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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/31587-8.txt b/31587-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89c7d81 --- /dev/null +++ b/31587-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2666 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pursuit, by Lester del Rey + +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: Pursuit + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Illustrator: Orban + +Release Date: March 10, 2010 [EBook #31587] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PURSUIT *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Space Science Fiction May 1952. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this + publication was renewed. + + + [Illustration] + + [Illustration] + + + PURSUIT + + + _by_ LESTER DEL REY + + + Illustrated by ORBAN + + * * * * * + + + + +I + +Fear cut through the unconscious mind of Wilbur Hawkes. With almost +physical violence, it tightened his throat and knifed at his heart. It +darted into his numbed brain, screaming at him. + +He was a soft egg in a vast globe of elastic gelatine. Two creatures +swam menacingly through the resisting globe toward him. The gelatine +fought against them, but they came on. One was near, and made a mystic +pass. He screamed at it, and the gelatine grew stronger, throwing them +back and away. Suddenly, the creatures drew back. A door opened, and +they were gone. But he couldn't let them go. If they escaped.... + +Hawkes jerked upright in his bed, gasping out a hoarse cry, and the +sound of his own voice completed the awakening. He opened his eyes to +a murky darkness that was barely relieved by the little night-light. +For a second, the nightmare was so strong on his mind that he seemed +to see two shadows beyond the door, rushing down the steps. He fought +off the illusion, and with straining senses jerked his head around the +room. There was nothing there. + +Sweat was beading his forehead, and he could feel his pulse racing. He +had to get out--had to leave--at once! + +He forced the idea aside. There was something cloudy in his mind, but +he made reason take over and shove away some of the heavy fear. His +fingers found a cigarette and lighted it automatically. The first +familiar breath of smoke in his lungs helped. He drew in deeply again, +while the tiny sounds in the room became meaningful. There was the +insistent ticking of a clock and the soft shushing sound of a tape +recorder. He stared at the machine, running on fast rewind, and +reversed it to play. But the tape seemed to be blank, or erased. + +He crushed the cigarette out on a table-top where other butts lay in +disorder. It looked wrong, and his mind leaped up in sudden frantic +fear, before he could calm it again. This time, reason echoed his +emotional unease. + +Hawkes had never smoked before! + +But his fingers were already lighting another by old habit. His +thoughts lurched, seeking for an answer. There was only a vague sense +of something missing--a period of time seemed to have passed. It felt +like a long period, but he had no memory of it. There had been the +final fight with Irma, when he'd gone stalking out of the house, +telling her to get a divorce any way she wanted. He'd opened the +mail-box and taken out a letter--a letter from a Professor.... + +His mind refused to go further. There was only a complete blank after +that. But it had been in midwinter, and now he could make out the +faint outlines of full-leafed trees against the sky through the +window! Months had gone by--and there was no faintest trace of them in +his mind. + +_They'll get you! You can't escape! Hurry, go, GO!..._ + +The cigarette fell from his shaking hands, and he was half out of the +bed before the rational part of his mind could cut off the fear +thoughts. He flipped on the lights, afraid of the dimness. It didn't +help. The room was dusty, as if unused for months, and there was a +cobweb in one corner by the mirror. + +His own face shocked him. It was the same lean, sharp-featured face as +ever, under the shock of nondescript, sandy hair. His ears still stuck +out too much, and his lips were a trifle too thin. It looked no more +than his thirty years; but it was a strained face, now--painted with +weeks of fatigue, and grayish with fear, sweat-streaked and with +nervous tension in every corded tendon of his throat. His somewhat +bony, average-height figure shook visibly as he climbed from the bed. + +Hawkes stood fighting himself, trying to get back in the bed, but it +was a losing battle. Something seemed to swing up in the corner of the +room, as if a shadow moved. He jerked his head toward it, but there +was nothing there. + +He heard his breath gasping harshly, and his knuckles whitened. There +was the taste of blood in the corner of his mouth where he was biting +his lips. + +_Get out! They'll be here at once! Leave--GO!_ + + * * * * * + +His hands were already fumbling with his under-clothing. He drew on +briefs jerkily, and grabbed for the shirt and suit he had never seen +before. He was no longer thinking, now. Blind panic was winning. He +thrust his feet into shoes, not bothering with socks. + +A slip of paper fell from his coat, with big sprawled Greek letters. +He saw only the last line as it fell to the floor--some equation that +ended with an infinity sign. Then psi and alpha, connected by a dash. +The alpha sign had been scratched out, and something written over it. +He tried to reach it, and more papers spilled from his coat pocket. +The fear washed up more strongly. He forgot the papers. Even the +cigarettes were too far away for him to return to them. His wallet lay +on the chair, and he barely grabbed it before the urge overpowered him +completely. + +The doorknob slipped in his sweating hands, but he managed to turn it. +The elevator wasn't at his floor, and he couldn't stop for it. His +feet pounded on the stairs, taking him down the three floors to the +street at a breakneck pace. The walls of the stairway seemed to be +rushing together, as if trying to close the way. He screamed at them, +until they were behind, and he was charging out of the front door. + +A half-drunken couple was coming in--a fat, older man and a slim girl +he barely saw. He hit them, throwing them aside. He jerked from the +entrance. Cars were streaming down West End Avenue. He dashed across, +paying no attention to them. His rush carried him onto the opposite +sidewalk. Then, finally, the blind panic left him, and he was leaning +against a building, gasping for breath, and wondering whether his +heart could endure the next beat. + +Across the street, the fat man he had hit was coming after him. Hawkes +gathered himself together to apologize, but the words never came. A +second blinding horror hit at him, and his eyes darted up towards the +windows of his apartment. + +It was only a tiny glow, at first, like a drop from the heart of a +sun. Then, before he could more than blink, it spread, until the whole +apartment seemed to blaze. A gout of smoke poured from the shattering +window, and a dull concussion struck his ears. + +The infernally bright flame flickered, leaped outward from the window, +and died down almost as quickly as it had come, leaving twisted, +half-molten metal where the window frames had been. + +They'd almost gotten him! Hawkes felt his legs weaken and quiver, +while his eyes remained glued to the spot that had lighted the whole +street a second before. They'd tried--but he'd escaped in time. + +It must have been a thermite bomb--nothing but thermite could be that +hot. He had never imagined that even such a bomb could give so much +heat so quickly. Where? In the tape-recorder? + +He waited numbly, expecting more fire, but the brief flame seemed to +have died out completely. He shook his head, unbelieving, and started +to cross the street again, to survey the damage or to join the crowd +that was beginning to collect. + + * * * * * + +The fear surged up in him again, halting his step as if he'd struck a +physical barrier. With it came the sound of an auto-horn, the button +held down permanently. His eyes darted down the street, to see a long, +gray sedan with old-fashioned running-boards come around the corner on +two wheels. Its brakes screeched, and it skidded to a halt beside +Hawkes' apartment building. + +A slim young man in gray tweeds leaped out of it and came to a stop. +He threw back heavy black hair with a toss of his head and ran into +the crowd that parted to let him through. Someone began pointing +towards Hawkes. + +Hawkes tried to slide around the corner without being seen, but a +flashlight in the young man's hands pinpointed him. A yell went up. + +"There he goes!" + +His feet sounded hopelessly on the sidewalk as he dashed up toward +Broadway, but behind came the sound of others in pursuit, and the +shouting was becoming a meaningless babble as others took it up. There +was no longer any doubt. Someone was certainly after him--there'd been +no time to turn in an alarm over the fire in his apartment. They'd +been coming for him before that started. + +What hideous crime could he have committed during the period he +couldn't remember? Or what spy-ring had encircled him? + +He had no time to think of the questions, even. He ducked into the +thin swarm of a few people leaving a theater just as the pursuing +group rounded the corner, with the slim young man in the lead. + +Their cries were enough. Hands reached for him from the theater crowd, +and a foot stretched out to trip him up. Terror lent speed to his +legs, but he could never outdistance them, as long as others picked up +the chase. + +A sudden blast of heat struck down, and the air was golden and hazy +above him. He staggered sideways, blinded by the glare. The crowd was +screaming in fear now, no longer holding him back. He felt the edge of +a subway entrance. There was no other choice. He ducked down the +steps, while his vision slowly returned, and risked a glance back at +the street--just as the whole entrance came down in a wreck of broken +wood and metal. + +A clap of thundering noise sounded above him, drowning the hoarse +screams of the people. The few persons in the station rushed for the +fallen entrance, to mill about it crazily, just as a train pulled in. +Hawkes started toward it, and then realized his pursuers would suspect +that. Whatever frightful weapon had been used against him had +back-fired on them--but they'd catch him at the next stop. + + * * * * * + +He found space at the end of the platform and dropped off, skirting +behind the train, and avoiding the the high-voltage rails. + +The uptown platform held only three people, and they seemed to be too +busy at the other end, trying to see the wreckage, to notice him. He +vaulted onto it, and dashed into the men's room. The few contents of +his coat pocket came out quickly, and he began to stuff them into his +trousers. He shoved the coat into a garbage can, wet his hair and +slicked it back, and opened his shirt collar. The change didn't make +much of a disguise, but they wouldn't be expecting him to show up so +near where he entered. + +His skin prickled as he came out, but he fought down the sickness in +his stomach. A few drops of rain were beginning to fall, and the crowd +around the accident was thinning out. That might help him--or it might +prove more dangerous. He had to chance it. + +He stopped to buy a paper, maintaining an air of casual interest in +the crowd. + +"What happened?" he asked. + +The newsstand attendant jerked his eyes back from they excitement +reluctantly. "Damned if I know. Someone, says a ball lightning came +down and broke over there. Caved in the entrance. Nobody's hurt +seriously, they say. I was just stacking up to go home when I heard it +go off. Didn't see it. Just saw the entrance falling in." + +Hawkes picked up his change and turned back across Broadway, +pretending he was studying the paper. The dateline showed it was July +10, just seven months from the beginning of his memory lapse. He +couldn't believe that there had been time enough for any group to +invent a heat-ray, if such a thing could exist. Yet nothing else would +explain the two sudden bursts of flame he had seen. Even if it could +be invented, it would hardly be used in public for anything less than +a National Emergency. + +What had happened in the seven blanked-out months? + + +II + +The room was smelly and cheap, with dirty walls and no carpet on the +floor, but it was a relief after the hours of tramping and riding +about the city. Hawkes sat on the rickety chair, letting the wetness +dry out of his clothes. He looked at the bed, trying to convince +himself he could strip and warm up there while his clothes dried. But +something in his head warned him that he couldn't--he'd have to be +ready to run again. The same urge had made him demand a room on the +ground floor, where he could escape through the window if they found +him. They could never find him here--but they would! Sooner or later, +whatever was after him would come! + +It had seemed simple enough, before. There had been three friends he +could trust. Seven months, he had felt, couldn't have killed their +faith in him, no matter what he'd done. And perhaps he'd been right, +though there'd been no chance to test it. + +He'd almost been caught at the first place. The two men outside had +seemed to be no more than a couple of friends awaiting for a bus. Only +the approach of another man who resembled Hawkes had tipped him off, +by the quick interest they had shown. + +The other places had also been posted--and beyond the third, he'd seen +the gray sedan with the running boards, parked back in the shadows, +waiting. + +There had been less than ten dollars in his wallet, and most of that +had gone for cab fares. He'd barely had enough left for this dingy +room, the later edition of the newspaper, and the coffee and donuts +that lay beside him, half-consumed. + +He glanced toward the door, listening with quick fear as steps sounded +on the stairs. Then he drew his breath in again, and reached for the +newspaper. But it told him as little as the first one had. + +This one mentioned the two mysterious explosions of "ball lightning" +in a feature on the first page, but only as curiosities. They even +gave his address and listed the apartment as being in his name, though +apparently not currently occupied. But no other reference was made to +him, or to the chase. + +He shook his head at that. He couldn't see a newspaper-man refusing to +make a story of it, if there was any other news about him to which +they could tie the burning of his apartment. Apparently it was not the +police who were after him, and he hadn't been guilty of anything so +ordinary as murder. + + * * * * * + +Outside the window, a sudden scream sounded, and he jerked from the +chair, reaching the door before he realized it was only a cat on the +prowl. He shuddered, his old hatred of cats coming to the surface. For +a minute, he thought of shutting the window. But he couldn't cut off +his chance to retreat through the garbage-littered back-yard. + +He returned to his search, beginning an inventory of the few +belongings that had been in his pocket. There was a notebook, and he +scanned it rapidly. A few pages were missing, and most were blank. +There was only a shopping list. That puzzled him for a minute--he +couldn't believe he'd taken to using lipstick as well as cigarettes, +though both were listed in his handwriting. The notebook contained +nothing else. + +He stuffed it back into his pockets, along with his keyring. There +were more keys than he'd expected, some of which were strange to him, +but none held any mark that would identify them. He put a few pennies +into another pocket--his entire wealth, now, in a world where no more +money would be available to him. He grimaced, dropping a comb into the +same pocket. + +Then there was only his wallet left. His identification card was +there, unchanged. Behind it, where his wife's picture had always been, +there was only a folded clipping. He drew it out, hoping for a clew. +It was only an announcement of people killed in an airplane crash--and +among those found dead was Mrs. Wilbur Hawkes, of New York. It seemed +that Irma had never reached Reno for the divorce. + +He tried to feel some sorrow at that, but time must have healed +whatever hurt there had been, even though he couldn't remember. She +had hated him ever since she'd found that he really wasn't willing to +please his father by becoming another of the vice-presidents in the +old man's bank, with an unearned but fancy salary. He'd preferred +teaching mathematics and dabbling with a bit of research into the +probable value of the ESP work being done at Duke University. He'd +explained why he hated banking; Irma had made it clear that she really +needed the mink coat no assistant professor could afford. It had been +stalemate--a bitter, seven-year stalemate, until she finally gave up +hope and demanded a divorce. + +He threw the clipping away, and pulled out the final bit of paper. It +was a rent receipt for a cold-water apartment on the poorer section of +West End--from the price of eighteen dollars a month, it had to be a +cold-water place. He frowned, considering it. Apartment 12. That might +explain why his own apartment had been unused, though it made little +sense to him. It would probably be watched by now, anyway. + + * * * * * + +He jerked to his feet at a sound on the window-sill, but it was only a +cat, eyeing the unfinished donut. He threw the food out, and the cat +dived after it. Hawkes waited for the touch of ice along his backbone +to go away. It didn't. + +This time, he tried to ignore it. He picked up the paper and began +going through it, looking for something that might give him some +slight clew. But there was nothing there. Only a heading on an inside +page that stirred his curiosity. + + _Scientist Seeks Confinement_ + +He glanced at it, noting that a Professor Meinzer, formerly of City +College, had appeared at Bellevue, asking to be put away in a padded +cell, preferably with a strait-jacket. The Professor had only +explained that he considered himself dangerous to society. No other +reason was found. Professor Meinzer had been doing private work, +believed to relate to his theory that.... + +The panic was back, thick in Hawkes' throat. He jerked back against +the wall, his heart racing, while he tried to fight it down. There was +no sound from the hall or outside. He forced his eyes back to the +paper. + +And the paper was surrounded by a golden haze. It burst into a +momentary flame as the haze flickered out. Hawkes dropped the ashes +from his clammy hands. He hadn't been burned! + +_You can't escape. Run. They'll get you!