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diff --git a/30673.txt b/30673.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..be5fb1a --- /dev/null +++ b/30673.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1016 @@ +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: 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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