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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/30673-h.zip b/30673-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..de1961d --- /dev/null +++ b/30673-h.zip diff --git a/30673-h/30673-h.htm b/30673-h/30673-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..acb811b --- /dev/null +++ b/30673-h/30673-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1358 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sound of Terror, by Don Berry + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2 {text-align: center;} + h2 {margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 2em auto; visibility: hidden;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .rgt,.figr {text-align: right;} + .figc {margin: 1em auto; width: 450px;} + .figr {float: right; clear: right; margin: 0 0 1em 1em; padding: 0; width: 194px;} + img {border: none;} + a:link,a:visited {text-decoration: none;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em; width: auto;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .figt {float: left; clear: left; margin: 15px; padding: 0; width: 140px;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; min-height: 230px;} + .trn p {margin: 15px;} + .sp1 {font-size: 125%;} + .hd1 {text-align: left; margin-bottom: 4em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sound of Terror, by Don Berry + +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: Sound of Terror + +Author: Don Berry + +Illustrator: Ed Emshwiller + +Release Date: December 14, 2009 [EBook #30673] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUND OF TERROR *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figr"><img src="images/001.png" width="194" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +<i><small><b>Illustrated by Ed Emsh</b></small></i></div> + +<p class="hd1"><big><i>What is more frightening +than the fear of the unknown? +Johnny found out!</i></big></p> + +<h1>SOUND OF<br /> +<span class="sp1">TERROR</span></h1> + +<h2>BY DON BERRY</h2> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The day</span> was still no more +than a ragged streak of red in +the east; the pre-dawn air was +sharply cold, making Johnny +Youngbear's face feel slightly brittle +as he dressed quietly in the gray +bedroom.</p> + +<p>He sat down on the bed, pulling +on his boots, and felt his wife stir +sleepily beneath the covers. Suddenly +she stiffened, sat upright in +the bed, startled into wakefulness. +Johnny put one dark, bony hand +on her white shoulder, gently, reassuring. +After a moment, finding +herself, she turned away and lit a +cigarette. Johnny finished pulling +on his boots and stood, his hawk-like +face unreadable in the cold +gray light streaming through the +huge picture window.</p> + +<p>"Johnny?" said his wife hesitantly.</p> + +<p>He murmured an acknowledgement, +watching the bright flare of +color as she drew on the cigarette. +Her soft, dark hair was coiled loosely +around her shoulders, very black +against the pale skin. Her eyes were +invisible in shadow, and Johnny +could not read their expression. He +turned away, knowing she was +watching him.</p> + +<p>"Be careful," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"Try," he said. Then he +shrugged. "Not my day, anyway."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said. "But—be +careful."</p> + +<p>He left the house and walked out +into the chill desert dawn. He +turned his face to the brightness in +the east, trying to catch a little +warmth, but could not.</p> + +<p>He warmed up the jeep, listening +to the engine grumble protest +until it settled to a flat, banging +roar. He swerved out of the driveway +with a screaming of tires. +Reaching the long ribbon of concrete +that led out into the desert, +he settled down hard on the accelerator, +indifferent to the whining +complaint of the jeep's motor.</p> + +<p>It was eight miles from his +sprawling house to the Mesa Dry +Lake launching site, due east, into +the sun. He pulled to the top of Six +Mile Hill and stopped in the middle +of the highway. Two miles ahead +was Launching Base I, throwing +long, sharp shadows at him in the +rosy dawn light. A cluster of squat, +gray blockhouses; a long runway +tapering into the distance with an +Air Force B-52 motionless at the +near end; that was all.</p> + +<p>Except the Ship.</p> + +<p>The Ship towered high, dominating +the desert like a pinnacle of +bright silver. Even silhouetted +against the eastern sky, it sparkled +and glistened. Impassive it stood, +graceful, seeming to strain into the +sky, anxious to be off and gone. The +loading gantry was a dark, spidery +framework beside The Ship, leaning +against it, drawing strength +from its sleek beauty.</p> + +<p>Johnny watched it in silence for +a moment, then turned his eyes up, +to the sky. Somewhere up there a +tiny satellite spun wildly about the +earth, a little silver ball in some +celestial roulette wheel. Gradually +it would spiral closer and closer, +caught by the planet's implacable +grasp, until it flared brightly like a +cigarette in the heavens before dissolving +into drops of molten metal.</p> + +<p>But it would have served its purpose. +In its short life it would have +given Man knowledge; knowledge +of space, knowledge enough that he +could go himself, knowing what he +would find in the emptiness between +the earth and the moon. Or +knowing nearly.</p> + +<p><i>What's it like out there?</i></p> + +<p>The satellite answered partly; +the Ship would answer more.</p> + +<p>Johnny slammed the jeep into +gear, hurtled down the other side +of Six Mile Hill. Through his mind +ran the insistent repetition of an old +song he knew, and he hummed it +tunelessly through closed teeth.</p> + +<p><i>I had a true wife but I left her +... oh, oh, oh.</i></p> + +<p>The jeep skidded to a halt beside +Control. Mitch Campbell's green +station wagon was already there, +creaking and settling as the motor +cooled.