_ + +He heard the outside door open, as it had opened a hundred times. But +now it could only mean that more were coming. He jerked for the open +window. + +Something came sailing through the air to hit the sill. Hawkes +screamed weakly, far down in his throat, before his eyes could +register the fact that it was only the cat again. + +Then the cat let out a horrible beginning of a sound, and its poor, +half-starved body seemed to turn inside out, with a churning motion +that Hawkes could barely see. Blood and gore spattered from it, +striking his face and clothes. + +He froze, unable to move. Either they were outside in the yard, or +whatever frightful weapon they used could work through a closed door. +He tried to move, first one way, then the other. His feet remained +frozen. + +Then steps sounded in the hallway, and he waited no longer. His legs +came to sudden life, hurling him over the carcass of the cat and +outside. He went charging through the refuse, and then leaped and +clawed his way over the fence. The alley was deserted, and he shot +down it, to swing right, and into another alley. + +It wasn't until his muscles began to fail that he could control +himself enough to stop and stumble into a darkened spot among the +garbage cans, spent and gasping for breath. + + * * * * * + +There was no sign of anyone following. Hawkes had no idea of how they +could trace him--but he was beginning to suspect that nothing was +impossible, judging by the results of their weapons. For the moment, +though, he seemed to have shaken off pursuit. And the physical fatigue +had apparently eased some of his terror. + +What had shocked him into losing seven months out of his memory, and +still could drive him into absolute terror at the first sign of them? + +He couldn't go back to the room, and his own apartment was out of the +question. The rain had stopped, mercifully, but he couldn't walk the +streets indefinitely, dirty and bedraggled as he was. He tried to +think of something to do, but all of his schemes took money which he +no longer had. + +Finally, he arose wearily. Maybe the apartment for which he had the +rent receipt was watched--but he'd have to chance it. There was no +place else. + +He'd been accidentally heading toward it, and he continued now, +sticking to the alleys until he reached West End Avenue. He tried to +hurry, but the best his tired muscles could do was a slow shuffle. + +Light was beginning to show faintly in the sky, but it was still too +early for more than a few cars and a chance pedestrian. At this hour, +the avenue was used by only a few cruising cabs, heading toward better +sections. He shuffled along, trying to look like a man on his way home +after too much night out. The cat blood on his clothes bothered him, +until he tried weaving a little as he walked, imitating the drunks he +had seen often enough. + +He passed an all night diner, and fished for his pennies. But there +were several men inside. He went on, past Fifty-ninth Street, heading +for the apartment, which should be near Sixty-seventh. + +He was just reaching the top of the hill near Sixty-fourth when a gray +sedan sped along, heading downtown. There were running boards on it, +and behind the wheel sat the slim young man who'd given chase to +Hawkes before. + +Hawkes tried to duck, but the sedan was already braking and swinging +back. It was beside him before he could realize more than the old +clamor of his brain, telling him to run, that he couldn't escape. + +The car matched his speed, and the driver leaned far to the right. +"Will Hawkes," the young man called. "How about a lift?" + +The smile was pleasant, and the voice was casual, as if they were old +friends. There was no gun in the man's hands. It might have been any +honest offer of a ride. + +Hawkes braced himself, just as a patrol car turned onto the Avenue +ahead. He opened his mouth to scream, but his vocal cords were frozen. +The young man followed his eyes to the patrol car, and frowned. + +Then the gray sedan lifted smoothly upwards to a height of twenty +feet, turned sharply in mid-air, lifted again, and seemed to make a +smooth landing on top of a huge garage building! + +There had been no roar of jets and no evidence of any means of +propulsion. + + * * * * * + +The patrol car went on down the Avenue, heading for the diner. The +officers inside apparently had missed the whole affair. + +Hawkes' cowardly legs suddenly came unfrozen. He was conscious of them +churning madly. With an effort, he got partial control of himself, +managing to focus on the house numbers. + +There were no watchers outside the number he wanted, though they could +have been in rooms across the street. He had no choice, now. He leaped +up the steps and into the hallway. His eyes darted around, spotting a +door that led out to the side, probably into an alley. He drew himself +together, hiding behind the stairs. + +But there was no further pursuit for the moment. The fear that seemed +to come before each attack was missing. Maybe it meant he was safe for +the moment--though it hadn't warned him of the car the young man was +driving. + +Heat rays! Levitation! Hawkes dropped to his knees as fatigue and +reaction caught up with him again, but his mind churned over the new +evidence. As a mathematician, he was sure such things could not exist. +If they did, there would have been extension of math well in advance +of the perfection of the machines, and he'd have known of it as +speculative theory, at least. Yet, without such evidence, the devices +apparently existed. + +The police weren't in on it, that much was certain. It was more than a +hunt for a criminal. What had been going on during the months he had +missed? + +His mind shuttled over the spy-thrillers he had seen. If some nation +had the secrets, and he had discovered them.... But the heat ray would +never have been used openly, then; they wouldn't tip their hand. +Anyhow, the cold war was still going on, and that would have been +pointless when any nation had such power. + +And if the secret belonged to the United States, the young man would +never have levitated to avoid police at the greater risk of tipping +off anyone who saw that such things could be done. + +Nothing made sense--not even the crazy feeling of fear that had warned +him on some occasions and failed him this last time. The only +explanation that was credible was the totally incredible idea that +some life, alien to earth and with strange unearthly powers, was after +him--or that he was insane. + +He fumbled through a pack of cigarettes until he located the last one, +streaked with sweat that was still pouring down from his armpit, and +lighted it. It was all answer-less--just as his sudden need for +smoking was. + + +III + +Hawkes crushed out the cigarette and began climbing the wide stairs +slowly. It was probably an ambush into which he was heading--but +without this place, he had no chance of resting. He stared at the +numbers painted on the dirty red doors, and went on up a second flight +of stairs. The number he wanted was at the end of the hall, dimly +lighted. He dropped to the keyhole, but found it had been filled long +ago, probably when the Yale lock was installed. + +He put his ear against the door and listened. There was no sound from +inside except a monotonous noise that must be water dripping from a +leaky faucet. Finally, he climbed to his feet and reached for his +keys. The third one he tried fitted, and the door swung open. + +He fumbled about, looking for a light switch, and finally struck a +match. The switch was a string hanging down from a bare bulb. He +pulled it, to find he stood inside one of the old monstrosities with +which New York is filled--a combination kitchen and bathroom, with a +tiny closet for the toilet in one corner. There was an ice-box, a +dirty stove, a Franklin heater connected to the chimney, a small sink, +and a rickety table with four folding chairs. In a closet, cheap china +showed. + +He went through that, into the seven-by-twelve living room. There was +a cheap radio, a worn sofa, two more folding chairs and a big typing +table. The rug on the floor had been patched together. Then he +breathed more easily. Over the back of one of the chairs was a sports +jacket which he recognized as his own. He jerked it up suddenly and +began going through the pockets, but they had already been emptied. + +It didn't matter--he no longer cared why he should be in a place so +totally unlike any his usually neat habits would have led him to. It +was his. + +Then, as he came into the bedroom, he hesitated. It was smaller than +the living room, with a bed that took up half of one wall, and two +dressers jammed into the remaining space. One corner held a cardboard +closet--and hanging on the hook was a man's raincoat and hat, both at +least five sizes too big for him. His eyes darted about, to find a +strange mixture of things he remembered as his and possessions which +he would never have owned. On one of the dressers was a small +traveling case, filled with the cosmetics and appliances which only a +woman would use. + +He jerked open the closet, and his nose told him before his eyes that +it held only female clothing! Yet on the shelf his old hat rested +happily. + +He could make no sense of it--the place looked as if several people +lived in it, and yet it wasn't really fitted for anyone to spend his +whole time there. There was none of the accumulation of property that +would fit any permanent residence. He went out of the bedroom, passing +the typewriter desk. The typewriter was an old, standard Olympia--a +German machine he'd refitted with the Dvorak keyboard which he had +learned for greater efficiency. He was sure nobody else would want it. + +The dishes were dusty, and there was no food in the ice-box. + + * * * * * + +Now, though, it began to fit--a place where it was convenient to stop +in, but not a place to live. And perhaps he had been in the habit of +lending it to others. Though why he shouldn't have used his own +apartment was something he still couldn't understand. + +But it was possible there was no record of this place. + +He began shucking off his shirt as he went back through the living +room--until the marks on the rug caught his eyes. Something heavy had +rested there recently--there had been other desks about, or heavily +laden tables. And a bit of paper under the sofa could only have come +from one of the complicated computing machines used in high-power +mathematics. He scanned the fragment, making no sense of it, except +that it was esoteric enough to belong to any new branch of theory. For +a second, the heat-rays and levitations entered his head--but none of +the symbols fitted such a branch of physical development. + +What had been going on here--and why had the machines been removed so +recently that their traces still looked fresh? + +He shook his head--and froze, as a key turned in the lock. + +There was no time for flight. She stood in the doorway, blinking at +the light before he could turn. She, of course, was the girl whom he'd +barely noticed when he knocked the couple down as he charged out of +his apartment. + +Of course? He puzzled over that. He'd almost expected it--and yet, now +that he looked more closely, he couldn't even be sure that she was the +same. She wore the same green jacket, but nothing else he could be +sure of, because he had no other memory of that girl. This one was two +inches shorter than he was, with dark red hair and the deepest blue +eyes he had seen. She looked like an artist's conception of an Irish +colleen, except that her mouth was open half an inch, and she was +studying him with the look of being about ready to scream. + +"Who are you?" He forced the words out at her. + +She shook her head, and then smiled doubtfully. "Ellen Ibaņez, +naturally. You startled me! But you must be Wilbur Hawkes, of course. +Didn't you get my wire?" + +He watched her, but there had been no stumbling over his name, and no +effort to make it sound too casual. Apparently, the name meant nothing +to her. He shook his head. "What wire?" Then he plunged ahead, +quickly. "You've heard of amnesia? Good. Well, I've got it--partially. +If you can tell me anything about myself before yesterday, Miss, I'll +never be anything but...." + +He choked on that, unable to finish. And behind the surface emotions, +his mind was poised, sniffing for danger. There was no feeling of it, +though he kept telling himself alternately that she had been the girl +at the door and that she obviously had not been. + +He'd seen her before. The tilt of her head, that unmatchable hair.... + + * * * * * + +"You poor man!" Her voice was all sympathy, and the bag she was +carrying dropped to the floor as she came over. "You mean you _really_ +can't remember--at all?" + +"Not for the last seven months!" + +She seemed surprised. "But that was when you answered my +advertisement. I never saw you--though you did call me, and your voice +sounds familiar. You sent me the check, and I mailed you the key. That +was all." + +"But I must have given you references--told you something--" + +Again, she shook her head. "Nothing. You said you were a teacher at +CCNY, but that you were quitting, and wanted a place to use as an +office. You didn't care what it was like. That's all." + +Hawkes felt she was lying--but it could have been true. And in his +present state, he probably believed everyone was other than they +seemed. He remembered the gray sedan rising to the roof--and the cat +turning inside out-- + +Sickness hit at him. He groped back towards a chair, sinking into it. +He'd almost found a refuge, and even hoped that he could find some of +the missing past. Now.... + +He must have partially fainted. He heard vague sounds, and then she +was putting something against his lips. It was bitter and hot, though +it only remotely resembled coffee. He gulped it gratefully, not caring +that it was sweet and black. He saw the bottle of old coffee powder, +caked with age, and heard the water boiling on the stove. Idly, he +wondered whether he'd bought the jar originally or she had. Then his +senses snapped back. + +"Thanks," he muttered thickly. He groped his way to his feet, his head +slowly clearing. "I guess I'd better go now." + +She forced him back into the chair. "You're in no condition to leave +here, Will Hawkes. Ugh! Your shoes are filthy. Let me help you ... +there, isn't that better? Whatever you've been doing to yourself, you +should be ashamed. You're going straight to bed while I clean some of +this up!" + +His head had sunk back on the table, and everything reached him +through a thick fog. It wasn't right--girls didn't act that way to +strange men who looked as if they'd come from a Bowery fight. Girls +didn't take a man's clothes off. Girls didn't.... + +He let her half carry him into the bedroom, and tried to protest as +she put him between clean sheets. He stared at the view of his +lavender shorts against the fresh whiteness, while things seemed far +away. He'd played with a girl named Ellen, once when he was eleven and +she was nine. She'd had bright copper hair, and her name had +been--what had it been? Not Ibaņez. Bennett, that was it. Ellen +Bennett. + +He must have said it aloud. She chuckled. "Of course, Will. Though I +never thought you'd be the same Will Hawkes. I knew it when I saw that +scar on your shoulder, where you cut yourself sliding down our cellar +door. Go to sleep." + +Sliding down, sliding down into clouds of sleep. Sleep! She'd drugged +him! Something in the coffee! + + * * * * * + +He jerked up, reaching for her, but she ducked aside, drawing on the +tops to a pair of frilly pajamas. "Ellen, you--" + +"Shh!" She pulled a robe over the pajamas and lay down, outside the +blankets. "Shh, Will. You have to sleep. You're _so_ tired, _so_ +sleepy...." + +Her voice was soothing, and the fingers along the base of his neck was +relaxing. He reached out a last inquiring finger of doubt for the +feeling of danger, and couldn't find it. This was as wrong as the +other things had been wrong--but his mind let go, and he was suddenly +asleep. + +He awoke slowly, with a thick feeling in his mouth. Drugged! And the +sense of danger had failed him again! He swung over sharply, reaching +for her, but she was gone. + +His clothes lay beside him, neatly pressed, and he grabbed for them. +There was a pair of socks, too large, but better than none. His +muscles felt wrong as he began dressing, but the feeling wore away. +The clock said that less than two hours had passed. If she'd put a +drug in the coffee, it must have been one to which he was less +sensitive than the average. She'd probably never suspected that he +would waken. + +A trace of fear struck through him, but it was weaker than before, and +it seemed normal enough, under the circumstances. He fumbled over the +shoelaces, and then grabbed up his coat. + +She'd bring _them_ back! Maybe they'd used her as a spy! + +But he couldn't understand why she'd bothered to press his clothes. +And the apartment still puzzled him. Even if her story was true, it +simply wasn't the sort of a place where a girl like her would live. +Nor was it fixed as she might have arranged a place, even allowing for +what he might have done to it in seven months. + +He reached automatically for the lock in the dim hall, and realized +his hands knew the door, whatever else was true. Then he went out and +down the stairs. He heard a babble of kids' voices, part in English +and part in a sort of Spanish. That meant that things were normal, to +the casual observer along the street. But he knew it was poor evidence +that things really were as they should be. He stood in the comparative +darkness of the hall, staring out. Nothing was wrong, so far as he +could see. He had to risk it. + +Hawkes shoved past the women on the steps and headed down West End, +trying not to seem in a hurry. His eyes turned up to the roof of the +garage, but he could see nothing there; he'd half-expected that the +slim young man would be parked up on the roof, waiting. + + * * * * * + +Then the fear began, mounting slowly. He jerked around quickly, +scanning the street. For a second, he thought he saw the slim figure, +but it was only a back turned to him, and it disappeared into a +barber-shop. Probably someone else. + +The fear mounted a little, and he found his steps quickening. He cut +around the corner, where men were crowded into a little restaurant. He +was heading into a dead-end street, but there was an alley leading +from it. He had to keep off the main streets. + +Footsteps sounded behind him. + +He moved faster, and the footsteps also speeded up. He slowed, and +they kept on. Then they were nearly behind him, just as he reached the +alley and jerked back into it, grabbing for a broken bottle he had +spotted. + +"Will!" It was a gasping wheeze. "Will! For God's sake, it's only me. +I know everything--your amnesia. But let me explain!" + +It stopped him. He held the bottle carefully, as the fat figure of an +old man stepped softly around the corner, fear written on every aged +wrinkle. It was the man he'd stumbled into when he dashed out of his +apartment. + +But the fear there matched his own so completely that he dropped the +bottle. The other man stood trembling, gasping for breath. Then he +gathered himself together, though his pudgy hands still clenched +tightly, showing white knuckles. + +"Will," he repeated. "You must believe me. I know about you. I want to +help you--if there's any help for you, God forgive us both. And God +have mercy on Earth. It's worse than you can believe--and different. +It's...." + +Horror washed over the old man's face. He stood, fighting within +himself. Hawkes felt his own back hairs lift, and he drew back. For a +second, the fat man seemed to waver before him, as if his body was +only a projection. Then it quieted. + +"It--it almost had me for a second." + +He turned back to Hawkes, trying to control the quivering muscles in +his face. But his victory was still incomplete when he suddenly leaped +up. + +"Get back, Will. Oh, God, O God!" + +He leaped outwards, his fat old legs pumping savagely. Then the air +seemed to quiver. + +[Illustration] + +Where he had been, there was only a dark cloud of smoke, spreading +outwards in a rough equivalent of his shape. A spurt of steam leaped +upwards savagely, and the smoke seemed darker. It began to drift on +the air, touched a building, and left a spot of smudginess, before it +drifted on, getting thinner with each gust of wind. It was as if every +atom of his body had suddenly disassociated itself from every other +atom. + + * * * * * + +Hawkes found his fingernails cutting his palms, and there was blood +flowing from his bitten tongue. He heard a hacking moan in his throat. +He struggled against something that seemed to be holding him down, and +then leaped at least ten feet, to land running. + +The alley was twisted and narrow. He shot down it and around a corner. +An ice-house stood there, and he barely avoided the loading trucks. He +was back near the apartment building where he'd found the girl, and he +doubled to a door that showed. It seemed to be locked, but somehow, he +got through it. He seemed to melt through the door, though he wasn't +sure whether his lunge smashed it or whether his fingers had found +the latch in time. + +He ducked around loose-hanging electric wires, under twisted pipes, +and across a pile of coal around a hot-water heater. He twisted and +turned, to come into complete darkness, and halt short, listening. + +The fear was going--and there were again no sounds of pursuit. But he +couldn't be sure. He'd heard no sounds when the fat man had leaped +out, but they had been there. + +Silently and thickly, he cursed. To find a man who seemed to be his +friend, and who knew about him--and then to have them kill that man +with such horrible efficiency before he could learn what it was all +about! + +He gagged in the darkness, almost fainting again. + +Then, slowly, it was too much. For the moment, he could run no more, +and nothing seemed to matter. He understood his sudden bravado no +better than the unnatural cowardice that had been riding his +shoulders, but he shrugged, and moved forward. + +The dark passage led out to steps, that carried him up to the +sidewalk, in front of the building. Ellen Ibaņez--or Bennett--was less +than five feet from him, and her eyes were fixed firmly on his face. + + +IV + +She seemed surprised, but tried to smile. "I thought I left you +asleep, Will," she said, in a tone that was meant to be bantering. +"'Smatter, the fuse blow?" + +He accepted the excuse for his presence in the basement. "Yeah, it +did. You left the iron on. I wondered what happened to you?" + +"Nothing. Just shopping. There wasn't a bit of food in the place--and +I must say, Will, you aren't much of a housekeeper. I bought pounds of +soap!" + +He followed her up the stairs, and his key opened the door. He was +still operating on the general belief that they'd be least likely to +spot him where they had already found him once. If the girl had tipped +them off, then they had it figured out that he had run off, and +probably wouldn't be back. + +He hoped so, at any rate. + +She was talking too briskly, and she was too careful not to mention +that the iron was cool, with its cord wrapped neatly around the +handle. He offered no explanation, but let her babble on about the +strange coincidence of his being _the_ Will Hawkes, and how she'd +almost forgotten the childhood days. + +"How come the Ibaņez?" he asked, finally. + +"Stage name! I tried to make a go of the musicals, but it wasn't my +line, I found. But the name stuck." + +"And where'd you learn how to drug coffee that way?" + +She didn't change expression. There was even a touch of a twinkle in +her eye. "Waitress in a combination bar and restaurant. You needed the +sleep, Will. And I guess I still feel as much of a mother to you as I +did when you used to get hurt, so long ago." + +She had things out of the bags now, and he saw that she had been doing +a lot of shopping. There had still been time enough to call the slim +young man, though--or, he suddenly realized, the fat man. He had no +more reason to believe her an enemy than a friend. Then he corrected +that. If she'd known enough to call the fat man, and had been his +friend, she could have told him things. She'd denied knowing anything, +though. + +He couldn't understand why he trusted her--and yet, somehow, he did. +Even if he knew she'd called them, he would still have to trust her. +He was sure now that she was lying, and that she had been the girl at +the door--but that meant she'd been with the fat man. And the fat man +had seemed to be his friend. Or, had the man been set to lure him out, +but miscalculated, and gotten only what had been meant for him? + +His head was spinning, and he gave it up. He was a fool to trust her +simply because the fear feeling subsided around her--but he had +nothing better to do than to follow his hunches, and then try to play +the odds as best he could. + + * * * * * + +"Cigarettes," she said, handing him a pack of his brand. "And for me. +Shoe dye--your shoes need it, and I couldn't find a shoe store. I did +get a shirt though, and a tie. You'll find a hat in that bag. Size +seven and a quarter?" + +He nodded gratefully, and went in to change. His old shirt had caught +most of the cat's blood, and he needed a fresh one. There were a +couple of spots on his trousers, but they'd do. And the sports jacket +matched well enough. He daubed the dye onto his shoes--one of the +combined polish and dye things. + +"Cold-cuts all right?" she asked, and he called back a vague answer +that seemed to satisfy her. He was staring at the shoe dye. + +It worked fairly well, when he experimented. He daubed it onto his +hair with a wisp of cotton. His hair began to mat down, but he found +that combing it out as he went along removed the worst of the wax and +still left some of the color. It worked better than it should have +done. + +He found a bottle of something that smelled of alcohol and belonged in +her cosmetics, and began removing most of the mess. By being careful, +he got the wax and most of the dye smell off, while leaving his hair +darker. + +"Better wash up," she called. + +There was a razor among the things she had bought. He daubed some of +the dye on his upper lip, where the stubble of a mustache was showing. +It was easier there, if it didn't wash off in soap and water. + +Some of it did, but when he finished shaving, he felt better. It +wouldn't pass close inspection, but he now seemed to have darker hair, +and the dye had exaggerated the little beginning of a mustache enough +to make some change in his appearance. + +He waited for her to comment, but she said nothing. He waited for her +questions about what he was going to do, and her explanations that of +course he couldn't stay there. She merely went on talking idly, while +they ate. It didn't fit. + +Finally he stood up and began taking down the rope that was strung up +over one end of the room, to use as a clothes line, he supposed. She +looked up at that. "What--" + +"You can fight, if you want to," he told her. "Or you can save +yourself the headache of being knocked out. Take your choice. People +don't pay much attention to screams in a place like this. And I'm not +going to harm you, if you'll take it easily." + +"You mean it!" Her eyes were huge in her face, and there was a touch +of fright now. She gulped visibly, and then seemed to go limp. "All +right, Will. In the bedroom?" + +He nodded, and she went ahead of him. She didn't struggle, until he +was about to gag her. Then she drew her head aside. "There's money in +my bag, if you're going out." + + * * * * * + +He swore, hotly and sickly. If she'd only act just once as a normal +female should! Maybe Irma had been a hysterical, cold-blooded fool, +but she couldn't have been that much different from other women--even +the books indicated Ellen should be anything but so damned +coöperative! + +"If you'll tell me what's going on, I'll still let you go," he +suggested, drawing her hands tighter together. + +"I can't, Will. I don't know." + +He had to believe her--he knew she was telling the truth, at least to +some extent. And that made it just so much worse. He bound the gag +over her mouth as gently as he could, and closed the door behind him. +Her big eyes haunted him as he turned to the telephone. + +The information girl at CCNY could only tell him that Wilbur Hawkes +had resigned abruptly seven months before, and no one knew where he +was--they had heard he was doing government research. He snorted at +that--it was always the excuse, when nobody knew anything. + +He tried a few other numbers, and gave up. Nobody knew--and nobody +seemed to react to his name any differently from what they would have +done had he remained a quiet, professorish man, minding his own +business, instead of being chased by.... + +He couldn't complete that. The idea was still too fantastic. Even if +there were alien life-forms that were subtly invading Earth, why +should they pick on him? What good could a little, unimportant +mathematician do them--particularly if they had the powers he already +knew they possessed? It was a poor answer, though no harder to believe +than that any group on Earth could so suddenly come up with miracles. + +Anyhow, men knew enough already to be pretty sure that Mars and Venus +wouldn't have creatures that could invade Earth--and the other planets +were hopeless. Perhaps from another star--but that would mean +violating the theories of mass-increase with the speed of light, and +he was not ready to accept that, yet. + +This time, he went out of the building without looking first. It could +do no good--they could hide from him, he knew, and he would only call +attention to himself by looking around. With the change in appearance, +he might get by. He moved rapidly up to Broadway, where he found a +little clothing store and a ready-made suit that nearly fitted him. +The tailor there seemed unconcerned when he insisted the cuffs be +turned up at once, and that he wanted to wear it immediately. It took +nearly an hour, but he felt safe, for a change. A five-and-ten +furnished a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses that seemed to have blanks in +them, and he decided he might get by. + +There was no evidence of pursuit. He caught a cab, and headed for the +library. Ellen had been well-heeled--suspiciously so for a girl who +lived in a cold-water flat like that; he'd peeled fifteen tens from +her wallet, and there'd been more, not to mention the twenties. His +conscience bothered him a bit, but he was in no position to worry too +much. + + * * * * * + +The library was still the puzzle of the ages to him--he'd used it half +his life, and still found it impossible to guess why such a building +had been chosen. But eventually, he found the periodical room, and +managed to get through the red tape enough to be given a small table +with a stack of newspapers and magazines. + +The mathematics magazines interested him most. He pored through them, +looking for a single hint of the things he had seen. Einstein's work +with gravity stood out, but no real advances had come from it. It was +still a philosophical rather than an actual attack on physics--as +beautiful as a new theology, and about as hard to utilize. He skimmed, +through the pages, but nothing showed. No real advance had been made +since his memory blanked out, except for one paper on variable stars +which was interesting, but unhelpful. + +He threw them aside in disgust. He knew that it was useless to look in +other languages. Work couldn't be done without some first stages that +would be reported, and any significant new theory would be picked up +and spread. Science wasn't yet completely under political wraps. + +For a second, he stopped as he came to a paper bearing his by-line. +Then he grimaced--it was an old one, just published--his attempt to +find how the phenomena of poltergeists could be fitted into the +conservation of energy, and his final proof that the whole business +was sheer rubbish. It would be nice to be able to get back to a life +where he could fool around with such learned jokes. + +The newspapers, beginning with the last day he could remember, were +almost as barren of results. There was the story of the cold war, +without the strange overtones that should be there if any of the major +powers--where all the major scientists would tend to be--had found +something new. He'd studied the statistical analysis of mob psychology +at times, and felt sure he could spot the signs. + +He skimmed on, without results, until he finally came to the current +paper. This he read more carefully. There was no mention of him. But +he found something on the fat man. It was a simple followup to the +story about the scientist who'd turned himself in at Bellevue--the man +had mysteriously disappeared, three hours later. And there was a +picture--the face of the fat man, with "Professor Arthur Meinzer" +under it. + +It didn't help. + +Hawkes shoved the magazines and papers back, and went through the +series of halls and stairs that led him to the main reference room, +inconveniently located on the top floor. He found the book he wanted, +and thumbed rapidly through it. Meinzer was listed on the bottom of +page 972--but as he looked for 973, a pile of ashes dribbled onto the +floor. + +There was no use. They'd gotten there ahead of him. + +He made one final attempt. He called the college, asking for Meinzer, +to find that nobody even knew the name! He knew they were lying--but +he could do nothing about that. Maybe it was only because of the +publicity--or maybe because someone or something had gotten to them +first! + + * * * * * + +Fear was growing with him as he came out on the street. He ducked into +a crowd, and headed slowly into a corner drug store, trying to seem +inconspicuous, but the fear mounted. They were near--they would get +him! Run, GO! + +He fought it down, and found that it was weakened, either by his +becoming used to it or because the urgency was less than it had been. + +He ducked into a phone-booth and called the newspaper, keeping his eye +on both entrances to the store. It seemed to take forever to locate +the proper man there, but finally he had his connection. + +"Meinzer," the voice said, with a curious doubtfulness. + +"Oh, yeah. Mister, that story's dead! Call up...." + +The telephone melted slowly, dropping into a little cold puddle on the +floor! + +Hawkes had felt the tension mounting, and he was prepared for +anything. Now he found himself on the street, darting across +Forty-second Street against the light, without even remembering having +left the booth. He stole a quick glance back, to see people staring at +him with open mouths. He thought he saw a slim figure in gray tweeds, +but he couldn't be sure--and there were probably thousands of such men +in New York. + +He ducked into a bank, wormed his way around the various aisles, and +out the back entrance. A cab was waiting there, and he held out a +bill. + +"I'm late, buddy. Penn Station!" + +The cab-driver took the bill and the hint, and darted out, just as the +light was changing. + +Penn Station was as good a place to try to get lost from pursuit as +any. Hawkes examined his wallet, considering trying to get a train +out--but he'd used up nearly all he had taken from Ellen. + +And all his careful disguise had proved useless. They weren't +fooled--and this business of dodging was wearing thin. By now, they'd +know his habits! + +He drew out a coin, flipping it. It came up heads. He frowned, but +there was nothing else to do. He moved down the ramp toward the subway +that would carry him back to Sixty-sixth and Broadway. He was probably +walking into their trap by now, but the coin was right. He had to free +Ellen. If they got him, it couldn't be much worse for him. + +Then he shuddered. He couldn't know whether it would be worse for his +country, or even his world. He couldn't really know anything. + + +V + +It was growing dark as he walked down Sixty-sixth, eyeing every man +suspiciously, and knowing his suspicion would do no good. He was still +trying to think, though he knew his thoughts were as useless as his +suspicions. + +If he could remember! His mind came up sharply against leaving Irma +and taking out the mail; then it went abruptly blank. What had been in +the letter? It had been from a professor--it might have been from +Professor Meinzer. That would tie in neatly. But Meinzer was dead, and +he couldn't remember. They'd stripped him of his memory. How? Why? +Were they trying to prevent his giving information to others--or were +they trying to get something from him? And what could he know? + +He'd dabbled with ESP mathematically, but now he found himself +wondering if it could exist. Could they be tracking him by some +natural or mechanical ability to read his mind? He strained his own +mind to find a whisper of foreign thought, outside his brain. He drew +a blank, of course, as he'd expected. + +There were no answers. They could play with him, like a cat juggling a +mouse, letting him almost learn something--and then, always, they +arrived just in time to prevent his success! + +Put a rat in a maze where it can't learn the path, and it goes insane. +But what good would he be to anyone if they drove him insane? And why +bother with all that when they could silence him as well by killing +him? + +He'd forgotten to watch, and was surprised to find his feet on the +steps of the apartment building. He jerked back, and bumped into +someone. + +"Sorry." The words came from behind him, automatically, and he turned +to see the slim young man stepping aside. For a second, their eyes met +squarely. A row of teeth flashed in a brief smile as the man started +around him. "Guess I was thinking. Should have watched where I was +going." + +The man went on down the street, and turned in at the restaurant +entrance. + + * * * * * + +Hawkes lifted a foot that weighed a ton and slowly closed his mouth. +He'd been facing away from the street light--and his face might have +been hard to see. Yet.... + +It didn't fit. The young man must have known him! + +He blanked it from his mind. He couldn't believe that it was anything +but lack of recognition. It was hard to see here, where the other was +facing the light, and he was in the shadow. + +But it still meant that they were waiting, nearby. + +He dashed up the stairs, expecting a rush at both landings. The normal +sounds of the apartment house went on. He listened at his door, but he +could hear nothing except the same drip he had heard before. Slowly, +he inserted the key and went in. The small bulb was still on. He crept +along, trying to move silently on floors that insisted on creaking. +The living room was as he had left it, and he caught sight of Ellen on +the bed. + +He spotted a mirror over one of the dressers, and used that to study +more of the bedroom. It seemed as empty as before. + +Finally, he stepped inside. There was no one there but Ellen, and she +seemed to be asleep, doubled up in a position that might have made the +unkind cords easier to stand. She moaned slightly as he untied her +gently, but didn't awaken. Her breathing was regular, and her breath +had the odd muskiness of someone who has slept for several hours. + +He found a bottle of liquor on the shelf where she had put it, and +rinsed out a couple of glasses. It was good liquor--good enough to +take without mixers, as they'd have to do. + +She came awake when he called her, rubbing her eyes and then her +wrists, where the cords had left a mark. But she was smiling. "Hi, +Will. I knew you'd come back. Hey, not on an empty stomach." + +"You need it--and so do I," he told her. "Bottoms up!" + +They were big glasses. She gasped over it, but she downed it, then +reached for the water he had brought as a chaser. She swallowed, and +blinked tears out of her eyes. "I don't usually drink." + +He made no comment, but refilled the glass. The liquor had less effect +on him than he'd expected, though he'd always had a good head for it. +It took some of the edge off his worrying, though. + +She giggled suddenly, and he frowned. She couldn't take much on an +empty stomach, it seemed. Then he shrugged. Let her drink--maybe if he +could get her drunk, he could find something out; at least he might +learn whether the slim young man had been there during the day. + +"Like when you found your dad's cider," she said, and giggled again. +"You got awful--hp!