plugging the vent had been +overlooked; there were a number of holes in the wall there. This time, +however, the pistol didn't go off. He shook out the smoldering tow, +blew it into flame, and lit a candle from it, offering the light to +Altamont. Loudons got out a cigar and lit it from the candle; the +others filled and lighted pipes. The Toon Leader reprimed his pistol, +then holstered it, took off his belt and laid it aside, an example the +others followed. + +They drank ceremoniously, and then seated themselves at the table. As +they did, two more men came into the room; they were introduced as +Alexander Barrett, the gunsmith, and Stanley Markovitch, the +distiller. + +"You come, then, from the west?" the Toon Leader began by asking. + +"Are you from Utah?" the gunsmith interrupted, suspiciously. + +"Why, no; we're from Arizona. A place called Fort Ridgeway," Loudons +said. + +The others nodded, in the manner of people who wish to conceal +ignorance; it was obvious that none of them had ever heard of Fort +Ridgeway, or Arizona either. + +"We've been in what used to be Utah," Altamont said. "There's nobody +there but a few Indians, and a few whites who are even less +civilized." + +"You say you come from a fort? Then the wars aren't over, yet?" Sarge +Hughes asked. + +"The wars have been over for a long time. You know how terrible they +were. You know how few in all the country were left alive," Loudons +said. + +"None that we know of, beside ourselves and the Scowrers until you +came," the Toon Leader said. + +"We have found only a few small groups, in the whole country, who have +managed to save anything of the Old Times. Most of them lived in +little villages and cultivated land. A few had horses, or cows. None, +that we have ever found before, made guns and powder for themselves. +But they remembered that they were men, and did not eat one another. +Whenever we find a group of people like this, we try to persuade them +to let us help them." + +"Why?" the Toon Leader asked. "Why do you do this for people you've +never met before? What do you want from them--from us--in return for +your help?" He was speaking to Altamont, rather than to Loudons; it +seemed obvious that he believed Altamont to be the leader and Loudons +the subordinate. + + * * * * * + +"Because we're trying to bring back the best things of the Old Times," +Altamont told him. "Look; you've had troubles, here. So have we, many +times. Years when the crops failed; years of storms, or floods; +troubles with these beast-men in the woods. And you were alone, as we +were, with no one to help. We want to put all men who are still men in +touch with one another, so that they can help each other in trouble, +and work together. If this isn't done soon, everything which makes men +different from beasts will soon be no more." + +"He's right. One of us, alone, is helpless," the Reader said. "It is +only in the Toon that there is strength. He wants to organize a Toon +of all Toons." + +"That's about it. We are beginning to make helicopters like the one +Loudons and I came here in. We'll furnish your community with one or +more of them. We can give you a radio, so that you can communicate +with other communities. We can give you rifles and machine guns and +ammunition, to fight the ... the Scowrers, did you call them? And we +can give you atomic engines, so that you can build machines for +yourselves." + +"Some of our people--Alex Barrett, here, the gunsmith, and Stan +Markovitch, the distiller, and Harrison Grant, the iron worker--get +their living by making things. How'd they make out, after your +machines came in here?" Verner Hughes asked. + +"We've thought of that; we had that problem with other groups we've +helped," Loudons said. "In some communities, everybody owns everything +in common; we don't have much of a problem, there. Is that the way you +do it, here?" + +"Well, no. If a man makes a thing, or digs it out of the ruins, or +catches it in the woods, it's his." + +"Then we'll work out some way. Give the machines to the people who are +already in a trade, or something like that. We'll have to talk it over +with you and with the people who'd be concerned." + +"How is it you took so long finding us," Alex Barrett asked. "It's +been two hundred or so years since the Wars." + +"Alex! You see but you do not observe!" The Toon Leader rebuked. +"These people have their flying machines, which are highly complicated +mechanisms. They would have to make tools and machines to make them, +and tools and machines to make those tools and machines. They would +have to find materials, often going far in search of them. The marvel +is not that they took so long, but that they did it so quickly." + +"That's right," Altamont said. "Originally, Fort Ridgeway was a +military