</p> + +<p>Control was full of people; Air +Force brass, technicians, observers, +enlisted men of indiscernible purpose. +The room hummed with the +muted buzz of low, serious conversation.</p> + +<p>Mitch Campbell sat in one corner, +apparently forgotten in the +confusion. He had nothing to do. +Not yet. He was already in flight +dress, holding the massive helmet in +his hands morosely, turning it over +and over, staring at it as though he +thought he might find his head inside +if he looked carefully enough.</p> + +<p>"Morning, Colonel," said Johnny, +forcing his voice to be casual +and cheerful. "You're up early this +morning."</p> + +<p>"Morning, Colonel, yourself," said +Mitch, looking up.</p> + +<p>"Big date today?"</p> + +<p>"Well—yeah, you might say so," +Mitch said, smiling faintly and with +obvious effort. "Thought I might +go once around lightly," he said, +hooking his thumb upwards. Upwards +through the concrete ceiling, +into the air, through the air, up +where there was no air for a man +to breathe. Once around lightly.</p> + +<p>Around the world. Lightly.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what, Mitch."</p> + +<p>"O.K., tell me what," he said.</p> + +<p>"You like the movies?" Johnny +asked. "You like to get a little adventure +in your soul? You like a little +vicarious thrill now and then?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah, I like that."</p> + +<p>"Tell you what. We'll go. No, +don't thank me. We'll go. Tonight. +Eight o'clock, you come by."</p> + +<p>"Wives and everybody?" Mitch +asked.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Johnny said. +"They're cooped up in the house +all day."</p> + +<p>They both knew the wives would +be in Control in an hour, listening +to the radio chatter, waiting, eyes +wide, shoulders stiff and tight.</p> + +<p>"Fine," said Mitch. "Fine."</p> + +<p>A crew-chief came up and +touched Johnny's shoulder. "Colonel +Youngbear," he said, "Observation +is going up."</p> + +<p>Johnny stood and looked out the +tiny window at the red-painted +B-52.</p> + +<p>"See you tonight, Mitch. Eight +o'clock? Don't forget. Westerns."</p> + +<p>"See you," said Mitch. He looked +back down at the helmet and was +turning it over and over again +when Johnny left.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The Observation</span> B-52 climbed, +screaming.</p> + +<p>Johnny lit a cigarette and +watched out the port at the contrails +rolling straight and white behind +the jets.</p> + +<p>He sat by the radioman, a Sergeant, +ignoring the rest of the officers +in the converted bomb-bay.</p> + +<p>"Hope he makes it, Colonel," +said the Sergeant.</p> + +<p>"He'll make it," Johnny said flatly, +irritated. Relenting, he added in +a gentler tone, "The pilot section +breaks away. If he gets in serious +trouble, he can dump it and ride +the nose down. Like a bird. He'll +make it."</p> + +<p>There was a raucous buzz, and a +squawk box said: "On my mark it +will be Zero minus four minutes ... +mark!" The voice of Control, 35,000 +feet below.</p> + +<p>The B-52 swung ponderously onto +the base leg of its circle, and +there was a creaking of stretching +metal inside.</p> + +<p>"Minus two minutes." <i>Not my +day, anyway</i>, Johnny thought. He +lit another cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Control," said a new voice, +"This is Red Leader. Red Leader. +Red Flight is in position."</p> + +<p>"Rog, Red Leader," Control acknowledged. +The Observation flight +of jet fighters was waiting, too.</p> + +<p>"Minus five ... four ... three +... two ... one ... mark!"</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p><i>I had a true wife but I left her +... oh, oh, oh.</i></p> + +<p>There was another rattle of the +speaker, and Mitch's voice came +through, grunting, heavy, as the acceleration +of the Ship laid a heavy +hand on his chest.</p> + +<p>"Acceleration ... eight gee ... +controls respond."</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"There he is," someone said. A +wavering trail of smoke was barely +visible below, a thread of white, +coming up fast, blown erratically +by winds into a distorted tiny snake.</p> + +<p>"Altitude ..." said Mitch's voice, +"40,000.... Acceleration ... dropping."</p> + +<p>The white snake wriggled up to +their level, rose above them. Johnny +could not see the silver head.</p> + +<p>"Altitude ... 65,000.... I have a +loud, very high buzz in my headphones. +I'm going to—there, it's +gone now, went out of my range."</p> + +<p>His voice sounded wrong to +Johnny, but he couldn't pin it +down.</p> + +<p>"Altitude ... 105,000. Beginning +orbital correction. Beginning—beginning +... I can't—I'm—I'm—" +The voice became unintelligible. It +was pitched very high, like a woman's, +and it sounded as if his teeth +were chattering.</p> + +<p>"Mitch," Johnny pleaded softly. +"Mitch, baby. Dump it, boy, come +on home, now. Dump it."</p> + +<p>There was no more from the +speaker. A confused babble broke +out in the bomb-bay. The Sergeant +fiddled with his dials frantically, +spinning across wavelengths, trying +to find a word. The confusion +ceased when the speaker rattled +again, seeming hours later.</p> + +<p>"Uh, hello, Control, this is Red +Three, do you read me?" One of +the fighter flight.</p> + +<p>"Rog, Red Three, go ahead," +came Control's voice from below.</p> + +<p>"Uh, Control, I have a flash and +smoke cloud on a bearing of three-seven +degrees."</p> + +<p>"Red Three, what altitude? +What altitude?"</p> + +<p>"None," said the fighter pilot. +"On the deck."</p> + +<p>After a moment, Johnny climbed +unsteadily to his feet in the midst +of a booming silence. He made his +way back along the catwalk to the +head, where he retched violently +until the tears came to his eyes.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Three weeks</span> later, Johnny +sat in Doctor Lambert's office. +He watched the lean, graying +psychologist turn off the tape recorder, +watched him methodically +tamp tobacco in his pipe.</p> + +<p>"That's all she wrote, Johnny," +said Lambert, finally. "That recording +of Mitch's voice is just +about all we have. The Ship was +under full power when it hit. There +wasn't much left."