--awful drunk, Willy, din't you? You +were--so--funny!" + +She was trying to be careful with her words already. She slid around, +doing things that brought more honestly beautiful thigh into the light +than Will had seen in ten years. He reached to adjust her dress, and +she giggled again, sliding against him. + +"You kissed me then, Willy. Remember? Bet you don' remember!" + + * * * * * + +He began it coldly, deliberately. If he could work on her emotions +enough, he'd crack the wall of evasion and lies, somehow. He reached +for her, calculating what would arouse her without causing any shock +to bring her back to her senses. + +He hadn't counted on the quickness of her reponse, nor the complete +acceptance of his right with which she took it. The liquor had reduced +her to the stage of a little girl who competely trusted her companion. +She seemed as unconscious of her body as a child might be. + +Instead of protesting, she reached down and began unfastening the +buttons on her dress. "'Syour turn now, Willy. Put you to bed last +night, you put me to bed t'-night. Then you gotta kiss me good-night. +Nighty-night, nighty-night." + +He felt like a heel at first. And then he began to feel like a +man--any man around a beautiful girl half-undressed, and getting more +so. + +She slipped under the sheets, tossing out the last of her clothing, +and crooning happily. "Gotta kiss me good-night, Willy. Nighty-night!" + +He yanked the pull-cord savagely, cutting off the light, and fumbling +in the darkness. After what seemed hours of awkwardness, he slid in +beside her, feeling her arms go around him in complete acceptance. To +hell with _them_! They could chase him some other time! + +He pulled her to him, while his blood beat in his neck, and he began +to lose any conscious volition of what he was doing. He drew her +tighter, while a great clot of emotion set fire to his brain. He-- + +Cold beyond anything he had known bit at him. A tremendous pressure +within him seemed about to force him to explode outwards, and the +shock jerked him into full awareness. + +In a split second, he swung his eyes from the great, jagged landscape +on which he stood, up an impossible range of mountains that were all +harsh blacks and cold whites, to a cold black sky in which the stars +were blazing specks without a flicker. He saw the Earth above him, +bigger than the moon had ever been, and with the dim outlines of +continents showing through the soft stuff that must be clouds. + +He was on the moon! And naked, without air! + + * * * * * + +Almost at once, something clapped down around him, and the pressure +let up, while heat seemed to leap into the rocks under his feet and +make them comfortable. He gulped down the air that somehow seemed to +stay close to him, instead of evaporating into the vacuum. + +The moon! Now they had him! + +Fear blazed in him--a stark, unreasoning terror that was like a +physical thing. _Run--but you can't run! They've got you! You can't +escape!_ + +The light blotted out, and then snapped on, more strongly. He stood in +the kitchen of the cold-water apartment, still naked, with bits of +chalky dust between his toes. + +He had no time for reason. His brain seemed to have jumped over a +hurdle and come down in a puddle beyond, foul with the stuff it had +found there. He heard Ellen shriek, and then cry out again. + +He lurched into the bedroom, while she let out another gurgling cry as +the light showed him in the doorway. She came out of the bed, leaping +for him, crying his name--cold sober! But he wanted none of her act. +He shook her off. + +"You damned alien! You filthy monster, disguised as a girl! When you +get in a spot where I'm sure to find you out, you have a cute trick up +your sleeve--but it won't work. You can send me back there--back to +the rest of your kind, from wherever they came. But you won't fool me +into thinking you're human again. You can't pass one test!" + +He wouldn't be fooled into thinking it was a dream, either. He'd been +physically on the moon--the very dust on his feet proved that. They +might drive him insane, but they wouldn't do it that way. + +She was crying now, gasping out words that he only half heard. "I'm +human, Will. Oh, I'm human!" + +"Then prove it! Come here, and prove it!" + +She cried again at that, as he pulled her down with him. But slowly +her crying quieted. + +He awoke slowly, with sun-light streaming in the windows, and reached +for her. He owed her more apologies than one, though he wasn't too +sorry about most of it. She had proven herself human. And virginally +so. Her complete surrender still left something warm inside him, +where only the madness and the fear had been before. + +Then he jerked upright, as he found her gone. He cursed himself for a +fool, and listened for a stir and bustle from the kitchen, but there +was none. + + * * * * * + +He was getting used to dressing with a feeling of dire pressure +driving him on. He finished rapidly, and yanked the bedroom door open, +just as he heard the outer lock click. She was coming in with a bottle +of cream and a package of sausage as he reached the kitchen, and there +was a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. + +And this time, he knew she wouldn't have betrayed him. Yet the fear +increased in him. He darted past her as she leaned to kiss him, +heading for the door. The room seemed to quiver. The hall was filled +with a faint golden haze! + +He had to get out! He jerked backwards, caught her hand, and pulled +her. "Ellen! We've got to get out!" + +It was a half-articulate shout, and she resisted, but he began +dragging her after him. Something fumbled at the lock, and a key +slipped into it. The door opened. + +Hawkes didn't know what kind of an alien he expected. He knew that men +could never have thrown him to the moon and back, not in another +thousand years. It had to be a monster. + +But he should have known that monsters here came in human form--they'd +have to. + +The fear rose to a shriek in his brain, and then died down as the +human form entered. It was too normal--too familiar. A medium-sized +man, dressed in a suit as inconspicuous as his own, wearing a silly +little mustache that no outland monster should ever wear. + +The creature jumped in, slamming the door behind it. "Stay there! You +can't risk it outside now! We've got to--" + +Hawkes hit the figure with his shoulder, in the best football fashion +he could muster. It could try--but it couldn't keep him and Ellen here +to be burned in their heat-ray bath, or treated to whatever alien +torture they had in mind. He felt his shoulder hit. And he knew he'd +missed. It was an arm that he struck against, and the arm brought him +upright, while a second arm drew back and came forward with a savage +right to his jaw. + +He went out with a dull plopping sound in his brain. Then, slowly, an +ache came out of the blackness, and the beginning of sound. He was +fighting out of the unconsciousness, fighting against time and the +monster who'd try to steal Ellen. + +But Ellen's hands were on his head, and an ice-cold towel was wet +against his forehead. "Will! Will!" + + * * * * * + +He groaned and sat up. The other--alien or human--was gone. + +"Where--?" he began. + +She was trying to help him to his feet, and he got up groggily, with +his head beginning to clear. + +"He just ran out, Will." Ellen was crying, this time almost silently, +with the words coming out between shakes of her shoulders. "Will, +we've got to get out. We've got to. The men are coming for you. +They'll be here any minute. And it's wrong--it won't work! Oh, Will, +hurry!" + +"Men? Men are coming?" He'd almost forgotten that it could be men who +were after him. + +"I called them, Will. I thought I had to. But it won't work. Will, do +anything you like, but _get_ out! They are fools. They...." + +He opened the door and peered out the doorway into the hall, which +seemed quiet. He'd been a fool again. He'd trusted her for some +reason, as if a body and loyalty had to go together. They'd been +smart, picking a virgin for the job. It must have cost them plenty, +unless they'd twisted her mind somehow. Maybe they could do it. + +But he knew that whatever they looked like, it couldn't be real men +who'd meet him out there. + +"Why?" he asked, and was surprised at the flatness of his voice. + +She shook her head. "Because I'm a fool, Will. Because I thought they +could help you--until _he_ came! And because I'm still in love with +you, even if you'd forgotten me." + +But the fear inside him was drowning out her words, and the golden +haze was faint in the air again. + +"Okay," he said finally. "Okay, don't burn her, too, now that she's +done your dirty work. I'm coming." + +The haze disappeared slowly, and he started down the stairs, still +holding her hand. + + +VI + +There were men with guns in the street. He'd heard two shots as he +came down the stairs, and had shoved Ellen behind him. But it was +silent now. People with dazed, frightened faces were still darting +into the houses, leaving the street to the men with the guns. + +Hawkes marched forward grimly, perversely stripped of fear, even +though he was sure some of the men out there were monsters and others +were their dupes. He tapped one of the men on the shoulder. + +"Okay, here I am. The girl goes free!" + +The man spun around as if mounted on a ball bearing and pulled by +strings. The gun fell from his hands. His emotion-taut face loosened +suddenly, seemed to run like melted wax, and congealed again in an +expression of utter idiocy. He gargled frothily, and then +screamed--high and shrill, like a tortured woman. + +Suddenly he was a lunging maniac, tearing up the street. + +Now the others were running--some toward cars, and some toward the +corners, running flat and desperately on the flat of their feet, +without any spring to their motions. + +Hawkes jerked his eyes down toward the big gas-storage tanks where +most of them had been, and the glow that had been in the corner of his +vision was gone. Men seemed to be coming out of a trance. They were +breaking away, forgetting about their guns and fleeing. + +Three men alone were left. + +Hawkes ducked back into the hall of the apartment, dragging Ellen with +him. The glass of the door was somewhat dirty, but it made a dim +mirror. He could see the slim young man and two others still there. +The two men darted into a waiting car, and the leader turned up the +street, running smoothly toward the apartment house. + +Hawkes could make no sense of it--unless it was another of the seeming +tricks designed to drive him out of his mind. He had decided he was +one of the rats in the maze that didn't go crazy--the pressure could +drive him somewhat mad, but it couldn't keep him that way. + +He didn't wait to see what had happened, or whether the sirens that +were sounding now were reinforcements for the men with guns or the +police. He didn't bother with the slim young man any more. They'd +apparently used their dupes to frighten out the people, and then had +scared off the dupes--the poor humans who didn't know what it was all +about. Now two of the three were gone, and the third monster was +coming for him. + +He'd escaped before. But sooner or later, they'd catch him--once they +were sure he wouldn't be driven insane. + +Or was this the beginning of insanity--a delusion of power, a feeling +that he could escape? He could never know, if it was. He had to assume +that he was sane. + + * * * * * + +He crouched back behind the stairs, while the young man in the gray +tweeds dashed up them. Then he headed out into the street. The siren +was near now--and tardily, he realized that the siren might herald the +coming of the real monsters. It was as easy to look like a cop as any +other human! + +He jerked open the door of the nearest car, pulled Ellen in, and +kicked the motor to life. He gunned away from the curb, tossed it into +second, and twisted around the corner, straight toward the siren that +was nearest. At the last minute, he jerked to the side of the street, +to let the police car shoot by. "Never run from a tiger--run toward +it. It sometimes works, and it's no worse." + +The car was a big one, and the motor purred smoothly. He glanced down +at the dash, and frowned. There was no key in the switch. For a +second, he stared at it, and then grinned. He'd picked a monster's +car, apparently--they'd done a neat job of duplicating, but they +didn't need all the safeguards that humans used, and the switch had +obviously been a dummy. + +He looked at the buttons on the dash, wondering which would make it +levitate. But he had no desire to test it, nor to stay in an auto +which could probably be traced so easily. + +He braked to a halt outside the subway and led Ellen down. + +"We're down to the last hole," he told her as the train pulled out of +the station. "How much money do you have?" + +She shook her head, and held up her arm. "I left it, Will." + +They were beyond the last hole, then. He realized now that as long as +they'd been in a crowded apartment house, filled with other humans, it +had proved a tough nut to crack for the aliens. But on the move.... + +"Maybe we have a chance," he told her. "If humans were after me, it'd +be tough--but these things have to avoid the police." + +She looked at him, misery on her face. "There are no aliens, Will. +Those men you saw were F. B. I. men. That's where I reported you." + +"You...." + +He stared at her, but she was serious. + +"But there was nothing about me in the papers, Ellen." + +She pointed across the aisle. Spread over two columns on the front +page, an older picture of him showed plainly. And even at the +distance, the heading was boldly legible. + + $100,000 REWARD FOR + THIS MAN! + +He stared at the figure twice, unbelieving. He was no longer alone +against a small group of humans or aliens. Now every living human on +the face of the planet would be looking for him! + + * * * * * + +He could feel their hot breath on his neck, feel eyes staring at him +through the papers. Fear began to rise in him, to be halted as the +train ground to a new station. Ellen jerked him out, and he moved with +her. It wasn't safe to be too long with one group, until they began to +wonder and compare faces! + +"But what--" + +She shook her head. "Nothing, Will. I don't know. What can we do?" + +He'd been wondering, while they moved quietly through the groups of +people, and up the stairs. There was no place left. He had about a +dollar in change, and that would be of no use to them. They'd have to +dig a hole in the ground and pull it over them.... + +It joggled his memory, and he grabbed her hand and jerked open the +door of a cab that was waiting for the light. He barked out an +address----the corner of Tenth Avenue and one of the streets below +Twentieth. The driver got into motion, not bothering to look back. The +address was near enough to where Hawkes wanted to be--an old +warehouse, with a loading platform. He'd played there as a kid, +climbing back under it and digging holes down into the damp, soft +earth, as kids have always done. He'd been by there since, and it had +remained unchanged. + +Sooner or later, the aliens would locate them. But it would give Ellen +and him a chance to rest--perhaps long enough for him to waylay +someone at night and steal enough for them to leave town. That +wouldn't be much help--but it was all he had left to count on. + +He saw trucks loading there, as he paid the cab-driver. His heart sank +abruptly, until he studied the way the big trailer was parked. If he +watched carefully, he could slip under it from the side, and there was +a chance he wouldn't be seen. + +He darted beneath it. + +Luck, for once was with him as he drew Ellen under the trailer and the +platform. The old opening was covered with rubble, but he scraped it +aside, and found an entrance barely big enough for them to wiggle +through. Then they were back in a dark pocket under the back of the +platform, barely big enough for them to sit upright. The hole had +seemed bigger when he was a kid. + +Outside, he heard a boy's voice yelling. "Monster attacks cops! +Monster kills five cops! Extra Paper!" + +Now he was a monster, to be shot on sight, probably. + +"I shouldn't have brought you into this, Ellen," he said bitterly. "I +should have left you. You don't even know what's going on--you haven't +the faintest idea. If it were just humans, as you think...." + +She snuggled against him in the coldness of the little cave. "Shh. I +got you into it. I--I ratted on you, Scarface!" + + * * * * * + +But he couldn't reply to her attempt at humor. There was no fear +now--not even the relief of fear. He'd felt brave for a few minutes, +back in the hallway of the apartment. Now the chips were down, and +sunk. They were here, in a dank hole, without food, and without a +chance, while all the world searched for him to kill him--and while +still-unknown aliens with unknown reasons played out their little game +with consummate skill that would inevitably locate him. + +It might take them a day--they probably would do nothing to him until +night came, and the warehouse street was deserted! Ten more hours! + +If he only knew what they wanted of him, or why! If he could remember! + +He sat there, numbed within himself. Ellen leaned her head forward +onto his lap, and he began stroking her hair softly. He'd have liked +to have had a chance with her. One night wasn't enough for a whole +life. He reached down to draw her face to his.... + +Fear hit him, as something rustled behind him. He tried to turn and +look, but his neck refused. The fear grew to panic, and swelled higher +as the golden haze began to spread over the little cave. Then his +muscles snapped his head around sharply. The slim young man was +crawling toward them, holding something that looked like a flashlight. +Behind it, he could see the tense lips drawn back over clenched teeth. +The man wasn't smiling now. He opened his mouth, just as the thing +like a flashlight sprang into light. + +No time seemed to elapse, but suddenly Ellen and the young man were +both gone, and he sat in the dark hole, alone. He let out an animal +cry, and dashed out, crawling through the opening, and kicking the +rubble back as he went. He slipped out, and under the trailer. But +there was no sign. They'd taken her, and left him unconscious! + +He groaned, trying to figure. He'd always gone back to the same place +to hide, since he'd found it. They must expect him back there. They'd +take Ellen there and wait for him, drugging her, changing her mind, +setting her up to use against him. The first time hadn't worked, but +they'd try it again. It had to be that. If they hadn't taken her +there, he had no way of finding her, and he had to find her. + +He began running down the street, forcing himself to believe she was +there. Then he slowed. It would do no good to have them all notice +him, here on the street. Someone might recognize him then. He turned +around, walking back to the bus stop. There were still two dimes and a +nickel in his pocket. + + * * * * * + +He hunched down on the seat of the bus that seemed to crawl up Tenth +Avenue. But no one noticed him in the almost empty vehicle. He got off +at Sixty-Sixth and forced himself to walk to West End, up that to the +apartment-house. + +Men were drawing up in cars--men with guns in their hands. He made a +final dash for the apartment entrance. This must be the real show--for +which the other had been only a dress rehearsal to throw him off +balance. They could wait. + +He fumbled with the lock, until he finally got it open. Then he jumped +in, slamming the door shut behind him. Ellen stood there, and the +creature that had assaulted him before was pawing at her. But he had +no time for the monster. + +"Stay there!" he shouted at her. "You can't risk it outside now! We've +got to--" + +He saw she wasn't listening to him. He had to get rid of the creature +somehow, if he could get it far enough away from her. Then they'd find +some way to get outside, without going out through the entrance. + +The creature sprang at him awkwardly. His arm darted down to catch one +shoulder, and his right hand swung back and up. There was a savage +satisfaction in seeing the creature crumple. + +Ellen's voice reached him. "Will! Will, before I go crazy...." + +"You're free," he told her. "Go down the fire escape and leave that +here. I'll get rid of them out front somehow." + +He shut the door again, and went down. The words had sounded brave +enough, but there had been no courage behind them. Fear still rode +him, like the little golden haze that again hovered over him, showing +they had spotted him. + +He walked out, with it thick around him, rising slowly in temperature. +They had him--but Ellen might get away. He walked down the steps, his +hands up. They drew back, surprise and something else on their +features, their eyes on the haze that surrounded him. They were +shouting, but he couldn't hear the words over the shrieks of the +people along the street, rushing inside or trying to drag their kids +to safety. + +Hawkes doubled his legs under him and leaped. He was still attacking +the tiger--the slim young man, down by the big gas-storage tanks, +directing the new crop of human dupes. + +His charge carried him there, while the young man slipped aside. Then +someone fired a gun. + +He heard the young man yell hoarsely. "No shooting! Stop it! Damn it, +NO SHOOTING!" + +They weren't paying any attention to the shouts. Bullets ticked +against the tanks. Hawkes ducked frantically, physical fear knotting +his stomach. + + * * * * * + +Suddenly, he seemed to jerk upwards, to find himself suspended in +mid-air, fifty feet off the ground, just beyond the tanks. He stared +down at the men, dizzy with the height, but no longer surprised by +anything. The men were pointing their guns upwards, while the young +man leaped about among them. Bullets were splatting out, though none +came near Hawkes. They seemed to ricochet off the air a few feet in +front of him. + +[Illustration] + +The slim young man drew back. And now, the rubble and stones along the +street began to lift, and to drive savagely at the attackers. A gale +swept along the street, though Hawkes could feel no breath of air, and +the force of it was enough to knock most of them down. + +They got up and began running, dashing away from the super-science +that the young man now seemed bent on turning against his own troop of +dupes, now that they were out of control. + +Hawkes came drifting downward. He started to cry out in fear, until he +noticed that the ground was coming up at him slowly, and that he was +slipping sideways. He landed on a street back of the tanks, as gently +as a feather. + +Surprisingly, everyone was gone when he risked a glance back at the +scene of the fight, with the back of the slim man just darting into +the apartment house. Then Hawkes cursed, as the creature came darting +out, with Ellen behind him, to leap into a car and drive off. The +sound of sirens grew louder, and a police car swung onto West End. + +Hawkes straightened up slowly, as it hit him. It had been the same +scene he'd gone through before that morning--but with himself in the +middle! He shot a glance at the sun, to see it still to the east, +though his memory of the day indicated it should have been after noon. + +Time! They'd twisted him back through time--the weapon that had looked +like a flashlight must have tossed him hours backwards, instead of +knocking him out. He'd been attacking himself there in the hallway of +his apartment! He'd knocked himself out. And the fight he had just +been through was the same fight that he had seen come to its end +before! + +Now, his younger self and Ellen must be just fleeing toward the +hideout under the loading platform, with the slim man still following. +If he could get there in time, before the man could run off with +Ellen.... + + +VII + +The paper he'd found kept the other passengers on the bus from seeing +him, but he was too deep in his own thoughts to read it. His eyes +roamed back to the story of the cop-killing monster--a seemingly +harmless florist in Brooklyn who'd suddenly gone berserk and rushed +down the streets with a knife; he'd been wrong in thinking that +concerned him. And he'd been wrong in thinking anyone would try to +kill him on sight. The reward notice and picture were in front of his +eyes--but it was a reward for information, and there was a huge box +that proclaimed he was _not_ a criminal and must not be harmed, or +even allowed to know he was recognized. + +The new facts only confused the issue. He twisted about in his mind, +trying to explain why the young man had left him to drift down, and +gone rushing into the apartment. He was ready for the collecting--and +he'd been left uncollected! + +The girl had said there were no aliens. Now he wondered. She had known +more than he'd found from her--she'd known his brand of cigarettes, +even. And there had been that shopping list, with the lipstick on +it--the same type he now remembered her using. He'd known her +before--and not just as a little girl. That tied him in with Meinzer, +who was a mystery in himself. + +He puzzled over it. The things that had happened to him had always +been preceded by violent emotion, instead of followed by it. Usually, +it had been fear--but sometimes some other emotion, as had been the +case just before he was suddenly shifted to the Moon. Whenever he +seemed on the verge of discovering something or emotionally upset, it +hit at him. Did that mean he was only susceptible to the phenomena +when off balance? It still didn't account for the fact that some of +the things hadn't directly affected him, at all. + +The more he knew, the less he knew. + +He got off the bus and headed for the warehouse. This time, he had to +wait before he could see a chance to dart under the trailer and into +the entrance. He noticed that the gray sedan was parked nearby. + +He darted in. + +They were still there! He heard Ellen's voice, sounding as if she had +been crying, and then an answer from the other. He felt his way +carefully over the rubble, working as close as he could. Now, if he +sprang the few feet.... + +"... must be a time-jump," the man's voice said, doubtfully. "I tell +you, Ellen, those damned fools were firing at him, up there in the +air, while you were still with him in the apartment. That's an angle +on this psi factor stuff we hadn't expected." + +The voice stopped for a moment. Then it picked up again. "Drat it! I +wish you hadn't called the F. B. I. on him--they got rattled when he +came out looking like a saint in a halo and jumped fifty feet up to +float around. Some fool started shooting, and the rest joined in." + +"I had to--he was talking about alien monsters. I thought he was going +crazy, Dan. I couldn't tell him anything--I promised him I wouldn't, +and I kept my promise. But I thought enough of them might catch him, +somehow.... Dan, can't we find him now? He needs us!" + + * * * * * + +Hawkes lay frozen. He tried to move forward, but his body was tensed, +waiting for more. If something happened now.... + +"Alien monsters?" Dan's voice grew bitter. "It is alien--and a +monster. This psi factor...." + +The words blurred, and seemed to echo and re-echo inside Hawkes' head. +That made twice he'd heard them mention the psi factor--the strange +ability a few human minds had to perform seeming miracles. Men who had +it could make dice roll the way they wanted. Young girls sometimes +had it before puberty, and could throw heavy objects around a room +without touching them; they did not even know they were the cause of +the motion, but blamed it on poltergeists. Other men caused strange +accidents--fires, for instance--the old salamander legend! + +There'd been a piece of paper--psi equals alpha, the psi factor was +the beginning of infinity for mankind. But it had been wrong. He'd +changed that, on the other side. It should have read psi equals omega, +the absolute end. + +He gasped hoarsely, and heard their startled voices stop, while the +flashlight beam swung around, to pick him out in the darkness. He felt +Ellen and her younger brother, Dan, pulling him forward into the +little cave with them, and he heard their voices questioning him. But +his head was spinning madly under the sudden flood of memories that +the missing key word had suddenly brought back. + +The letter from Professor Meinzer had been about his paper on +poltergeists which the old man had seen before publication. He'd been +doing research on the psi factor for the government, and he needed a +mathematician--even one who proved something which he knew wasn't +true, provided the mathematics could handle his theories. + +Hawkes' head was suddenly brimming with mental images of the seven +months, while he worked on the mathematics to tie down the strange +pattern of brain waves the old professor had found in the minds of +those who had the mysterious psi factor. Dan had worked with them, in +the little cluttered apartment, building the apparatus they needed. It +was through Dan that Ellen was hired, as a general assistant and +secretary. + +There had been only the four of them, working in deepest secrecy in +the three rooms which the government had felt were more suitable to +maintain complete security than any deeply buried laboratory could +have been. Ellen made a pretense of living there, and it was a +neighborhood where no landlady worried about the men who went to a +girl's place, provided everything was quiet. + +They'd succeeded, too--they had found the tiny bundle of cells that +controlled the psi factor, and learned to stimulate them by artificial +wave trains and hypnosis. But the small group in the top division of +the government to whom they were responsible had demanded more proof. + + * * * * * + +Hawkes had treated himself secretly, not knowing that Meinzer had done +the same two days before. And both had learned the same thing. The +wild talents appeared, but they couldn't be controlled. Meinzer hadn't +found security in the hospital, hard as he'd tried to find it. He'd +gotten up in the middle of the night and walked through the solid +wall, unable to stop until he was back with the group. + +Hawkes had tried another way to stop the wild abilities that operated +without his conscious control. He'd prepared a new hypnotic tape, +worded to make him forget everything he knew, or even the fact that he +had worked on the psi factor. He'd put in commands that would make him +avoid any reference to it, so that he couldn't learn accidentally. +He'd ordered his brain to have nothing to do with it. Then he'd +drugged himself with a combination of opiates and hypnotics that +should have knocked out a horse. Then he'd telephoned Dan to have men +pick him up in an hour and keep him drugged. He'd turned on the tape +recorder and stumbled back to the bed. + +He groaned, as he remembered his failure. "It's the ultimate, absolute +alien, all right--the back of a man's own mind. It's Freud's +unconsciousness, or id. The psi factor is controlled by that, and not +by the conscious mind. And the id is a primitive beast--it operates on +raw impulse, without reason or social consciousness. Every man's +unconsciousness is back in the jungle, before civilization--and we've +given that alien thing the greatest power that could exist when we +wake up the psi power." + +"Meinzer thought it was controlled, for a while," Ellen said. "He came +when Dan and I called him. I went with him up to your apartment, while +Dan got the men to carry you away. But we couldn't reach you--Meinzer +barely touched the tape-recorder when something seemed to pick us up +and drive us out of the room and down the stairs. We were just going +back when you came out." + +She shuddered, and Hawkes nodded. He'd obviously used that psi factor +to throw off the drugs at the first sign of anyone near him. He told +them sickly what had happened to the old man. + +"So I killed him," he finished bitterly. + +Dan shook his head. "No. Your psi factor works differently. You +control heat and radiation, you can move yourself or any object in +space for almost any distance, instantly if you want, and it seems you +can do the same through time. But you can't disintegrate things, as +Meinzer could. He had a suicide urge--we knew that before. When it got +out of control again, he blew himself up--just as your dominant urge +to protect yourself did all those things around you." + + * * * * * + +Hawkes grimaced. It wasn't pleasant to know, that he'd been doing all +the things he'd blamed on monsters. He'd somehow remembered that +someone was supposed to come to get him, and he'd run out in wild +fear, while his unconscious mind blasted the apartment with heat to +destroy all traces. He'd blasted down the subway entrance with another +bolt of energy to make his getaway. The poor cat had surprised him, +and been killed. His unconsciousness gone wild had tossed Dan's car +two hundred feet to the roof of the garage. When it found him losing +control emotionally with Ellen, it hadn't let his conscious brain give +it the information it needed--it had simply thrown him completely off +Earth, pulled air to him, and warmed the rocks. Then, when it found +the Moon unfit for life, it had thrown him back to his own world. It +had tossed him hours back in time this morning, and lifted him into +the air while it pelted his "enemies" with rocks, and built a wall +around him by throwing the bullets back instantly. + +And it had somehow clung to the implanted idea that he must not find +out about himself. It had destroyed anything where the written word +might give him a hint, and had even melted the telephone so that he +couldn't continue listening to other evidence. + +It had probably done a thousand other things that he couldn't even +remember, whenever its wild, reasonless fears were aroused and it +decided that he had to be protected! + +"You should have killed me," he told them. But he knew that they +couldn't have done it. + +"We had to let you sweat it out. You made us promise not to tell you +anything, and we thought you might be right," Ellen told him. "We +thought that it might adjust after awhile. All we did was to try to +pick you up, until we knew it was impossible." + +"Until Sis tipped off the Government men," Dan added. Hawkes could +imagine what their reaction had been to having a man with his power +running wild. He was surprised that they had bothered to make even an +attempt to see that he wasn't harmed. + +He shrugged helplessly. "And where does it leave us now--beyond this +hole in the ground?" + +"The Government's put about fifty specialists on the notes you and +Meinzer left," Dan answered, but there was no assurance in his voice. +"They're trying to find some way to bring the psi factor under the +control of your logical, rational mind." + +He got to his knees and began crawling out of the little cave, while +Hawkes tried to help Ellen follow him. Outside, Dan knocked off the +dirt from his clothes and headed for the sedan he'd, somehow gotten +off the roof. + +Hawkes followed, for want of anything better to do. + +He knew the answers now--and he was worse off than ever. Instead of a +horde of outside aliens, he had one single monster in his own skull, +where he could never fight it, or even hope to escape it. + +The power had been meant as a hope for the world. A man who could work +such seeming miracles might have ended the threat of war; he'd have +been the perfect spy, or better at attack than a hundred hydrogen +bombs that had to smash whole cities to remove a few men and weapons. +But now the world was better off without him. So long as he still +lived, there would be nothing but danger from the alien monster in his +head. He had no idea of his limits--but he was sure that it could +trigger the energies of the universe to move the whole world out of +its orbit, if that seemed necessary for his personal survival! + + +VIII + +Hawkes leaned forward cautiously as the gray sedan moved up Tenth +Avenue. His finger found the gun in Dan's coat pocket; and he pulled +it out stealthily. + +He knew that the only answer for him was suicide. He had to destroy +himself, since no one else could! + +He propped it up, pointing at his head, and his thumb pressed back on +the trigger, further and further, until he felt sure the smallest +change would set it off. Then he waited for the rough spot in the +street or the sudden stop at a light that would do the trick before he +could stop it. + +The car lurched--and the gun suddenly vanished, leaving his hand +empty. + +His responses were too quick--and his mind wasn't waiting, once it +knew there was danger. He slumped back on the rear seat, trying to +think. Drugs were out--he knew his system could throw them off. + +But he couldn't remove himself! + +He lifted his wrist--to his teeth, and bit down savagely. If he could +sever an artery.... Pain shot through him, and he stared down at the +blood. + +Then the blood was gone, and the wound was closing before his eyes, +until only smooth flesh remained. His mind could juggle the cells back +into their original form. + +It would have to be sudden, complete death. + +And no death was that sudden! For a fraction of a second, there'd be +life left--and during that split second, the damage would be repaired, +or he would be shifted from danger. + +There was no way out--unless he could pull himself to another planet, +or throw himself back into the dim past. But that would take voluntary +control, and he knew now that hours of effort had shown him how +impossible that was. He hadn't been able to lift a crumb of bread from +the table deliberately, in his original tests after he had treated +himself. + +He was faced with a problem that had to be solved--and there was no +possible solution that he could find. + +No man could face that dilemma forever without going insane. Hawkes +shuddered, trying to picture what would happen if he went mad, and the +wild talents began operating at every whim of his crazed mind! + + * * * * * + +Ellen shouted suddenly, grabbing for the wheel. Hawkes felt himself +tense, and began lifting from the seat of the car. But there was no +visible danger, and Dan was slowing to a halt at the curb, Hawkes' +body dropped back slowly. + +"Dan," Ellen was whispering hoarsely. "Dan, we can't. If we take him +back, they'll find him, and they'll know what he can do. They'll kill +him. Eventually, they'll kill Will!" + +Hawkes started to protest, but Dan's words cut him short. + +"You're right, Sis. They'll wait their time, until he won't know when +to expect it--and then they'll drop an H-bomb on him, if they have to. +That's faster than any nerve impulse!" + +He swung back to face Hawkes, reaching for the door of the car. "Get +out, Will--and get as far away as you can. I'm not going to drive you +to your death. They'll get you eventually, but I won't be the one to +make it easier for them!" + +Hawkes jerked. The old fear came back suddenly. + +_You can't escape! They'll get you. Run! GO!