research and development center. As the country became +disorganized, the Government set this project up, to develop ways of +improvising power and transportation and communication methods and +extracting raw materials. If they'd had a little more time, they might +have saved the country. As it was, they were able to keep themselves +alive and keep something like civilization going at the Fort, while +the whole country was breaking apart around them. Then, when the +rockets stopped falling, they started to rebuild. Fortunately, more +than half the technicians at the Fort were women; there was no +question of them dying out. But it's only been in the last twenty +years that we've been able to make nuclear-electric engines, and this +is the first time any of us have gotten east of the Mississippi." + +"How did your group manage to survive?" Loudons said. "You call it the +Toon; I suppose that's what the word platoon has become, with time. +You were, originally, a military platoon?" + +"_Pla_-toon!" the white-bearded man said. "Of all the unpardonable +stupidity! Of course that was what it was. And the title, Tenant, was +originally _lieu_-tenant; I know that, though we have all dropped the +first part of the word. That should have led me, if I'd used my wits, +to deduce platoon from toon. + +"Yes, sir. We were originally a platoon of soldiers, two hundred years +ago, at the time when the Wars ended. The Old Toon, and the First +Tenant, were guarding pows, whatever they were. The pows were all +killed by a big bomb, and the First Tenant, Lieutenant Gilbert Dunbar, +took his ... his platoon and started to march to Deecee, where the +Government was, but there was no Government, any more. They fought +with the people along the way. When they needed food, or ammunition, +or animals to pull their wagons, they took them, and killed those who +tried to prevent them. Other people joined the Toon, and when they +found women whom they wanted, they took them. They did all sorts of +things that would have been crimes if there had been any law, but +since there was no law any longer, it was obvious that there could be +no crime. The First Ten--Lieutenant--kept his men together, because he +had The Books. Each evening, at the end of each day's march, he read +to his men out of them. + +[Illustration: ] + +"Finally, they came here. There had been a town here, but it had been +burned and destroyed, and there were people camping in the ruins. Some +of them fought and were killed; others came in and joined the platoon. +At first, they built shelters around this building, and made this +their fort. Then they cleared away the ruins, and built new houses. +When the cartridges for the rifles began to get scarce, they began to +make gunpowder, and new rifles, like these we are using now, to shoot +without cartridges. Lieutenant Dunbar did this out of his own +knowledge, because there is nothing in The Books about making +gunpowder; the guns in The Books are rifles and shotguns and revolvers +and airguns; except for the airguns, which we haven't been able to +make, these all shot cartridges. As with your people, we did not die +out, because we had women. Neither did we increase greatly--too many +died or were killed young. But several times we've had to tear down +the wall and rebuild it, to make room inside it for more houses, and +we've been clearing a little more land for fields each year. We still +read and follow the teachings of The Books; we have made laws for +ourselves out of them." + +"And we are waiting here, for the Slain and Risen One," Tenant Jones +added, looking at Altamont intently. "It is impossible that He will +not, sooner or later, deduce the existence of this community. If He +has not done so already." + +"Well, sir," the Toon Leader changed the subject abruptly, "enough of +this talk about the past. If I understand rightly, it is the future in +which you gentlemen are interested." He pushed back the cuff of his +hunting shirt and looked at an old and worn wrist watch. +"Eleven-hundred; we'll have lunch shortly. This afternoon, you will +meet the other people of the Toon, and this evening, at +eighteen-hundred, we'll have a mess together outdoors. Then, when we +have everybody together, we can talk over your offer to help us, and +decide what it is that you can give us that we can use." + +"You spoke, a while ago, of what you could do for us, in return," +Altamont said. "There's one thing you can do, no further away than +tomorrow, if you're willing." + +"And that is--?" + +"In Pittsburgh, somewhere, there is an underground crypt, full of +books. Not bound and printed books; spools of microfilm. You know what +that is?" + +The others shook their heads. Altamont continued: + +"They are spools on which strips are wound, on