</p> + +<p>Johnny looked absently out the +window at the gleaming needle of +Ship II beside the flimsy-looking +gantry. Full power was a lot of +power.</p> + +<p>The psychologist followed Johnny's eyes. +"Beautiful," he said, and +the word brought to Johnny's mind +the wide-eyed pale face of Mitch's +wife, staring at him.</p> + +<p>"That Ship is the best we can +make her," Lambert said. "Engineering +is as certain as they can be +that there was no structural failure +on Ship I."</p> + +<p>"So?" Johnny said, still staring at +the Ship. Even at this distance, he +could almost believe he could see +his own lean face reflected in the +shining metal.</p> + +<p>"So we look somewhere else for +the cause of failure," said Lambert.</p> + +<p>"Where?" said Johnny. He +turned back, saw that the psychologist +was putting a new reel on the +tape recorder.</p> + +<p>"The weak link in the control +system," Lambert said.</p> + +<p>"There weren't any."</p> + +<p>"One."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Mitch Campbell."</p> + +<p>Johnny stood, angry. "Mitch was +good. Damn good."</p> + +<p>The psychologist looked up, and +his eyes were tired. "I know it," he +said calmly. "Listen to this." He +started the machine playing the +new tape.</p> + +<p>Johnny listened to it through. +The voice that came out was high +and wavering. It shook, it chattered, +words were indistinguishable. +It was thin with tension, and it +rang in Johnny's ears with unwanted +familiarity.</p> + +<p>"What's it sound like to you?" +Lambert asked when it had finished.</p> + +<p>"Like Mitch's voice," Johnny admitted +reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"It did to me, too. What do you +think it is?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know," said Johnny shortly. +"Might be a pilot whose plane is +shaking apart."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>Lambert sat back down behind +his desk and sucked on his pipestem. +He regarded Johnny impassively, +seeming to consider some +problem remote from the room.</p> + +<p>Abruptly, he stood again and +went to the window, watching the +ant-like activity around the base of +Ship II.</p> + +<p>"That was a madman's voice," +he said. "I made the recording +while I was interning at a state institution."</p> + +<p>"So?"</p> + +<p>"Mad with fear," Lambert said. +"Pure. Simple. Unadulterated. +That was the sound of terror you +heard, Johnny. Terror such as few +humans have ever known. That +man knew such fear he could not +remain sane and live with it."</p> + +<p><i>I had a true wife but I left her +... oh, oh, oh.</i></p> + +<p>"You think Mitch—"</p> + +<p>"You said yourself the voices +were alike." Lambert pointed out.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it."</p> + +<p>"Don't have to," said Lambert, +turning from the window. "But I'll +tell you something, Johnny. That +Ship—" he hooked his thumb out +the window—"is a very big toy. +Maybe too big."</p> + +<p>"Meaning?"</p> + +<p>"Meaning it's possible we've +reached beyond Man's limitations. +Meaning it's possible we've built +something too big for a man to +handle and stay sane. Maybe we've +finally gone too far."</p> + +<p>"Maybe."</p> + +<p>"I don't insist it's true," said the +psychologist. "It's an idea. Fear. +Fear of the unknown, maybe. Too +much fear to hold."</p> + +<p>"You think I'll crack?" asked +Johnny.</p> + +<p>The psychologist didn't answer +directly. "It's an idea, as I said. I +just wanted you to think it over."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Johnny. He stood +again, his jaw held tight. "Is that +all?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Colonel, that's all," said +Lambert.</p> + +<p>When Johnny left, the psychologist +sat in brooding silence, staring +morosely at a trail of blue smoke +rising from his pipe bowl. He sat +there until the afternoon light faded +from the desert base. Then he stood +in the darkened office, sighed, lit +his pipe and went home. He was +very tired.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Six weeks</span> later, Johnny +Youngbear walked out of the +Control blockhouse into the cold +desert morning, carrying his helmet +under his arm.</p> + +<p>He ran his eyes swiftly up the +length of Ship II, trying to forget +those other eyes staring at his back +from the blockhouse. The Ship rippled +and gleamed, alive, eager, the +thundering power in her belly waiting +to be born.</p> + +<p><i>Oh, you bitch! You beautiful +bitch</i>, Johnny thought. <i>Pregnant +with power like a goddess with a +god's child. Bitch, bitch, bitch! I +love you. I hate you. You kill me.</i></p> + +<p>The crew-chief walked by his +side. "Nice morning, Colonel," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Very," said Johnny.</p> + +<p><i>I had a true wife but I left her +... oh, oh, oh. For you, you beautiful +bitch.</i></p> + +<p>"Say something, Colonel?" asked +the crew-chief.</p> + +<p>"No. Song running through my +head," he explained.</p> + +<p>"Yeah," the other man chuckled. +"I know how it is."</p> + +<p>They strapped him into the padded +control chair, the controls arranged +around him in a neat semicircle, +easy to reach.</p> + +<p><i>This is my day.</i></p> + +<p>They left him. Alone. <i>Once +around lightly.</i></p> + +<p>The loneliness was in his belly, +aching like a tumor.</p> + +<p>"... read me?" Control's voice +in his earphones.</p> + +<p>"Loud and clear," he said absently.</p> + +<p>"... minus two minutes ... +mark!" A different voice. So many +different voices. They knew him, +they talked to him. But he was alone +with his bitch.</p> + +<p><i>I had a true wife but—</i></p> + +<p>"... minus one minute ... +mark!"</p> + +<p><i>This is my day I had a true +wife—</i></p> + +<p>"... three ... two ... one ... +mark!"</p> + +<p>There was the sound of a world +dying in his mind, the sound of +thunder, the sound of a sun splitting, +the sound of a goddess giving +birth, with pain with agony in loneliness.