_ + +He screamed, as the golden haze flickered again. He could wipe out the +Earth, but he couldn't survive, then. He could move back in time, but +it would only mean other dangers--no man could stay awake forever, and +he was used to civilized living. + +The haze hesitated, while the sense of danger mounted. Then it was +gone, as if the beast in his head had found no answer. + +Suddenly the gray sedan lifted again, to a height of fifty feet above +the tallest building. It shot forward, hesitated, and came down softly +on a deserted side-road in Central Park. + +His mind felt as if it were going to split. Dan and Ellen stared at +him speechlessly. + +_You can't survive alone! No power is enough by itself! They'll get +you! You are your own death-sentence! RUN! DON'T RUN!_ + +Hawkes put his hand to his splitting skull, trying to force words +through the agonies of pain, while slow understanding began to reach +him. + +"Dan! The scientists ... get me there!" + +Then his mind seemed to clamp down on itself, and he was unconscious. +He could protect himself from almost anything--except his own brain! + + * * * * * + +He was conscious of no pain, but only of irritation. There was a +needle in his arm, and he removed it! + +He opened his eyes slowly, to find himself the center of a group of +men, while a white-clothed doctor stood staring at an empty hand that +must have held a hypodermic. + +Ellen cried out suddenly, and ran to him, cradling his head in her +hands. He found her arm with his own hand, and stroked it slowly. + +"You've found the answer?" he asked. Then he nodded, while the weight +that had lain on him so long began to lift. His voice was suddenly +positive. "You found it!" + +One of the men pushed forward, but Dan shook his head, and came over +to stand beside the cot where Hawkes lay. "No, Will. They didn't find +it--you did! You found what we should have known--your unconscious +mind may be a wild beast, but it isn't insane. When it was shocked +into realizing that it couldn't save you by itself, it looked for help +from your consciousness. And then it knocked you out--knocked itself +out--until we could work on you." + +"I guessed it," Hawkes said slowly. "But in that case, a psychotic +with his id out in the driver's seat should become normal when they +lock him up. Or wait--maybe his unconsciousness is a bit insane. +Maybe. But you still have to communicate with that unconscious part of +the brain, to make it understand that it has to surrender. And all the +psychiatrists have been driving themselves crazy trying to solve +that!" + +"_Touché_," an older man said, and there was a faint sound of +amusement from some of the others. "But this psi factor is the means +of communication! You told us that yourself, while you were undergoing +our hastily improvised hypnotic education of your brain. It always has +been. The minute a girl bothered with poltergeists finds she is the +cause of them, they stop. It's a faint, weak channel between +consciousness and unconsciousness--or subconsciousness, if you prefer. +And yours was widened by the treatment, even if it wasn't ready to +work yet. We simply used your own technique to improve the +relationship. All you ever needed was a longer, harder treatment than +you and Meinzer had given yourselves. You just stopped too soon." + + * * * * * + +Hawkes dropped back comfortably onto the cot. He reached out for a +glass of water, lifted it to his lips, and put it back--without using +his hands. He thought of his clothes, and they were suddenly on him, +over the single white garment he had been wearing. Another thought +took that away, to leave him normally dressed. + +Whether they were entirely correct or not in their theories, the psi +factor was no longer wild. He had it under full control! + +He sat up, just as three men entered the crowded room. One wore the +uniform of a four-star general, but the familiar faces of the two +civilians told Hawkes at once that they were more important than any +general could be. + +He was about to become officially the National Arsenal and replacement +for all the armies, navies, and air-corps they had ever dreamed of +having. He'd also become their bridge into space, their means of +solving the secrets of the planets, and probably their chief +historical tool, since nothing could ever be secret from him. + +It was going to be a busy life for him and for the others like him who +would now be carefully selected and treated! + +He grinned faintly, as he realized that they didn't know yet just how +important he was. He wasn't going to be a National Resource--he'd be a +World Resource. This power was too great for any local political use, +and no man who had it along with the full correlation of his conscious +and subconscious mind could ever see it any other way. + +But right now, he had other pressing business. He grinned at Ellen. +"You don't mind a small wedding, do you?" he asked. + +She shook her head, beginning to smile. He reached for her hand. This +psi factor was going to be a handy thing to have around, with its +complete control of space and time. + +"I'm taking a two-week honeymoon before we talk business," he told the +approaching three men. "But don't go away. We'll be back in ten +minutes!" + +Honolulu looked lovely in the moonlight, and June was the perfect +month for a wedding. + + * * * * * + + EDITORIAL NOTE: Actually, _Pursuit_ ends where the real + story is just beginning! Disregarding other powers, when men + can move instantly over any distance by simple desire, it's + the beginning of a life and culture totally unrelated to + anything we know. What will it be like? Where should houses + be built--and will they be built? A housewife can have her + dining-room in the mountains and her kitchen in a community + (to simplify and cheapen plumbing, etc.) 10,000 miles away, + or on another planet! There can be no national boundaries, + of course. What happens to the multiplicity of languages? + What happens to government? How do you catch a criminal? How + do you hold him? + + There are endless possibilities, naturally. We're tossing it + open to the readers. You tell us what you think that world + will be like--if you can! We'll print the best letters--and + if the authors want to use this background, we'll buy the + best stories based on it. + + We will not be responsible for mental break-downs, however! + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pursuit, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PURSUIT *** + +***** This file should be named 31587-8.txt or 31587-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/5/8/31587/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, 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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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: Pursuit + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Illustrator: Orban + +Release Date: March 10, 2010 [EBook #31587] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PURSUIT *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Space Science Fiction May 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_001.jpg" width="400" height="576" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="600" height="392" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<h1>PURSUIT</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2><i>by</i> LESTER DEL REY</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by ORBAN</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>I</h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f1.jpg" alt="F" width="42" height="50" /></div> +<p>ear cut through the unconscious mind of Wilbur Hawkes. With almost +physical violence, it tightened his throat and knifed at his heart. It +darted into his numbed brain, screaming at him.</p> + +<p>He was a soft egg in a vast globe of elastic gelatine. Two creatures +swam menacingly through the resisting globe toward him. The gelatine +fought against them, but they came on. One was near, and made a mystic +pass. He screamed at it, and the gelatine grew stronger, throwing them +back and away. Suddenly, the creatures drew back. A door opened, and +they were gone. But he couldn't let them go. If they escaped....</p> + +<p>Hawkes jerked upright in his bed, gasping out a hoarse cry, and the +sound of his own voice completed the awakening. He opened his eyes to +a murky darkness that was barely relieved by the little night-light. +For a second, the nightmare was so strong on his mind that he seemed +to see two shadows beyond the door, rushing down the steps. He fought +off the illusion, and with straining senses jerked his head around the +room. There was nothing there.</p> + +<p>Sweat was beading his forehead, and he could feel his pulse racing. He +had to get out—had to leave—at once!</p> + +<p>He forced the idea aside. There was something cloudy in his mind, but +he made reason take over and shove away some of the heavy fear. His +fingers found a cigarette and lighted it automatically. The first +familiar breath of smoke in his lungs helped. He drew in deeply again, +while the tiny sounds in the room became meaningful. There was the +insistent ticking of a clock and the soft shushing sound of a tape +recorder. He stared at the machine, running on fast rewind, and +reversed it to play. But the tape seemed to be blank, or erased.</p> + +<p>He crushed the cigarette out on a table-top where other butts lay in +disorder. It looked wrong, and his mind leaped up in sudden frantic +fear, before he could calm it again. This time, reason echoed his +emotional unease.</p> + +<p>Hawkes had never smoked before!</p> + +<p>But his fingers were already lighting another by old habit. His +thoughts lurched, seeking for an answer. There was only a vague sense +of something missing—a period of time seemed to have passed. It felt +like a long period, but he had no memory of it. There had been the +final fight with Irma, when he'd gone stalking out of the house, +telling her to get a divorce any way she wanted. He'd opened the +mail-box and taken out a letter—a letter from a Professor....</p> + +<p>His mind refused to go further. There was only a complete blank after +that. But it had been in midwinter, and now he could make out the +faint outlines of full-leafed trees against the sky through the +window! Months had gone by—and there was no faintest trace of them in +his mind.</p> + +<p><i>They'll get you! You can't escape! Hurry, go, GO!...</i></p> + +<p>The cigarette fell from his shaking hands, and he was half out of the +bed before the rational part of his mind could cut off the fear +thoughts. He flipped on the lights, afraid of the dimness. It didn't +help. The room was dusty, as if unused for months, and there was a +cobweb in one corner by the mirror.</p> + +<p>His own face shocked him. It was the same lean, sharp-featured face as +ever, under the shock of nondescript, sandy hair. His ears still stuck +out too much, and his lips were a trifle too thin. It looked no more +than his thirty years; but it was a strained face, now—painted with +weeks of fatigue, and grayish with fear, sweat-streaked and with +nervous tension in every corded tendon of his throat. His somewhat +bony, average-height figure shook visibly as he climbed from the bed.</p> + +<p>Hawkes stood fighting himself, trying to get back in the bed, but it +was a losing battle. Something seemed to swing up in the corner of the +room, as if a shadow moved. He jerked his head toward it, but there +was nothing there.</p> + +<p>He heard his breath gasping harshly, and his knuckles whitened. There +was the taste of blood in the corner of his mouth where he was biting +his lips.</p> + +<p><i>Get out! They'll be here at once! Leave—GO!</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>is hands were already fumbling with his under-clothing. He drew on +briefs jerkily, and grabbed for the shirt and suit he had never seen +before. He was no longer thinking, now. Blind panic was winning. He +thrust his feet into shoes, not bothering with socks.</p> + +<p>A slip of paper fell from his coat, with big sprawled Greek letters. +He saw only the last line as it fell to the floor—some equation that +ended with an infinity sign. Then psi and alpha, connected by a dash. +The alpha sign had been scratched out, and something written over it. +He tried to reach it, and more papers spilled from his coat pocket. +The fear washed up more strongly. He forgot the papers. Even the +cigarettes were too far away for him to return to them. His wallet lay +on the chair, and he barely grabbed it before the urge overpowered him +completely.</p> + +<p>The doorknob slipped in his sweating hands, but he managed to turn it. +The elevator wasn't at his floor, and he couldn't stop for it. His +feet pounded on the stairs, taking him down the three floors to the +street at a breakneck pace. The walls of the stairway seemed to be +rushing together, as if trying to close the way. He screamed at them, +until they were behind, and he was charging out of the front door.</p> + +<p>A half-drunken couple was coming in—a fat, older man and a slim girl +he barely saw. He hit them, throwing them aside. He jerked from the +entrance. Cars were streaming down West End Avenue. He dashed across, +paying no attention to them. His rush carried him onto the opposite +sidewalk. Then, finally, the blind panic left him, and he was leaning +against a building, gasping for breath, and wondering whether his +heart could endure the next beat.</p> + +<p>Across the street, the fat man he had hit was coming after him. Hawkes +gathered himself together to apologize, but the words never came. A +second blinding horror hit at him, and his eyes darted up towards the +windows of his apartment.</p> + +<p>It was only a tiny glow, at first, like a drop from the heart of a +sun. Then, before he could more than blink, it spread, until the whole +apartment seemed to blaze. A gout of smoke poured from the shattering +window, and a dull concussion struck his ears.</p> + +<p>The infernally bright flame flickered, leaped outward from the window, +and died down almost as quickly as it had come, leaving twisted, +half-molten metal where the window frames had been.</p> + +<p>They'd almost gotten him! Hawkes felt his legs weaken and quiver, +while his eyes remained glued to the spot that had lighted the whole +street a second before. They'd tried—but he'd escaped in time.</p> + +<p>It must have been a thermite bomb—nothing but thermite could be that +hot. He had never imagined that even such a bomb could give so much +heat so quickly. Where? In the tape-recorder?</p> + +<p>He waited numbly, expecting more fire, but the brief flame seemed to +have died out completely. He shook his head, unbelieving, and started +to cross the street again, to survey the damage or to join the crowd +that was beginning to collect.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>he fear surged up in him again, halting his step as if he'd struck a +physical barrier. With it came the sound of an auto-horn, the button +held down permanently. His eyes darted down the street, to see a long, +gray sedan with old-fashioned running-boards come around the corner on +two wheels. Its brakes screeched, and it skidded to a halt beside +Hawkes' apartment building.</p> + +<p>A slim young man in gray tweeds leaped out of it and came to a stop. +He threw back heavy black hair with a toss of his head and ran into +the crowd that parted to let him through. Someone began pointing +towards Hawkes.</p> + +<p>Hawkes tried to slide around the corner without being seen, but a +flashlight in the young man's hands pinpointed him. A yell went up.</p> + +<p>"There he goes!"</p> + +<p>His feet sounded hopelessly on the sidewalk as he dashed up toward +Broadway, but behind came the sound of others in pursuit, and the +shouting was becoming a meaningless babble as others took it up. There +was no longer any doubt. Someone was certainly after him—there'd been +no time to turn in an alarm over the fire in his apartment. They'd +been coming for him before that started.</p> + +<p>What hideous crime could he have committed during the period he +couldn't remember? Or what spy-ring had encircled him?</p> + +<p>He had no time to think of the questions, even. He ducked into the +thin swarm of a few people leaving a theater just as the pursuing +group rounded the corner, with the slim young man in the lead.</p> + +<p>Their cries were enough. Hands reached for him from the theater crowd, +and a foot stretched out to trip him up. Terror lent speed to his +legs, but he could never outdistance them, as long as others picked up +the chase.</p> + +<p>A sudden blast of heat struck down, and the air was golden and hazy +above him. He staggered sideways, blinded by the glare. The crowd was +screaming in fear now, no longer holding him back. He felt the edge of +a subway entrance. There was no other choice. He ducked down the +steps, while his vision slowly returned, and risked a glance back at +the street—just as the whole entrance came down in a wreck of broken +wood and metal.</p> + +<p>A clap of thundering noise sounded above him, drowning the hoarse +screams of the people. The few persons in the station rushed for the +fallen entrance, to mill about it crazily, just as a train pulled in. +Hawkes started toward it, and then realized his pursuers would suspect +that. Whatever frightful weapon had been used against him had +back-fired on them—but they'd catch him at the next stop.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e found space at the end of the platform and dropped off, skirting +behind the train, and avoiding the the high-voltage rails.</p> + +<p>The uptown platform held only three people, and they seemed to be too +busy at the other end, trying to see the wreckage, to notice him. He +vaulted onto it, and dashed into the men's room. The few contents of +his coat pocket came out quickly, and he began to stuff them into his +trousers. He shoved the coat into a garbage can, wet his hair and +slicked it back, and opened his shirt collar. The change didn't make +much of a disguise, but they wouldn't be expecting him to show up so +near where he entered.</p> + +<p>His skin prickled as he came out, but he fought down the sickness in +his stomach. A few drops of rain were beginning to fall, and the crowd +around the accident was thinning out. That might help him—or it might +prove more dangerous. He had to chance it.</p> + +<p>He stopped to buy a paper, maintaining an air of casual interest in +the crowd.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The newsstand attendant jerked his eyes back from they excitement +reluctantly. "Damned if I know. Someone, says a ball lightning came +down and broke over there. Caved in the entrance. Nobody's hurt +seriously, they say. I was just stacking up to go home when I heard it +go off. Didn't see it. Just saw the entrance falling in."