which pictures have +been taken of books, page by page. We can make other, larger pictures +from them, big enough to be read--" + +"Oh, photographs, which you enlarge. I understand that. You mean, you +can make many copies of them?" + +"That's right. And you shall have copies, as soon as we can take the +originals back to Fort Ridgeway, where we have equipment for enlarging +them. But while we have information which will help us to find the +crypt where the books are, we will need help in getting it open." + +"Of course! This is wonderful. Copies of The Books!" the Reader +exclaimed. "We thought we had the only one left in the world!" + +"Not just The Books, Stamford; other books," the Toon Leader told him. +"The books which are mentioned in The Books. But of course we will +help you. You have a map to show where they are?" + +"Not a map; just some information. But we can work out the location of +the crypt." + +"A ritual," Stamford Rawson said happily. "Of course." + + * * * * * + +They lunched together at the house of Toon Sarge Hughes with the Toon +Leader and the Reader and five or six of the leaders of the community. +The food was plentiful, but Altamont found himself wishing that the +first book they found in the Carnegie Library crypt would be a cook +book. + +In the afternoon, he and Loudons separated. The latter attached +himself to the Tenant, the Reader, and an old woman, Irene Klein, who +was almost a hundred years old and was the repository and arbiter of +most of the community's oral legends. Altamont, on the other hand, +started, with Alex Barrett, the gunsmith, and Mordecai Ricci, the +miller, to inspect the gunshop and grist mill. Joined by half a dozen +more of the village craftsmen, they visited the forge and foundry, the +sawmill, the wagon shop. Altamont looked at the flume, a rough +structure of logs lined with sheet aluminum, and at the nitriary, a +shed-roofed pit in which potassium nitrate was extracted from the +community's animal refuse. Then, loading his guides into the +helicopter, they took off for a visit to the powder mill on the island +and a trip up the river. + +They were a badly scared lot, for the first few minutes, as they +watched the ground receding under them through the transparent plastic +nose. Then, when nothing disastrous seemed to be happening, +exhilaration took the place of fear, and by the time they set down on +the tip of the island, the eight men were confirmed aviation +enthusiasts. The trip up-river was an even bigger success; the high +point came when Altamont set his controls for _Hover_, pointed out a +snarl of driftwood in the stream, and allowed his passengers to fire +one of the machine guns at it. The lead balls of their own +black-powder rifles would have plunked into the waterlogged wood +without visible effect; the copper-jacketed machine-gun bullets ripped +it to splinters. They returned for a final visit to the distillery +awed by what they had seen. + + * * * * * + +"Monty, I don't know what the devil to make of this crowd," Loudons +said, that evening, after the feast, when they had entered the +helicopter and prepared to retire. "We've run into some weird +communities--that lot down in Old Mexico who live in the church and +claim they have a divine mission to redeem the world by prayer, +fasting and flagellation, or those yogis in Los Angeles--" + +"Or the Blackout Boys in Detroit," Altamont added. + +"That's understandable," Loudons said, "after what their ancestors +went through in the Last War. But this crowd, here! The descendants of +an old United States Army infantry platoon, with a fully developed +religion centered on a slain and resurrected god--Normally, it would +take thousands of years for a slain-god religion to develop, and then +only from the field-fertility magic of primitive agriculturists. Well, +you saw these people's fields from the air. Some of the members of +that old platoon were men who knew the latest methods of scientific +farming; they didn't need naive fairy tales about the planting and +germination of seed." + +"Sure this religion isn't just a variant of Christianity?" + +"Absolutely not. In the first place, these Sacred Books can't be the +Bible--you heard Tenant Jones say that they mentioned firearms that +used cartridges. That means that they can't be older than 1860 at the +very earliest. And in the second place, this slain god wasn't +crucified or put to death by any form of execution; he perished, +together with his enemy, in combat, and both god and devil were later +resurrected. The Enemy is supposed to be the master mind back of these +cannibal savages in the woods and also in the ruins." + +"Did you get a look at these Sacred Books, or find out what they might +be?" + +Loudons shook his head disgustedly. "Every time