</p> + +<p>A giant's fist came from out of +nothingness and smashed into his +body. His chest was compressed, his +face was flattened, he could not get +enough air to breathe. The heavy +sledge of acceleration crushed him +back into the padded chair, inexorable, +implacable, relentless, heavy. +His vision clouded in red and he +thought he would die. Instead, he +spoke into the lip mike, resenting +it bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Acceleration ... nine gee." He +looked at the gauge that shimmered +redly before him, disbelieving. "Altitude +20,000."</p> + +<p>He blacked out, sinking helplessly +into the black plush night of unawareness. +<i>I had a true I had I +had—</i></p> + +<p>Awakening to pain, he glanced +at the gauges. He had been gone +only a split second.</p> + +<p>"Altitude 28,000, acceleration +pressure dropping."</p> + +<p>His face began to resume its normal +shape as the acceleration +dropped. "... six gee," he said, and +breathing was easier. The giant reluctantly +began to withdraw his +massive fist from Johnny's face.</p> + +<p>He tipped a lever, watched the +artificial horizon tilt slightly. "Air +control surfaces respond," he said. +But soon there would be no air for +the surfaces to move against, and +then he would control by flicking +the power that rumbled behind +him.</p> + +<p>"Altitude 40,000 ...</p> + +<p>"... 85,000 ...</p> + +<p>"... 100,000...." The sky was +glistening black, he was passing +from the earth's envelope of air into +the nothingness that was space. +Now.</p> + +<p>Now.</p> + +<p>Now it was time to change angle, +flatten the ship out, bring it into +position to run around the earth. +<i>Once around lightly.</i></p> + +<p>There was a high-pitched scream +in his earphones. He remembered +it had been there for long, and +wondered if he had told Control.</p> + +<p>He flicked the switch that ignited +the powerful steering rockets, and +the whine grew louder, unbearably +loud. It sang to him, his bitch sang, +<i>I had a true wife, but I left her ... +oh, oh, oh.</i></p> + +<p>He began to feel a light tingle +over his body, tiny needles delicately +jabbing every inch. His face became +wooden, felt prickly. He tried +to lick his lips and could feel no +sensation there. His vision fogged +again, and he knew it was not from +acceleration this time, it was something +else.</p> + +<p>Something else.</p> + +<p><i>What's it like out there?</i></p> + +<p>His belly told him. Fear.</p> + +<p>He reached out his hand to touch +the control panel, and his arm did +not respond. It was shaking, uncontrollably, +and moved off to the +right of where he wanted it to go. +When he tried to correct, it swung +too far to the left, waving as if it +were alive. It hung there before +him as in a dream, oscillating back +and forth.</p> + +<p>He could not control his body, +and the realization nurtured the +tiny seed of panic that lay heavily +in his belly.</p> + +<p><i>Dump it....</i></p> + +<p>What did that mean? <i>Dump it +... go home now, baby ...</i> I had <i>a true ...</i></p> + +<p>Decision ... there was a decision +he had to make, but he was too +frightened to know what it was.</p> + +<p>He had been born in fear and +lived in fear and his body was full +of it, quivering to the lover's touch +of fear. Falling, darkness, the fear +of dying, the unknown, the unimaginable +always lurking just out of the +corner of his eye.</p> + +<p>He wanted to scream and the +fear choked it off. His hands were +at his sides, limply useless, dangling +at the seat. He had to hang on to +something. His hand found a projection +at the side of the seat. He +clutched it desperately.</p> + +<p>He knew he would fall, down, +spiraling, weightless, off the cliff as +in a dream, off the ladder, the tree, +he was a child and his toes were +tingling as he stood too near the +edge of the cliff, knowing he might +fall.</p> + +<p>He clutched tightly, putting every +ounce of his strength into holding +on to the lever, the single solid +reality in a world of shifting unreality. +He was going to fall he was +falling I love you I hate you I had +a true wife ...</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">There was</span> softness beneath +his back, and he moved his +hands, feeling the crispness of +sheets. There was a low murmur of +voices. He raised his hands to his +eyes and the voices stopped. There +were heavy bandages on his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Colonel?" came a questing +voice, and Johnny realized it was +Doctor Lambert. "Awake?"</p> + +<p>"I can't see. Why can't I see?"</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right. It's all right."</p> + +<p>"What happened?"</p> + +<p>"How much do you remember?" +asked the voice. "The blast-off?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes, I remember that."</p> + +<p>"The orbit? The landing?"</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "Not that."</p> + +<p>"You did it," said the voice. "You +made it."</p> + +<p><i>This is my day. Once around +lightly.</i></p> + +<p>"Johnny," said the voice. "I don't +know just how to say this. We know +what was wrong with Ship I, and +why it killed Mitch. We know—hell, +we don't even begin to realize +what we have at our fingertips now. +It's so big it's impossible to evaluate."</p> + +<p>"What? I don't—"</p> + +<p>"Sound, Johnny, sound. Or +rather, vibration. It's something +we're just beginning to learn about. +We know a few things; we know +you can boil water with sound if +the frequency is high enough. And +you can drill metal with it—and it +does things to the human body.</p> + +<p>"There are frequencies of sound +which can act directly on human +nerves, directly on the human +brain. It means that if we know the +right frequency, we'll be able to +produce any state we want in a +man, any emotion. Fear, anguish, +anything.</p> + +<p>"When the steering rockets were +cut in, the Ship began to vibrate. It +generated frequencies so high that +ordinary human senses couldn't detect +them. And when your nerves +were exposed to those vibrations, it +produced fear. Pure and absolute +fear. Motor control went, rational +processes went, all the nervous functions +of the body went out of control. +Your body became a giant tuning +fork, and the frequency to which +it vibrated was fear.