</p> + +<p>Hawkes picked up his change and turned back across Broadway, +pretending he was studying the paper. The dateline showed it was July +10, just seven months from the beginning of his memory lapse. He +couldn't believe that there had been time enough for any group to +invent a heat-ray, if such a thing could exist. Yet nothing else would +explain the two sudden bursts of flame he had seen. Even if it could +be invented, it would hardly be used in public for anything less than +a National Emergency.</p> + +<p>What had happened in the seven blanked-out months?</p> + + +<h2>II</h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>he room was smelly and cheap, with dirty walls and no carpet on the +floor, but it was a relief after the hours of tramping and riding +about the city. Hawkes sat on the rickety chair, letting the wetness +dry out of his clothes. He looked at the bed, trying to convince +himself he could strip and warm up there while his clothes dried. But +something in his head warned him that he couldn't—he'd have to be +ready to run again. The same urge had made him demand a room on the +ground floor, where he could escape through the window if they found +him. They could never find him here—but they would! Sooner or later, +whatever was after him would come!</p> + +<p>It had seemed simple enough, before. There had been three friends he +could trust. Seven months, he had felt, couldn't have killed their +faith in him, no matter what he'd done. And perhaps he'd been right, +though there'd been no chance to test it.</p> + +<p>He'd almost been caught at the first place. The two men outside had +seemed to be no more than a couple of friends awaiting for a bus. Only +the approach of another man who resembled Hawkes had tipped him off, +by the quick interest they had shown.</p> + +<p>The other places had also been posted—and beyond the third, he'd seen +the gray sedan with the running boards, parked back in the shadows, +waiting.</p> + +<p>There had been less than ten dollars in his wallet, and most of that +had gone for cab fares. He'd barely had enough left for this dingy +room, the later edition of the newspaper, and the coffee and donuts +that lay beside him, half-consumed.</p> + +<p>He glanced toward the door, listening with quick fear as steps sounded +on the stairs. Then he drew his breath in again, and reached for the +newspaper. But it told him as little as the first one had.</p> + +<p>This one mentioned the two mysterious explosions of "ball lightning" +in a feature on the first page, but only as curiosities. They even +gave his address and listed the apartment as being in his name, though +apparently not currently occupied. But no other reference was made to +him, or to the chase.</p> + +<p>He shook his head at that. He couldn't see a newspaper-man refusing to +make a story of it, if there was any other news about him to which +they could tie the burning of his apartment. Apparently it was not the +police who were after him, and he hadn't been guilty of anything so +ordinary as murder.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="35" height="40" /></div> +<p>utside the window, a sudden scream sounded, and he jerked from the +chair, reaching the door before he realized it was only a cat on the +prowl. He shuddered, his old hatred of cats coming to the surface. For +a minute, he thought of shutting the window. But he couldn't cut off +his chance to retreat through the garbage-littered back-yard.</p> + +<p>He returned to his search, beginning an inventory of the few +belongings that had been in his pocket. There was a notebook, and he +scanned it rapidly. A few pages were missing, and most were blank. +There was only a shopping list. That puzzled him for a minute—he +couldn't believe he'd taken to using lipstick as well as cigarettes, +though both were listed in his handwriting. The notebook contained +nothing else.</p> + +<p>He stuffed it back into his pockets, along with his keyring. There +were more keys than he'd expected, some of which were strange to him, +but none held any mark that would identify them. He put a few pennies +into another pocket—his entire wealth, now, in a world where no more +money would be available to him. He grimaced, dropping a comb into the +same pocket.</p> + +<p>Then there was only his wallet left. His identification card was +there, unchanged. Behind it, where his wife's picture had always been, +there was only a folded clipping. He drew it out, hoping for a clew. +It was only an announcement of people killed in an airplane crash—and +among those found dead was Mrs. Wilbur Hawkes, of New York. It seemed +that Irma had never reached Reno for the divorce.</p> + +<p>He tried to feel some sorrow at that, but time must have healed +whatever hurt there had been, even though he couldn't remember. She +had hated him ever since she'd found that he really wasn't willing to +please his father by becoming another of the vice-presidents in the +old man's bank, with an unearned but fancy salary. He'd preferred +teaching mathematics and dabbling with a bit of research into the +probable value of the ESP work being done at Duke University. He'd +explained why he hated banking; Irma had made it clear that she really +needed the mink coat no assistant professor could afford. It had been +stalemate—a bitter, seven-year stalemate, until she finally gave up +hope and demanded a divorce.</p> + +<p>He threw the clipping away, and pulled out the final bit of paper. It +was a rent receipt for a cold-water apartment on the poorer section of +West End—from the price of eighteen dollars a month, it had to be a +cold-water place. He frowned, considering it. Apartment 12. That might +explain why his own apartment had been unused, though it made little +sense to him. It would probably be watched by now, anyway.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e jerked to his feet at a sound on the window-sill, but it was only a +cat, eyeing the unfinished donut. He threw the food out, and the cat +dived after it. Hawkes waited for the touch of ice along his backbone +to go away. It didn't.</p> + +<p>This time, he tried to ignore it. He picked up the paper and began +going through it, looking for something that might give him some +slight clew. But there was nothing there. Only a heading on an inside +page that stirred his curiosity.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Scientist Seeks Confinement</i></p></div> + +<p>He glanced at it, noting that a Professor Meinzer, formerly of City +College, had appeared at Bellevue, asking to be put away in a padded +cell, preferably with a strait-jacket. The Professor had only +explained that he considered himself dangerous to society. No other +reason was found. Professor Meinzer had been doing private work, +believed to relate to his theory that....</p> + +<p>The panic was back, thick in Hawkes' throat. He jerked back against +the wall, his heart racing, while he tried to fight it down. There was +no sound from the hall or outside. He forced his eyes back to the +paper.</p> + +<p>And the paper was surrounded by a golden haze. It burst into a +momentary flame as the haze flickered out. Hawkes dropped the ashes +from his clammy hands. He hadn't been burned!</p> + +<p><i>You can't escape. Run. They'll get you!</i></p> + +<p>He heard the outside door open, as it had opened a hundred times. But +now it could only mean that more were coming. He jerked for the open +window.</p> + +<p>Something came sailing through the air to hit the sill. Hawkes +screamed weakly, far down in his throat, before his eyes could +register the fact that it was only the cat again.</p> + +<p>Then the cat let out a horrible beginning of a sound, and its poor, +half-starved body seemed to turn inside out, with a churning motion +that Hawkes could barely see. Blood and gore spattered from it, +striking his face and clothes.</p> + +<p>He froze, unable to move. Either they were outside in the yard, or +whatever frightful weapon they used could work through a closed door. +He tried to move, first one way, then the other. His feet remained +frozen.</p> + +<p>Then steps sounded in the hallway, and he waited no longer. His legs +came to sudden life, hurling him over the carcass of the cat and +outside. He went charging through the refuse, and then leaped and +clawed his way over the fence. The alley was deserted, and he shot +down it, to swing right, and into another alley.</p> + +<p>It wasn't until his muscles began to fail that he could control +himself enough to stop and stumble into a darkened spot among the +garbage cans, spent and gasping for breath.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>here was no sign of anyone following. Hawkes had no idea of how they +could trace him—but he was beginning to suspect that nothing was +impossible, judging by the results of their weapons. For the moment, +though, he seemed to have shaken off pursuit. And the physical fatigue +had apparently eased some of his terror.</p> + +<p>What had shocked him into losing seven months out of his memory, and +still could drive him into absolute terror at the first sign of them?</p> + +<p>He couldn't go back to the room, and his own apartment was out of the +question. The rain had stopped, mercifully, but he couldn't walk the +streets indefinitely, dirty and bedraggled as he was. He tried to +think of something to do, but all of his schemes took money which he +no longer had.</p> + +<p>Finally, he arose wearily. Maybe the apartment for which he had the +rent receipt was watched—but he'd have to chance it. There was no +place else.</p> + +<p>He'd been accidentally heading toward it, and he continued now, +sticking to the alleys until he reached West End Avenue. He tried to +hurry, but the best his tired muscles could do was a slow shuffle.</p> + +<p>Light was beginning to show faintly in the sky, but it was still too +early for more than a few cars and a chance pedestrian. At this hour, +the avenue was used by only a few cruising cabs, heading toward better +sections. He shuffled along, trying to look like a man on his way home +after too much night out. The cat blood on his clothes bothered him, +until he tried weaving a little as he walked, imitating the drunks he +had seen often enough.</p> + +<p>He passed an all night diner, and fished for his pennies. But there +were several men inside. He went on, past Fifty-ninth Street, heading +for the apartment, which should be near Sixty-seventh.</p> + +<p>He was just reaching the top of the hill near Sixty-fourth when a gray +sedan sped along, heading downtown. There were running boards on it, +and behind the wheel sat the slim young man who'd given chase to +Hawkes before.</p> + +<p>Hawkes tried to duck, but the sedan was already braking and swinging +back. It was beside him before he could realize more than the old +clamor of his brain, telling him to run, that he couldn't escape.</p> + +<p>The car matched his speed, and the driver leaned far to the right. +"Will Hawkes," the young man called. "How about a lift?"</p> + +<p>The smile was pleasant, and the voice was casual, as if they were old +friends. There was no gun in the man's hands. It might have been any +honest offer of a ride.</p> + +<p>Hawkes braced himself, just as a patrol car turned onto the Avenue +ahead. He opened his mouth to scream, but his vocal cords were frozen. +The young man followed his eyes to the patrol car, and frowned.</p> + +<p>Then the gray sedan lifted smoothly upwards to a height of twenty +feet, turned sharply in mid-air, lifted again, and seemed to make a +smooth landing on top of a huge garage building!</p> + +<p>There had been no roar of jets and no evidence of any means of +propulsion.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>he patrol car went on down the Avenue, heading for the diner. The +officers inside apparently had missed the whole affair.</p> + +<p>Hawkes' cowardly legs suddenly came unfrozen. He was conscious of them +churning madly. With an effort, he got partial control of himself, +managing to focus on the house numbers.</p> + +<p>There were no watchers outside the number he wanted, though they could +have been in rooms across the street. He had no choice, now. He leaped +up the steps and into the hallway. His eyes darted around, spotting a +door that led out to the side, probably into an alley. He drew himself +together, hiding behind the stairs.</p> + +<p>But there was no further pursuit for the moment. The fear that seemed +to come before each attack was missing. Maybe it meant he was safe for +the moment—though it hadn't warned him of the car the young man was +driving.</p> + +<p>Heat rays! Levitation! Hawkes dropped to his knees as fatigue and +reaction caught up with him again, but his mind churned over the new +evidence. As a mathematician, he was sure such things could not exist. +If they did, there would have been extension of math well in advance +of the perfection of the machines, and he'd have known of it as +speculative theory, at least. Yet, without such evidence, the devices +apparently existed.</p> + +<p>The police weren't in on it, that much was certain. It was more than a +hunt for a criminal. What had been going on during the months he had +missed?</p> + +<p>His mind shuttled over the spy-thrillers he had seen. If some nation +had the secrets, and he had discovered them.... But the heat ray would +never have been used openly, then; they wouldn't tip their hand. +Anyhow, the cold war was still going on, and that would have been +pointless when any nation had such power.</p> + +<p>And if the secret belonged to the United States, the young man would +never have levitated to avoid police at the greater risk of tipping +off anyone who saw that such things could be done.</p> + +<p>Nothing made sense—not even the crazy feeling of fear that had warned +him on some occasions and failed him this last time. The only +explanation that was credible was the totally incredible idea that +some life, alien to earth and with strange unearthly powers, was after +him—or that he was insane.</p> + +<p>He fumbled through a pack of cigarettes until he located the last one, +streaked with sweat that was still pouring down from his armpit, and +lighted it. It was all answer-less—just as his sudden need for +smoking was.</p> + + +<h2>III</h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes crushed out the cigarette and began climbing the wide stairs +slowly. It was probably an ambush into which he was heading—but +without this place, he had no chance of resting. He stared at the +numbers painted on the dirty red doors, and went on up a second flight +of stairs. The number he wanted was at the end of the hall, dimly +lighted. He dropped to the keyhole, but found it had been filled long +ago, probably when the Yale lock was installed.</p> + +<p>He put his ear against the door and listened. There was no sound from +inside except a monotonous noise that must be water dripping from a +leaky faucet. Finally, he climbed to his feet and reached for his +keys. The third one he tried fitted, and the door swung open.</p> + +<p>He fumbled about, looking for a light switch, and finally struck a +match. The switch was a string hanging down from a bare bulb. He +pulled it, to find he stood inside one of the old monstrosities with +which New York is filled—a combination kitchen and bathroom, with a +tiny closet for the toilet in one corner. There was an ice-box, a +dirty stove, a Franklin heater connected to the chimney, a small sink, +and a rickety table with four folding chairs. In a closet, cheap china +showed.</p> + +<p>He went through that, into the seven-by-twelve living room. There was +a cheap radio, a worn sofa, two more folding chairs and a big typing +table. The rug on the floor had been patched together. Then he +breathed more easily. Over the back of one of the chairs was a sports +jacket which he recognized as his own. He jerked it up suddenly and +began going through the pockets, but they had already been emptied.</p> + +<p>It didn't matter—he no longer cared why he should be in a place so +totally unlike any his usually neat habits would have led him to. It +was his.</p> + +<p>Then, as he came into the bedroom, he hesitated. It was smaller than +the living room, with a bed that took up half of one wall, and two +dressers jammed into the remaining space. One corner held a cardboard +closet—and hanging on the hook was a man's raincoat and hat, both at +least five sizes too big for him. His eyes darted about, to find a +strange mixture of things he remembered as his and possessions which +he would never have owned. On one of the dressers was a small +traveling case, filled with the cosmetics and appliances which only a +woman would use.</p> + +<p>He jerked open the closet, and his nose told him before his eyes that +it held only female clothing! Yet on the shelf his old hat rested +happily.</p> + +<p>He could make no sense of it—the place looked as if several people +lived in it, and yet it wasn't really fitted for anyone to spend his +whole time there. There was none of the accumulation of property that +would fit any permanent residence. He went out of the bedroom, passing +the typewriter desk. The typewriter was an old, standard Olympia—a +German machine he'd refitted with the Dvorak keyboard which he had +learned for greater efficiency. He was sure nobody else would want it.</p> + +<p>The dishes were dusty, and there was no food in the ice-box.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_n.jpg" alt="N" width="40" height="40" /></div> +<p>ow, though, it began to fit—a place where it was convenient to stop +in, but not a place to live. And perhaps he had been in the habit of +lending it to others. Though why he shouldn't have used his own +apartment was something he still couldn't understand.</p> + +<p>But it was possible there was no record of this place.</p> + +<p>He began shucking off his shirt as he went back through the living +room—until the marks on the rug caught his eyes. Something heavy had +rested there recently—there had been other desks about, or heavily +laden tables. And a bit of paper under the sofa could only have come +from one of the complicated computing machines used in high-power +mathematics. He scanned the fragment, making no sense of it, except +that it was esoteric enough to belong to any new branch of theory. For +a second, the heat-rays and levitations entered his head—but none of +the symbols fitted such a branch of physical development.</p> + +<p>What had been going on here—and why had the machines been removed so +recently that their traces still looked fresh?</p> + +<p>He shook his head—and froze, as a key turned in the lock.</p> + +<p>There was no time for flight. She stood in the doorway, blinking at +the light before he could turn. She, of course, was the girl whom he'd +barely noticed when he knocked the couple down as he charged out of +his apartment.</p> + +<p>Of course? He puzzled over that. He'd almost expected it—and yet, now +that he looked more closely, he couldn't even be sure that she was the +same. She wore the same green jacket, but nothing else he could be +sure of, because he had no other memory of that girl. This one was two +inches shorter than he was, with dark red hair and the deepest blue +eyes he had seen. She looked like an artist's conception of an Irish +colleen, except that her mouth was open half an inch, and she was +studying him with the look of being about ready to scream.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" He forced the words out at her.