I brought up the +question, they evaded. The Tenant sent the Reader out to bring in this +old lady, Irene Klein--she was a perfect gold mine of information +about the history and traditions of the Toon, by the way--and then he +sent him out on some other errand, undoubtedly to pass the word not to +talk to us about their religion." + +"I don't get that," Altamont said. "They showed me everything they +had--their gunshop, their powder mill, their defenses, everything." He +smoked in silence for a moment. "Say, this slain god couldn't be the +original platoon commander, could he?" + +"No. They have the greatest respect for his memory--decorate his grave +regularly, drink toasts to him--but he hasn't been deified. They got +the idea for this deity of theirs out of the Sacred Books." Loudons +gnawed the end of his cigar and frowned. "Monty, this has me worried +like the devil, because I believe that they suspect that you are the +Slain and Risen One." + +"Could be, at that. I know the Tenant came up to me, very +respectfully, and said, 'I hope you don't think, sir, that I was +presumptuous in trying to display my humble deductive abilities to +_you_.'" + +"What did you say?" Loudons demanded rather sharply. + +"Told him certainly not; that he'd used a good quick method of +demonstrating that he and his people weren't like those mindless +subhumans in the woods." + +"That was all right. I don't know how we're going to handle this. They +only suspect that you are their deity. As it stands, now, we're on +trial, here. And I get the impression that logic, not faith, seems to +be their supreme religious virtue; that skepticism is a religious +obligation instead of a sin. That's something else that's practically +unheard of. I wish I knew--" + + * * * * * + +Tenant Mycroft Jones, and Reader Stamford Rawson and Toon Sarge Verner +Hughes, and his son Murray Hughes, sat around the bare-topped table in +the room, on the second floor of the Aitch-Cue House. A lighted candle +flickered in the cool breeze that came in through the open window +throwing their shadows back and forth on the walls. + +"Pass the tantalus, Murray," the Tenant said, and the youngest of the +four handed the corncob-corked bottle to the eldest. Tenant Jones +filled his cup, and then sat staring at it, while Verner Hughes thrust +his pipe into the toe of the moccasin and filled it. Finally, he drank +about half of the clear wild-plum brandy. + +"Gentlemen, I am baffled," he confessed. "We have three alternate +possibilities here, and we dare not disregard any of them. Either +this man who calls himself Altamont is truly He, or he is merely what +we are asked to believe, one of a community like ours, with more of +the old knowledge than we possess." + +"You know my views," Verner Hughes said. "I cannot believe that He was +more than a man, as we are. A great, a good, a wise man, but a man and +mortal." + +"Let's not go into that, now." The Reader emptied his cup and took the +bottle, filling it again. "You know my views, too. I hold that He is +no longer upon earth in the flesh, but lives in the spirit and is only +with us in the spirit. There are three possibilities, too, none of +which can be eliminated. But what was your third possibility, Tenant?" + +"That they are creatures of the Enemy. Perhaps that one or the other +of them _is_ the Enemy." + +Reader Rawson, lifting his cup to his lips, almost strangled. The +Hugheses, father and son, stared at Tenant Jones in horror. + +"The Enemy--with such weapons and resources!" Murray Hughes gasped. +Then he emptied his cup and refilled it. "No! I can't believe that; +he'd have struck before this and wiped us all out!" + +"Not necessarily, Murray," the Tenant replied. "Until he became +convinced that his agents, the Scowrers, could do nothing against us, +he would bide his time. He sits motionless, like a spider, at the +center of the web; he does little himself; his agents are numerous. +Or, perhaps, he wishes to recruit us into his hellish organization." + +"It is a possibility," Reader Rawson admitted. "One which we can +neither accept nor reject safely. And we must learn the truth as soon +as possible. If this man is really He, we must not spurn Him on mere +suspicion. If he is a man, come to help us, we must accept his help; +if he is speaking the truth, the people who sent him could do wonders +for us, and the greatest wonder would be to make us, again, a part of +a civilized community. And if he is the Enemy--" + +"If it is really He," Murray said, "I think we are on trial." + +"What do you mean, son? Oh, I see. Of course, I don't believe he is, +but that's mere doubt, not negative certainty. But if I'm wrong, if +this man is truly He, we are being tested. He has come among us +incognito; if we are worthy of