</p> + +<p>"I can't remember—"</p> + +<p>"Sanity went, too, Johnny," said +the man softly. "You could not +stand that fear and remain sane, so +something cut off. That was what +happened to Mitch."</p> + +<p>"How did I get back?"</p> + +<p>"We don't know. The films show +your face suddenly going blank. +Then you flew. That's all. We +hoped you could tell us."</p> + +<p>"No. No—I don't remember—"</p> + +<p>"There was something in you so +strong it overrode everything else, +even the fear. We'd like to know +what it is. We'll find out, Johnny, +and it will mean a lot to the human +race when we do."</p> + +<p><i>This is my day.</i></p> + +<p>"Is my wife here?"</p> + +<p>There was a cool hand on his +forehead. "Yes, Johnny."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said helplessly. "Well, +how are you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm fine, Johnny," she whispered, +and there was the sound of +tears in her voice. "I'm just fine."</p> + +<p>He felt the warm softness of her +lips on his.</p> + +<p><i>I had a true wife but I left her +... oh, oh, oh.</i></p> + +<p>And then he came home again.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><b>END</b></p> + +<div class="figc"><img src="images/002.png" width="450" height="270" alt="" title="" /></div> + +<div class="trn"><div class="figt"> +<a href="images/003-2.jpg"><img src="images/003-1.jpg" width="140" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div> + +<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p> + +<p>This etext was produced from <i>If Worlds of Science Fiction</i> June 1958. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sound of Terror, by Don Berry + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUND OF TERROR *** + +***** This file should be named 30673-h.htm or 30673-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/6/7/30673/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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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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: Sound of Terror + +Author: Don Berry + +Illustrator: Ed Emshwiller + +Release Date: December 14, 2009 [EBook #30673] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUND OF TERROR *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Illustrated by Ed Emsh] + + + _What is more frightening + than the fear of the unknown? + Johnny found out!_ + + + SOUND OF + TERROR + + BY DON BERRY + + +The day was still no more than a ragged streak of red in the east; the +pre-dawn air was sharply cold, making Johnny Youngbear's face feel +slightly brittle as he dressed quietly in the gray bedroom. + +He sat down on the bed, pulling on his boots, and felt his wife stir +sleepily beneath the covers. Suddenly she stiffened, sat upright in the +bed, startled into wakefulness. Johnny put one dark, bony hand on her +white shoulder, gently, reassuring. After a moment, finding herself, she +turned away and lit a cigarette. Johnny finished pulling on his boots +and stood, his hawk-like face unreadable in the cold gray light +streaming through the huge picture window. + +"Johnny?" said his wife hesitantly. + +He murmured an acknowledgement, watching the bright flare of color as +she drew on the cigarette. Her soft, dark hair was coiled loosely around +her shoulders, very black against the pale skin. Her eyes were invisible +in shadow, and Johnny could not read their expression. He turned away, +knowing she was watching him. + +"Be careful," she said simply. + +"Try," he said. Then he shrugged. "Not my day, anyway." + +"I know," she said. "But--be careful." + +He left the house and walked out into the chill desert dawn. He turned +his face to the brightness in the east, trying to catch a little warmth, +but could not. + +He warmed up the jeep, listening to the engine grumble protest until it +settled to a flat, banging roar. He swerved out of the driveway with a +screaming of tires. Reaching the long ribbon of concrete that led out +into the desert, he settled down hard on the accelerator, indifferent to +the whining complaint of the jeep's motor. + +It was eight miles from his sprawling house to the Mesa Dry Lake +launching site, due east, into the sun. He pulled to the top of Six Mile +Hill and stopped in the middle of the highway. Two miles ahead was +Launching Base I, throwing long, sharp shadows at him in the rosy dawn +light. A cluster of squat, gray blockhouses; a long runway tapering into +the distance with an Air Force B-52 motionless at the near end; that was +all. + +Except the Ship. + +The Ship towered high, dominating the desert like a pinnacle of bright +silver. Even silhouetted against the eastern sky, it sparkled and +glistened. Impassive it stood, graceful, seeming to strain into the sky, +anxious to be off and gone. The loading gantry was a dark, spidery +framework beside The Ship, leaning against it, drawing strength from its +sleek beauty. + +Johnny watched it in silence for a moment, then turned his eyes up, to +the sky. Somewhere up there a tiny satellite spun wildly about the +earth, a little silver ball in some celestial roulette wheel. Gradually +it would spiral closer and closer, caught by the planet's implacable +grasp, until it flared brightly like a cigarette in the heavens before +dissolving into drops of molten metal. + +But it would have served its purpose. In its short life it would have +given Man knowledge; knowledge of space, knowledge enough that he could +go himself, knowing what he would find in the emptiness between the +earth and the moon. Or knowing nearly. + +_What's it like out there?