Him, we will penetrate His disguise." + +"A very pretty problem, gentlemen," the Tenant said, smacking his lips +over his brandy. "For all that it may be a deadly serious one for us. +There is, of course, nothing that we can do tonight. But tomorrow, we +have promised to help our visitors, whoever they may be, in searching +for this crypt in the city. Murray, you were to be in charge of the +detail that was to accompany them. Carry on as arranged, and say +nothing of our suspicions, but advise your men to keep a sharp watch +on the strangers, that they may learn all they can from them. +Stamford, you and Verner and I will go along. We should, if we have +any wits at all, observe something." + + * * * * * + +"Listen to this infernal thing!" Altamont raged. "'_Wielding a +gold-plated spade handled with oak from an original rafter of the +Congressional Library, at three-fifteen one afternoon last week--_' +One afternoon last week!" He cursed luridly. "Why couldn't that +blasted magazine say _what_ afternoon? I've gone over a lot of +twentieth century copies of that magazine; that expression was a +regular cliché with them." + +Loudons looked over his shoulder at the photostated magazine page. + +"Well, we know it was between June thirteen and nineteen, inclusive," +he said. "And there's a picture of the university president, complete +with gold-plated spade, breaking ground. Call it Wednesday, the +sixteenth. Over there's the tip of the shadow of the old Cathedral of +Learning, about a hundred yards away. There are so many inexactitudes +that one'll probably cancel out another." + +"That's so, and it's also pretty futile getting angry at somebody +who's been dead two hundred years, but why couldn't they say +Wednesday, or Monday, or Saturday, or whatever?" He checked back in +the astronomical handbook, and the photostated pages of the old +almanac, and looked over his calculations. "All right, here's the +angle of the shadow, and the compass-bearing. I had a look, yesterday, +when I was taking the local citizenry on that junket. The old baseball +diamond at Forbes Field is plainly visible, and I located the ruins of +the Cathedral of Learning from that. Here's the above-sea-level +altitude of the top of the tower. After you've landed us, go up to +this altitude--use the barometric altimeter, not the radar--and hold +position." + +Loudons leaned forward from the desk to the contraption Altamont had +rigged in the nose of the helicopter--one of the telescope-sighted +hunting rifles clamped in a vise, with a compass and a spirit-level +under it. + +"Rifle's pointing downward at the correct angle now?" he asked. "Good. +Then all I have to do is hold the helicopter steady, keep it at the +right altitude, level, and pointed in the right direction, and watch +through the sight while you move the flag around, and direct you by +radio. Why wasn't I born quintuplets?" + +"Mr. Altamont! Dr. Loudons!" a voice outside the helicopter called. +"Are you ready for us, now?" + +Altamont went to the open door and looked out. The old Toon Leader, +the Reader, Toon Sarge Hughes, his son, and four young men in +buckskins with slung rifles, were standing outside. + +"I have decided," the Tenant said, "that Mr. Rawson and Sarge Hughes +and I would be of more help than an equal number of younger men. We +may not be as active, but we know the old ruins better, especially the +paths and hiding places of the Scowrers. These four young men you +probably met last evening; it will do no harm to introduce them again. +Birdy Edwards; Sholto Jiminez; Jefferson Burns; Murdo Olsen." + +"Very pleased, Tenant, gentlemen. I met all you young men last +evening; I remember you," Altamont said. "Now, if you'll all crowd in +here, I'll explain what we're going to try to do." + +He showed them the old picture. "You see where the shadow of a tall +building falls?" he asked. "We know the location and height of this +building. Dr. Loudons will hold this helicopter at exactly the +position of the top of the building, and aim through the sights of the +rifle, there. One of you will have this flag in his hand, and will +move it back and forth; Dr. Loudons will tell us when the flag is in +the sight of the rifle." + +"He'll need a good pair of lungs to do that," Verner Hughes commented. + +"We'll use radio. A portable set on the ground, and the helicopter's +radio set." He was met, to his surprise, with looks of incomprehension. +He had not supposed that these people would have lost all memory of +radio communication. + +"Why, that's wonderful!" the Reader exclaimed, when he explained. "You +can talk directly; how much better than just sending a telegram!" + +"But, finding the crypt by the shadow; that's exactly like the--" +Murray Hughes began, then stopped short. Immediately, he