_ + +The satellite answered partly; the Ship would answer more. + +Johnny slammed the jeep into gear, hurtled down the other side of Six +Mile Hill. Through his mind ran the insistent repetition of an old song +he knew, and he hummed it tunelessly through closed teeth. + +_I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._ + +The jeep skidded to a halt beside Control. Mitch Campbell's green +station wagon was already there, creaking and settling as the motor +cooled. + +Control was full of people; Air Force brass, technicians, observers, +enlisted men of indiscernible purpose. The room hummed with the muted +buzz of low, serious conversation. + +Mitch Campbell sat in one corner, apparently forgotten in the confusion. +He had nothing to do. Not yet. He was already in flight dress, holding +the massive helmet in his hands morosely, turning it over and over, +staring at it as though he thought he might find his head inside if he +looked carefully enough. + +"Morning, Colonel," said Johnny, forcing his voice to be casual and +cheerful. "You're up early this morning." + +"Morning, Colonel, yourself," said Mitch, looking up. + +"Big date today?" + +"Well--yeah, you might say so," Mitch said, smiling faintly and with +obvious effort. "Thought I might go once around lightly," he said, +hooking his thumb upwards. Upwards through the concrete ceiling, into +the air, through the air, up where there was no air for a man to +breathe. Once around lightly. + +Around the world. Lightly. + +"Tell you what, Mitch." + +"O.K., tell me what," he said. + +"You like the movies?" Johnny asked. "You like to get a little adventure +in your soul? You like a little vicarious thrill now and then?" + +"Yeah, I like that." + +"Tell you what. We'll go. No, don't thank me. We'll go. Tonight. Eight +o'clock, you come by." + +"Wives and everybody?" Mitch asked. + +"Why not?" Johnny said. "They're cooped up in the house all day." + +They both knew the wives would be in Control in an hour, listening to +the radio chatter, waiting, eyes wide, shoulders stiff and tight. + +"Fine," said Mitch. "Fine." + +A crew-chief came up and touched Johnny's shoulder. "Colonel Youngbear," +he said, "Observation is going up." + +Johnny stood and looked out the tiny window at the red-painted B-52. + +"See you tonight, Mitch. Eight o'clock? Don't forget. Westerns." + +"See you," said Mitch. He looked back down at the helmet and was turning +it over and over again when Johnny left. + + * * * * * + +The Observation B-52 climbed, screaming. + +Johnny lit a cigarette and watched out the port at the contrails rolling +straight and white behind the jets. + +He sat by the radioman, a Sergeant, ignoring the rest of the officers in +the converted bomb-bay. + +"Hope he makes it, Colonel," said the Sergeant. + +"He'll make it," Johnny said flatly, irritated. Relenting, he added in a +gentler tone, "The pilot section breaks away. If he gets in serious +trouble, he can dump it and ride the nose down. Like a bird. He'll make +it." + +There was a raucous buzz, and a squawk box said: "On my mark it will be +Zero minus four minutes ... mark!" The voice of Control, 35,000 feet +below. + +The B-52 swung ponderously onto the base leg of its circle, and there +was a creaking of stretching metal inside. + +"Minus two minutes." _Not my day, anyway_, Johnny thought. He lit +another cigarette. + +"Control," said a new voice, "This is Red Leader. Red Leader. Red Flight +is in position." + +"Rog, Red Leader," Control acknowledged. The Observation flight of jet +fighters was waiting, too. + +"Minus five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... mark!" + +Silence. + +_I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._ + +There was another rattle of the speaker, and Mitch's voice came through, +grunting, heavy, as the acceleration of the Ship laid a heavy hand on +his chest. + +"Acceleration ... eight gee ... controls respond." + +Silence. + +"There he is," someone said. A wavering trail of smoke was barely +visible below, a thread of white, coming up fast, blown erratically by +winds into a distorted tiny snake. + +"Altitude ..." said Mitch's voice, "40,000.... Acceleration ... +dropping." + +The white snake wriggled up to their level, rose above them. Johnny +could not see the silver head. + +"Altitude ... 65,000.... I have a loud, very high buzz in my headphones. +I'm going to--there, it's gone now, went out of my range." + +His voice sounded wrong to Johnny, but he couldn't pin it down. + +"Altitude ... 105,000. Beginning orbital correction. +Beginning--beginning ... I can't--I'm--I'm--" The voice became +unintelligible. It was pitched very high, like a woman's, and it sounded +as if his teeth were chattering. + +"Mitch," Johnny pleaded softly. "Mitch, baby. Dump it, boy, come on +home, now. Dump it." + +There was no more from the speaker. A confused babble broke out in the +bomb-bay. The Sergeant fiddled with his dials frantically, spinning +across wavelengths, trying to find a word. The confusion ceased when the +speaker rattled again, seeming hours later. + +"Uh, hello, Control, this is Red Three, do you read me?" One of the +fighter flight. + +"Rog, Red Three, go ahead," came Control's voice from below. + +"Uh, Control, I have a flash and smoke cloud on a bearing of three-seven +degrees." + +"Red Three, what altitude? What altitude?" + +"None," said the fighter pilot. "On the deck." + +After a moment, Johnny climbed unsteadily to his feet in the midst of a +booming silence. He made his way back along the catwalk to the head, +where he retched violently until the tears came to his eyes. + + * * * * * + +Three weeks later, Johnny sat in Doctor Lambert's office. He watched the +lean, graying psychologist turn off the tape recorder, watched him +methodically tamp tobacco in his pipe. + +"That's all she wrote, Johnny," said Lambert, finally. "That recording +of Mitch's voice is just about all we have. The Ship was under full +power when it hit. There wasn't much left." + +Johnny looked absently out the window at the gleaming needle of Ship II +beside the flimsy-looking gantry. Full power was a lot of power. + +The psychologist followed Johnny's eyes. "Beautiful," he said, and the +word brought to Johnny's mind the wide-eyed pale face of Mitch's wife, +staring