began talking +loudly about the rifle that was to be used as a surveying transit, +comparing it with the ones in the big first-floor room at the +Aitch-Cue House. + + * * * * * + +Locating the point on which the shadow of the old Cathedral of +Learning had fallen proved easier than either Altamont or Loudons had +expected. The towering building was now a tumbled mass of slagged +rubble, but it was quite possible to determine its original center, +and with the old data from the excellent reference library at Fort +Ridgeway, its height above sea level was known. After a little +jockeying, the helicopter came to a hovering stop, and the slanting +barrel of the rifle in the vise pointed downward along the line of the +shadow that had been cast on that afternoon in June, 1993, the cross +hairs of the scope-sight centered almost exactly on the spot Altamont +had estimated on the map. While he peered through the sight, Loudons +brought the helicopter slanting down to land on the sheet of fused +glass that had once been a grassy campus. + +"Well, this is probably it," Altamont said. "We didn't have to bother +fussing around with that flag, after all. That hump, over there, looks +as though it had been a small building, and there's nothing +corresponding to it on the city map. That may be the bunker over the +stair-head to the crypt." + +[Illustration: ] + +They began unloading equipment--a small portable nuclear-electric +conversion unit, a powerful solenoid-hammer, crowbars and intrenching +tools, tins of blasting-plastic. They took out the two hunting rifles, +and the auto-carbines, and Altamont showed the young men of Murray +Hughes' detail how to use them. + +"If you'll pardon me, sir," the Tenant said to Altamont, "I think it +would be a good idea if your companion went up in the flying machine +and circled around over us, to keep watch for Scowrers. There are +quite a few of them, particularly farther up the rivers, to the east, +where the damage was not so great and they can find cellars and +shelters and buildings to live in." + +"Good idea; that way, we won't have to put out guards," Altamont said. +"From the looks of this, we'll need everybody to help dig into that +thing. Hand out one of the portable radios, Jim, and go up to about a +thousand feet. If you see anything suspicious, give us a yell, and +then spray it with bullets, and find out what it is afterward." + +They waited until the helicopter had climbed to position and was +circling above, and then turned their attention to the place where the +sheet of fused earth and stone bulged upward. It must have been almost +ground-zero of one of the hydrogen-bombs; the wreckage of the +Cathedral of Learning had fallen predominantly to the north, and the +Carnegie Library was tumbled to the east. + +"I think the entrance would be on this side, toward the Library," +Altamont said. "Let's try it, to begin with." + +He used the solenoid-hammer, slowly pounding a hole into the glaze, +and placed a small charge of the plastic explosive. Chunks of the +lavalike stuff pelted down between the little mound and the huge one +of the old library, blowing a hole six feet in diameter and two and a +half deep, revealing concrete bonded with crushed steel-mill slag. + +"We missed the door," he said. "That means we'll have to tunnel in +through who knows how much concrete. Well--" + + * * * * * + +He used a second and larger charge, after digging a hole a foot deep. +When he and his helpers came up to look, they found a large mass of +concrete blown out, and solid steel behind it. Altamont cut two more +holes sidewise, one on either side of the blown-out place, and fired a +charge in each of them, bringing down more concrete. He found that he +hadn't missed the door, after all. It had merely been concreted over. + +A few more shots cleared it, and after some work, they got it open. +There was a room inside, concrete-floored and entirely empty. With the +others crowding behind him, Altamont stood in the doorway and +inspected the interior with his flashlight; he heard somebody back of +him say something about a most peculiar sort of a dark-lantern. Across +the small room, on the opposite wall, was a bronze plaque. + +It carried quite a lengthy inscription, including the names of all the +persons and institutions participating in the microfilm project. The +History Department at the Fort would be most interested in that, but +the only thing that interested Altamont was the statement that the +floor had been laid over the trapdoor leading to the vaults where the +microfilms were stored. He went outside to the radio. + +"Hello, Jim. We're inside, but the films are stored in an underground +vault, and we have to tear up a concrete floor," he said. "Go back to +the village and gather