at him. + +"That Ship is the best we can make her," Lambert said. "Engineering is +as certain as they can be that there was no structural failure on Ship +I." + +"So?" Johnny said, still staring at the Ship. Even at this distance, he +could almost believe he could see his own lean face reflected in the +shining metal. + +"So we look somewhere else for the cause of failure," said Lambert. + +"Where?" said Johnny. He turned back, saw that the psychologist was +putting a new reel on the tape recorder. + +"The weak link in the control system," Lambert said. + +"There weren't any." + +"One." + +"What?" + +"Mitch Campbell." + +Johnny stood, angry. "Mitch was good. Damn good." + +The psychologist looked up, and his eyes were tired. "I know it," he +said calmly. "Listen to this." He started the machine playing the new +tape. + +Johnny listened to it through. The voice that came out was high and +wavering. It shook, it chattered, words were indistinguishable. It was +thin with tension, and it rang in Johnny's ears with unwanted +familiarity. + +"What's it sound like to you?" Lambert asked when it had finished. + +"Like Mitch's voice," Johnny admitted reluctantly. + +"It did to me, too. What do you think it is?" + +"Don't know," said Johnny shortly. "Might be a pilot whose plane is +shaking apart." + +"No." + +"I don't know." + +Lambert sat back down behind his desk and sucked on his pipestem. He +regarded Johnny impassively, seeming to consider some problem remote +from the room. + +Abruptly, he stood again and went to the window, watching the ant-like +activity around the base of Ship II. + +"That was a madman's voice," he said. "I made the recording while I was +interning at a state institution." + +"So?" + +"Mad with fear," Lambert said. "Pure. Simple. Unadulterated. That was +the sound of terror you heard, Johnny. Terror such as few humans have +ever known. That man knew such fear he could not remain sane and live +with it." + +_I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._ + +"You think Mitch--" + +"You said yourself the voices were alike." Lambert pointed out. + +"I don't believe it." + +"Don't have to," said Lambert, turning from the window. "But I'll tell +you something, Johnny. That Ship--" he hooked his thumb out the +window--"is a very big toy. Maybe too big." + +"Meaning?" + +"Meaning it's possible we've reached beyond Man's limitations. Meaning +it's possible we've built something too big for a man to handle and stay +sane. Maybe we've finally gone too far." + +"Maybe." + +"I don't insist it's true," said the psychologist. "It's an idea. Fear. +Fear of the unknown, maybe. Too much fear to hold." + +"You think I'll crack?" asked Johnny. + +The psychologist didn't answer directly. "It's an idea, as I said. I +just wanted you to think it over." + +"I will," said Johnny. He stood again, his jaw held tight. "Is that +all?" + +"Yes, Colonel, that's all," said Lambert. + +When Johnny left, the psychologist sat in brooding silence, staring +morosely at a trail of blue smoke rising from his pipe bowl. He sat +there until the afternoon light faded from the desert base. Then he +stood in the darkened office, sighed, lit his pipe and went home. He was +very tired. + + * * * * * + +Six weeks later, Johnny Youngbear walked out of the Control blockhouse +into the cold desert morning, carrying his helmet under his arm. + +He ran his eyes swiftly up the length of Ship II, trying to forget those +other eyes staring at his back from the blockhouse. The Ship rippled and +gleamed, alive, eager, the thundering power in her belly waiting to be +born. + +_Oh, you bitch! You beautiful bitch_, Johnny thought. _Pregnant with +power like a goddess with a god's child. Bitch, bitch, bitch! I love +you. I hate you. You kill me._ + +The crew-chief walked by his side. "Nice morning, Colonel," he said. + +"Very," said Johnny. + +_I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh. For you, you beautiful +bitch._ + +"Say something, Colonel?" asked the crew-chief. + +"No. Song running through my head," he explained. + +"Yeah," the other man chuckled. "I know how it is." + +They strapped him into the padded control chair, the controls arranged +around him in a neat semicircle, easy to reach. + +_This is my day._ + +They left him. Alone. _Once around lightly._ + +The loneliness was in his belly, aching like a tumor. + +"... read me?" Control's voice in his earphones. + +"Loud and clear," he said absently. + +"... minus two minutes ... mark!" A different voice. So many different +voices. They knew him, they talked to him. But he was alone with his +bitch. + +_I had a true wife but--_ + +"... minus one minute ... mark!" + +_This is my day I had a true wife--_ + +"... three ... two ... one ... mark!" + +There was the sound of a world dying in his mind, the sound of thunder, +the sound of a sun splitting, the sound of a goddess giving birth, with +pain with agony in loneliness. + +A giant's fist came from out of nothingness and smashed into his body. +His chest was compressed, his face was flattened, he could not get +enough air to breathe. The heavy sledge of acceleration crushed him back +into the padded chair, inexorable, implacable, relentless, heavy. His +vision clouded in red and he thought he would die. Instead, he spoke +into the lip mike, resenting it bitterly. + +"Acceleration ... nine gee." He looked at the gauge that shimmered redly +before him, disbelieving. "Altitude 20,000." + +He blacked out, sinking helplessly into the black plush night of +unawareness. _I had a true I had I had--_ + +Awakening to pain, he glanced at the gauges. He had been gone only a +split second. + +"Altitude 28,000, acceleration pressure dropping." + +His face began to resume its normal shape as the acceleration dropped. +"... six gee," he said, and breathing was easier. The giant reluctantly +began to withdraw his massive fist from Johnny's face. + +He tipped a lever, watched the artificial horizon tilt slightly. "Air +control surfaces respond," he said. But soon there would be no air for +the surfaces to move against, and then he would control by flicking the +power that rumbled behind him. + +"Altitude 40,000 ... + +"... 85,000 ... + +"... 100,000...." The sky was glistening black, he was passing from the +earth's envelope of air into the nothingness that was space. Now. + +Now. + +Now it was time to change angle, flatten the ship out, bring it into +position to run around the earth. _Once around lightly._ + +There was a high-pitched scream in his earphones. He remembered it had +been there for long, and wondered if he had told Control. + +He flicked the switch that ignited the powerful steering rockets, and +the whine grew louder, unbearably loud. It sang to him, his bitch sang, +_I had a true wife, but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._ + +He began to feel a light tingle over his body, tiny needles delicately +jabbing every inch. His face became wooden, felt prickly. He tried to +lick his lips and could feel no sensation there. His vision fogged +again, and he knew it was not from acceleration this time, it was +something else. + +Something else. + +_What's it like out there?_ + +His belly told him. Fear. + +He reached out his hand to touch the control panel, and his arm did not +respond. It was shaking, uncontrollably, and moved off to the right of +where he wanted it to go. When he tried to correct, it swung too far to +the left, waving as if it were alive. It hung there before him as in a +dream, oscillating back and forth. + +He could not control his body, and the realization nurtured the tiny +seed of panic that lay heavily in his belly. + +_Dump it...._ + +What did that mean? _Dump it ... go home now, baby ... _I had_ a +true ..._ + +Decision ... there was a decision he had to make, but he was too +frightened to know what it was. + +He had been born in fear and lived in fear and his body was full of it, +quivering to the lover's touch of fear. Falling, darkness, the fear of +dying, the unknown, the unimaginable always lurking just out of the +corner of his eye. + +He wanted to scream and the fear choked it off. His hands were at his +sides, limply useless, dangling at the seat. He had to hang on to +something. His hand found a projection at the side of the seat. He +clutched it desperately. + +He knew he would fall, down, spiraling, weightless, off the cliff as in +a dream, off the ladder, the tree, he was a child and his toes were +tingling as he stood too near the edge of the cliff, knowing he might +fall. + +He clutched tightly, putting every ounce of his strength into holding on +to the lever, the single solid reality in a world of shifting unreality. +He was going to fall he was falling I love you I hate you I had a true +wife ... + + * * * * * + +There was softness beneath his back, and he moved his hands, feeling the +crispness of sheets. There was a low murmur of voices. He raised his +hands to his eyes and the voices stopped. There were heavy bandages on +his eyes. + +"Colonel?" came a questing voice, and Johnny realized it was Doctor +Lambert. "Awake?" + +"I can't see. Why can't I see?" + +"You'll be all right. It's all right." + +"What happened?" + +"How much do you remember?" asked the voice. "The blast-off?" + +"Yes--yes, I remember that." + +"The orbit? The landing?" + +"No," he said. "Not that." + +"You did it," said the voice. "You made it." + +_This is my day. Once around lightly._ + +"Johnny," said the voice. "I don't know just how to say this. We know +what was wrong with Ship I, and why it killed Mitch. We know--hell, we +don't even begin to realize what we have at our fingertips now. It's so +big it's impossible to evaluate." + +"What? I don't--" + +"Sound, Johnny, sound. Or rather, vibration. It's something we're just +beginning to learn about. We know a few things; we know you can boil +water with sound if the frequency is high enough. And you can drill +metal with it--and it does things to the human body. + +"There are frequencies of sound which can act directly on human nerves, +directly on the human brain. It means that if we know the right +frequency, we'll be able to produce any state we want in a man, any +emotion. Fear, anguish, anything. + +"When the steering rockets were cut in, the Ship began to vibrate. It +generated frequencies so high that ordinary human senses couldn't detect +them. And when your nerves were exposed to those vibrations, it produced +fear. Pure and absolute fear. Motor control went, rational processes +went, all the nervous functions of the body went out of control. Your +body became a giant tuning fork, and the frequency to which it vibrated +was fear. + +"I can't remember--" + +"Sanity went, too, Johnny," said the man softly. "You could not stand +that fear and remain sane, so something cut off. That was what happened +to Mitch." + +"How did I get back?" + +"We don't know. The films show your face suddenly going blank. Then you +flew. That's all. We hoped you could tell us." + +"No. No--I don't remember--" + +"There was something in you so strong it overrode everything else, even +the fear. We'd like to know what it is. We'll find out, Johnny, and it +will mean a lot to the human race when we do." + +_This is my day._ + +"Is my wife here?" + +There was a cool hand on his forehead. "Yes, Johnny." + +"Well," he said helplessly. "Well, how are you?" + +"I'm fine, Johnny," she whispered, and there was the sound of tears in +her voice. "I'm just fine." + +He felt the warm softness of her lips on his. + +_I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._ + +And then he came home again. + + +END + +[Illustration] + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_ June + 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sound of Terror, by Don Berry + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUND OF TERROR *** + +***** This file should be named 30673.txt or 30673.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/6/7/30673/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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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