up all the men you can carry, and tools. +Hammers and picks and short steel bars. I don't want to use explosives +inside. The interior of the crypt oughtn't to be damaged, and I don't +know what a blast in here might do to the film, and I don't want to +take chances." + +"No, of course not. How thick do you think this floor is?" + +"Haven't the least idea. Plenty thick, I'd say. Those films would have +to be well buried, to shield them from radioactivity. We can expect +that it'll take some time." + +"All right. I'll be back as soon as I can." + +The helicopter turned and went windmilling away, over what had been +the Golden Triangle, down the Ohio. + +Altamont went back to the little concrete bunker and sat down, +lighting his pipe. Murray Hughes and his four riflemen spread out, one +circling around the glazed butte that had been the Cathedral of +Learning, another climbing to the top of the old library, and the +others taking positions to the south and east. + +Altamont sat in silence, smoking his pipe and trying to form some +conception of the wealth under that concrete floor. It was no use. +Jim Loudons probably understood a little more nearly what those books +would mean to the world of today, and what they could do toward +shaping the world of the future. There was a library at Fort Ridgeway, +and it was an excellent one--for its purpose. In 1996, when the +rockets had come crashing down, it had contained the cream of the +world's technological knowledge--and very little else. There was a +little fiction, a few books of ideas, just enough to give the +survivors a tantalizing glimpse of the world of their fathers. But +now-- + + * * * * * + +A rifle banged to the south and east, and banged again. Either Murray +Hughes or Birdy Edwards--it was one of the two hunting rifles from the +helicopter. On the heels of the reports, they heard a voice shouting: +"Scowrers! A lot of them, coming from up the river!" A moment later, +there was a light whip-crack of one of the long muzzle-loaders, from +the top of the old Carnegie Library, and Altamont could see a wisp of +gray-white smoke drifting away from where it had been fired. He jumped +to his feet and raced for the radio, picking it up and bringing it to +the bunker. + +Tenant Jones, old Reader Rawson, and Verner Hughes had caught up their +rifles. The Tenant was shouting, "Come on in! Everybody, come in!" The +boy on top of the library began scrambling down. Another came running +from the direction of the half-demolished Cathedral of Learning, a +third from the baseball field that had served as Altamont's point of +reference the afternoon before. The fourth, Murray Hughes, was running +in from the ruins of the old Carnegie Tech buildings, and Birdy +Edwards sped up the main road from Shenley Park. Once or twice, as he +ran, Murray Hughes paused, turned, and fired behind him. + +Then his pursuers came into sight. They ran erect, and they wore a few +rags of skin garments, and they carried spears and hatchets and clubs, +so they were probably classifiable as men. Their hair was long and +unkempt; their bodies were almost black with dirt and from the sun. A +few of them were yelling; most of them ran silently. They ran more +swiftly than the boy they were pursuing; the distance between them +narrowed every moment. There were at least fifty of them. + +Verner Hughes' rifle barked; one of them dropped. As coolly as though +he were shooting squirrels instead of his son's pursuers, he dropped +the butt of his rifle to the ground, poured a charge of powder, +patched a ball and rammed it home, replaced the ramrod. Tenant Jones +fired then, and then Birdy Edwards joined them and began shooting with +the telescope-sighted hunting rifle. The young man who had been north +of the Cathedral of Learning had one of the auto-carbines; Altamont +had providently set the fire-control for semi-auto before giving it +to him. He dropped to one knee and began to empty the clip, shooting +slowly and deliberately, picking off the runners who were in the lead. +The boy who had started to climb down off the library halted, fired +his flintlock, and began reloading it. And Altamont, sitting down and +propping his elbows on his knees, took both hands to the automatic +which was his only weapon, emptying the magazine and replacing it. The +last three of the savages he shot in the back; they had had enough and +were running for their lives. + +So far, everybody was safe. The boy in the library came down through a +place where the wall had fallen. Murray Hughes stopped running and +came slowly toward the bunker, putting a fresh clip into his rifle. +The others came drifting in. + + * * * * * + +"Altamont, calling Loudons," the scientist from Fort Ridgeway was +saying into the radio. "Monty to Jim; can you hear me, Jim?" + +Silence. + +"We'd better get ready for another attack," Birdy Edwards said. +"There's another gang coming from down that way. I never saw so many +Scowrers!" + +"Maybe there's a reason, Birdy," Tenant Jones said. "The Enemy is +after big game, this time." + +"Jim! Where the devil are you?" Altamont fairly yelled into the radio, +and as he did, he knew the answer. Loudons was in the village, away +from the helicopter, gathering tools and workers. Nothing to do but +keep on trying. + +"Here they come!" Reader Rawson warned. + +"How far can these rifles be depended on?" Birdy Edwards wanted to +know. + +Altamont straightened, saw the second band of savages approaching, +about four hundred yards away. + +"Start shooting now," he said. "Aim for the upper part of their +bodies." + +The two auto-loading rifles began to crack. After a few shots, the +savages took cover. Evidently they understood the capabilities and +limitations of the villagers' flintlocks; this was a terrifying +surprise to them. + +"Jim!" Altamont was almost praying into the radio. "Come in, Jim!" + +"What is it, Monty? I was outside." + +Altamont told him. + +"Those fellows you had up with you yesterday; think they could be +trusted to handle the guns? A couple of them are here with me," +Loudons inquired. + +"Take a chance on it; it won't cost you anything but my life, and +that's not worth much at present." + +"All right; hold on. We'll be along in a few minutes." + +"Loudons is bringing the helicopter," he told the others. "All we have +to do is hold on, here, till he comes." + +A naked savage raised his head from behind what might, two hundred +years ago, have been a cement park-bench, a hundred yards away. +Reader Stamford Rawson promptly killed him and began reloading. + +"I think you're right, Tenant," he said. "The Scowrers have never +attacked in bands like this before. They must have had a powerful +reason, and I can think of only one." + +"That's what I'm beginning to think, too," Verner Hughes agreed. "At +least, we have eliminated the third of your possibilities, Tenant. And +I think probably the second, as well." + +Altamont wondered what they were double-talking about. There wasn't +any particular mystery about the mass attack of the wild men to him. +Debased as they were, they still possessed speech and the ability to +transmit experiences. No matter how beclouded in superstition, they +still remembered that aircraft dropped bombs, and bombs killed people, +and where people had been killed, they would find fresh meat. They had +seen the helicopter circling about, and had heard the blasting; every +one in the area had been drawn to the scene as soon as Loudons had +gone down the river. + +Maybe they had forgotten that aircraft also carried guns. At least, +when they sprang to their feet and started to run at the return of the +helicopter, many did not run far. + + * * * * * + +Altamont and Loudons shook hands many times in front of the Aitch-Cue +House, and listened to many good wishes, and repeated their promise to +return. Most of the microfilmed books were still stored in the old +church; they were taking away with them only the catalogue and a few +of the more important works. Finally, they entered the helicopter. The +crowd shouted farewell, as they rose. + +Altamont, at the controls, waited until they had gained five thousand +feet, then turned on a compass-course for Colony Three. + +"I can't wait till we're in radio-range of the Fort, to report this, +Jim," he said. "Of all the wonderful luck! And I don't yet know which +is more important; finding those books, or finding those people. In a +few years, when we can get them supplied with modern equipment and +instructed in its use--" + +"I'm not very happy about it, Monty," Loudons confessed. "I keep +thinking about what's going to happen to them." + +"Why, nothing's going to happen to them. They're going to be given the +means of producing more food, keeping more of them alive, having more +leisure to develop themselves in--" + +"Monty; I saw the Sacred Books." + +"The deuce! What were they?" + +"It. One volume; a collection of works. We have it at the Fort; I've +read it. How I ever missed all the clues--You see Monty, what I'm +worried about is what's going to happen to those people when they find +out that we're not really Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson." + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Return, by H. Beam Piper and John J. McGuire + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RETURN *** + +***** This file should be named 18855-8.txt or 18855-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/8/5/18855/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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