</p> + +<p>She shook her head, and then smiled doubtfully. "Ellen Ibañez, +naturally. You startled me! But you must be Wilbur Hawkes, of course. +Didn't you get my wire?"</p> + +<p>He watched her, but there had been no stumbling over his name, and no +effort to make it sound too casual. Apparently, the name meant nothing +to her. He shook his head. "What wire?" Then he plunged ahead, +quickly. "You've heard of amnesia? Good. Well, I've got it—partially. +If you can tell me anything about myself before yesterday, Miss, I'll +never be anything but...."</p> + +<p>He choked on that, unable to finish. And behind the surface emotions, +his mind was poised, sniffing for danger. There was no feeling of it, +though he kept telling himself alternately that she had been the girl +at the door and that she obviously had not been.</p> + +<p>He'd seen her before. The tilt of her head, that unmatchable hair....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_y1.jpg" alt="Y" width="53" height="40" /></div> +<p>ou poor man!" Her voice was all sympathy, and the bag she was +carrying dropped to the floor as she came over. "You mean you <i>really</i> +can't remember—at all?"</p> + +<p>"Not for the last seven months!"</p> + +<p>She seemed surprised. "But that was when you answered my +advertisement. I never saw you—though you did call me, and your voice +sounds familiar. You sent me the check, and I mailed you the key. That +was all."</p> + +<p>"But I must have given you references—told you something—"</p> + +<p>Again, she shook her head. "Nothing. You said you were a teacher at +CCNY, but that you were quitting, and wanted a place to use as an +office. You didn't care what it was like. That's all."</p> + +<p>Hawkes felt she was lying—but it could have been true. And in his +present state, he probably believed everyone was other than they +seemed. He remembered the gray sedan rising to the roof—and the cat +turning inside out—</p> + +<p>Sickness hit at him. He groped back towards a chair, sinking into it. +He'd almost found a refuge, and even hoped that he could find some of +the missing past. Now....</p> + +<p>He must have partially fainted. He heard vague sounds, and then she +was putting something against his lips. It was bitter and hot, though +it only remotely resembled coffee. He gulped it gratefully, not caring +that it was sweet and black. He saw the bottle of old coffee powder, +caked with age, and heard the water boiling on the stove. Idly, he +wondered whether he'd bought the jar originally or she had. Then his +senses snapped back.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," he muttered thickly. He groped his way to his feet, his head +slowly clearing. "I guess I'd better go now."</p> + +<p>She forced him back into the chair. "You're in no condition to leave +here, Will Hawkes. Ugh! Your shoes are filthy. Let me help you ... +there, isn't that better? Whatever you've been doing to yourself, you +should be ashamed. You're going straight to bed while I clean some of +this up!"</p> + +<p>His head had sunk back on the table, and everything reached him +through a thick fog. It wasn't right—girls didn't act that way to +strange men who looked as if they'd come from a Bowery fight. Girls +didn't take a man's clothes off. Girls didn't....</p> + +<p>He let her half carry him into the bedroom, and tried to protest as +she put him between clean sheets. He stared at the view of his +lavender shorts against the fresh whiteness, while things seemed far +away. He'd played with a girl named Ellen, once when he was eleven and +she was nine. She'd had bright copper hair, and her name had +been—what had it been? Not Ibañez. Bennett, that was it. Ellen +Bennett.</p> + +<p>He must have said it aloud. She chuckled. "Of course, Will. Though I +never thought you'd be the same Will Hawkes. I knew it when I saw that +scar on your shoulder, where you cut yourself sliding down our cellar +door. Go to sleep."</p> + +<p>Sliding down, sliding down into clouds of sleep. Sleep! She'd drugged +him! Something in the coffee!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e jerked up, reaching for her, but she ducked aside, drawing on the +tops to a pair of frilly pajamas. "Ellen, you—"</p> + +<p>"Shh!" She pulled a robe over the pajamas and lay down, outside the +blankets. "Shh, Will. You have to sleep. You're <i>so</i> tired, <i>so</i> +sleepy...."</p> + +<p>Her voice was soothing, and the fingers along the base of his neck was +relaxing. He reached out a last inquiring finger of doubt for the +feeling of danger, and couldn't find it. This was as wrong as the +other things had been wrong—but his mind let go, and he was suddenly +asleep.</p> + +<p>He awoke slowly, with a thick feeling in his mouth. Drugged! And the +sense of danger had failed him again! He swung over sharply, reaching +for her, but she was gone.</p> + +<p>His clothes lay beside him, neatly pressed, and he grabbed for them. +There was a pair of socks, too large, but better than none. His +muscles felt wrong as he began dressing, but the feeling wore away. +The clock said that less than two hours had passed. If she'd put a +drug in the coffee, it must have been one to which he was less +sensitive than the average. She'd probably never suspected that he +would waken.</p> + +<p>A trace of fear struck through him, but it was weaker than before, and +it seemed normal enough, under the circumstances. He fumbled over the +shoelaces, and then grabbed up his coat.</p> + +<p>She'd bring <i>them</i> back! Maybe they'd used her as a spy!</p> + +<p>But he couldn't understand why she'd bothered to press his clothes. +And the apartment still puzzled him. Even if her story was true, it +simply wasn't the sort of a place where a girl like her would live. +Nor was it fixed as she might have arranged a place, even allowing for +what he might have done to it in seven months.</p> + +<p>He reached automatically for the lock in the dim hall, and realized +his hands knew the door, whatever else was true. Then he went out and +down the stairs. He heard a babble of kids' voices, part in English +and part in a sort of Spanish. That meant that things were normal, to +the casual observer along the street. But he knew it was poor evidence +that things really were as they should be. He stood in the comparative +darkness of the hall, staring out. Nothing was wrong, so far as he +could see. He had to risk it.</p> + +<p>Hawkes shoved past the women on the steps and headed down West End, +trying not to seem in a hurry. His eyes turned up to the roof of the +garage, but he could see nothing there; he'd half-expected that the +slim young man would be parked up on the roof, waiting.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>hen the fear began, mounting slowly. He jerked around quickly, +scanning the street. For a second, he thought he saw the slim figure, +but it was only a back turned to him, and it disappeared into a +barber-shop. Probably someone else.</p> + +<p>The fear mounted a little, and he found his steps quickening. He cut +around the corner, where men were crowded into a little restaurant. He +was heading into a dead-end street, but there was an alley leading +from it. He had to keep off the main streets.</p> + +<p>Footsteps sounded behind him.</p> + +<p>He moved faster, and the footsteps also speeded up. He slowed, and +they kept on. Then they were nearly behind him, just as he reached the +alley and jerked back into it, grabbing for a broken bottle he had +spotted.</p> + +<p>"Will!" It was a gasping wheeze. "Will! For God's sake, it's only me. +I know everything—your amnesia. But let me explain!"</p> + +<p>It stopped him. He held the bottle carefully, as the fat figure of an +old man stepped softly around the corner, fear written on every aged +wrinkle. It was the man he'd stumbled into when he dashed out of his +apartment.</p> + +<p>But the fear there matched his own so completely that he dropped the +bottle. The other man stood trembling, gasping for breath. Then he +gathered himself together, though his pudgy hands still clenched +tightly, showing white knuckles.</p> + +<p>"Will," he repeated. "You must believe me. I know about you. I want to +help you—if there's any help for you, God forgive us both. And God +have mercy on Earth. It's worse than you can believe—and different. +It's...."</p> + +<p>Horror washed over the old man's face. He stood, fighting within +himself. Hawkes felt his own back hairs lift, and he drew back. For a +second, the fat man seemed to waver before him, as if his body was +only a projection. Then it quieted.</p> + +<p>"It—it almost had me for a second."</p> + +<p>He turned back to Hawkes, trying to control the quivering muscles in +his face. But his victory was still incomplete when he suddenly leaped +up.</p> + +<p>"Get back, Will. Oh, God, O God!"</p> + +<p>He leaped outwards, his fat old legs pumping savagely. Then the air +seemed to quiver.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_003.jpg" width="600" height="421" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Where he had been, there was only a dark cloud of smoke, spreading +outwards in a rough equivalent of his shape. A spurt of steam leaped +upwards savagely, and the smoke seemed darker. It began to drift on +the air, touched a building, and left a spot of smudginess, before it +drifted on, getting thinner with each gust of wind. It was as if every +atom of his body had suddenly disassociated itself from every other +atom.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes found his fingernails cutting his palms, and there was blood +flowing from his bitten tongue. He heard a hacking moan in his throat. +He struggled against something that seemed to be holding him down, and +then leaped at least ten feet, to land running.</p> + +<p>The alley was twisted and narrow. He shot down it and around a corner. +An ice-house stood there, and he barely avoided the loading trucks. He +was back near the apartment building where he'd found the girl, and he +doubled to a door that showed. It seemed to be locked, but somehow, he +got through it. He seemed to melt through the door, though he wasn't +sure whether his lunge smashed it or whether his fingers had found +the latch in time.</p> + +<p>He ducked around loose-hanging electric wires, under twisted pipes, +and across a pile of coal around a hot-water heater. He twisted and +turned, to come into complete darkness, and halt short, listening.</p> + +<p>The fear was going—and there were again no sounds of pursuit. But he +couldn't be sure. He'd heard no sounds when the fat man had leaped +out, but they had been there.</p> + +<p>Silently and thickly, he cursed. To find a man who seemed to be his +friend, and who knew about him—and then to have them kill that man +with such horrible efficiency before he could learn what it was all +about!</p> + +<p>He gagged in the darkness, almost fainting again.</p> + +<p>Then, slowly, it was too much. For the moment, he could run no more, +and nothing seemed to matter. He understood his sudden bravado no +better than the unnatural cowardice that had been riding his +shoulders, but he shrugged, and moved forward.</p> + +<p>The dark passage led out to steps, that carried him up to the +sidewalk, in front of the building. Ellen Ibañez—or Bennett—was less +than five feet from him, and her eyes were fixed firmly on his face.</p> + + +<h2>IV</h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>he seemed surprised, but tried to smile. "I thought I left you +asleep, Will," she said, in a tone that was meant to be bantering. +"'Smatter, the fuse blow?"</p> + +<p>He accepted the excuse for his presence in the basement. "Yeah, it +did. You left the iron on. I wondered what happened to you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Just shopping. There wasn't a bit of food in the place—and +I must say, Will, you aren't much of a housekeeper. I bought pounds of +soap!"</p> + +<p>He followed her up the stairs, and his key opened the door. He was +still operating on the general belief that they'd be least likely to +spot him where they had already found him once. If the girl had tipped +them off, then they had it figured out that he had run off, and +probably wouldn't be back.</p> + +<p>He hoped so, at any rate.</p> + +<p>She was talking too briskly, and she was too careful not to mention +that the iron was cool, with its cord wrapped neatly around the +handle. He offered no explanation, but let her babble on about the +strange coincidence of his being <i>the</i> Will Hawkes, and how she'd +almost forgotten the childhood days.</p> + +<p>"How come the Ibañez?" he asked, finally.</p> + +<p>"Stage name! I tried to make a go of the musicals, but it wasn't my +line, I found. But the name stuck."</p> + +<p>"And where'd you learn how to drug coffee that way?"</p> + +<p>She didn't change expression. There was even a touch of a twinkle in +her eye. "Waitress in a combination bar and restaurant. You needed the +sleep, Will. And I guess I still feel as much of a mother to you as I +did when you used to get hurt, so long ago."</p> + +<p>She had things out of the bags now, and he saw that she had been doing +a lot of shopping. There had still been time enough to call the slim +young man, though—or, he suddenly realized, the fat man. He had no +more reason to believe her an enemy than a friend. Then he corrected +that. If she'd known enough to call the fat man, and had been his +friend, she could have told him things. She'd denied knowing anything, +though.</p> + +<p>He couldn't understand why he trusted her—and yet, somehow, he did. +Even if he knew she'd called them, he would still have to trust her. +He was sure now that she was lying, and that she had been the girl at +the door—but that meant she'd been with the fat man. And the fat man +had seemed to be his friend. Or, had the man been set to lure him out, +but miscalculated, and gotten only what had been meant for him?</p> + +<p>His head was spinning, and he gave it up. He was a fool to trust her +simply because the fear feeling subsided around her—but he had +nothing better to do than to follow his hunches, and then try to play +the odds as best he could.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_c1.jpg" alt="C" width="47" height="40" /></div> +<p>igarettes," she said, handing him a pack of his brand. "And for me. +Shoe dye—your shoes need it, and I couldn't find a shoe store. I did +get a shirt though, and a tie. You'll find a hat in that bag. Size +seven and a quarter?"</p> + +<p>He nodded gratefully, and went in to change. His old shirt had caught +most of the cat's blood, and he needed a fresh one. There were a +couple of spots on his trousers, but they'd do. And the sports jacket +matched well enough. He daubed the dye onto his shoes—one of the +combined polish and dye things.</p> + +<p>"Cold-cuts all right?" she asked, and he called back a vague answer +that seemed to satisfy her. He was staring at the shoe dye.</p> + +<p>It worked fairly well, when he experimented. He daubed it onto his +hair with a wisp of cotton. His hair began to mat down, but he found +that combing it out as he went along removed the worst of the wax and +still left some of the color. It worked better than it should have +done.</p> + +<p>He found a bottle of something that smelled of alcohol and belonged in +her cosmetics, and began removing most of the mess. By being careful, +he got the wax and most of the dye smell off, while leaving his hair +darker.</p> + +<p>"Better wash up," she called.</p> + +<p>There was a razor among the things she had bought. He daubed some of +the dye on his upper lip, where the stubble of a mustache was showing. +It was easier there, if it didn't wash off in soap and water.</p> + +<p>Some of it did, but when he finished shaving, he felt better. It +wouldn't pass close inspection, but he now seemed to have darker hair, +and the dye had exaggerated the little beginning of a mustache enough +to make some change in his appearance.</p> + +<p>He waited for her to comment, but she said nothing. He waited for her +questions about what he was going to do, and her explanations that of +course he couldn't stay there. She merely went on talking idly, while +they ate. It didn't fit.</p> + +<p>Finally he stood up and began taking down the rope that was strung up +over one end of the room, to use as a clothes line, he supposed. She +looked up at that. "What—"</p> + +<p>"You can fight, if you want to," he told her. "Or you can save +yourself the headache of being knocked out. Take your choice. People +don't pay much attention to screams in a place like this. And I'm not +going to harm you, if you'll take it easily."</p> + +<p>"You mean it!" Her eyes were huge in her face, and there was a touch +of fright now. She gulped visibly, and then seemed to go limp. "All +right, Will. In the bedroom?"</p> + +<p>He nodded, and she went ahead of him. She didn't struggle, until he +was about to gag her. Then she drew her head aside. "There's money in +my bag, if you're going out."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e swore, hotly and sickly. If she'd only act just once as a normal +female should! Maybe Irma had been a hysterical, cold-blooded fool, +but she couldn't have been that much different from other women—even +the books indicated Ellen should be anything but so damned +coöperative!</p> + +<p>"If you'll tell me what's going on, I'll still let you go," he +suggested, drawing her hands tighter together.</p> + +<p>"I can't, Will. I don't know."</p> + +<p>He had to believe her—he knew she was telling the truth, at least to +some extent. And that made it just so much worse. He bound the gag +over her mouth as gently as he could, and closed the door behind him. +Her big eyes haunted him as he turned to the telephone.</p> + +<p>The information girl at CCNY could only tell him that Wilbur Hawkes +had resigned abruptly seven months before, and no one knew where he +was—they had heard he was doing government research. He snorted at +that—it was always the excuse, when nobody knew anything.</p> + +<p>He tried a few other numbers, and gave up. Nobody knew—and nobody +seemed to react to his name any differently from what they would have +done had he remained a quiet, professorish man, minding his own +business, instead of being chased by....</p> + +<p>He couldn't complete that. The idea was still too fantastic. Even if +there were alien life-forms that were subtly invading Earth, why +should they pick on him? What good could a little, unimportant +mathematician do them—particularly if they had the powers he already +knew they possessed? It was a poor answer, though no harder to believe +than that any group on Earth could so suddenly come up with miracles.</p> + +<p>Anyhow, men knew enough already to be pretty sure that Mars and Venus +wouldn't have creatures that could invade Earth—and the other planets +were hopeless. Perhaps from another star—but that would mean +violating the theories of mass-increase with the speed of light, and +he was not ready to accept that, yet.</p> + +<p>This time, he went out of the building without looking first. It could +do no good—they could hide from him, he knew, and he would only call +attention to himself by looking around. With the change in appearance, +he might get by. He moved rapidly up to Broadway, where he found a +little clothing store and a ready-made suit that nearly fitted him. +The tailor there seemed unconcerned when he insisted the cuffs be +turned up at once, and that he wanted to wear it immediately. It took +nearly an hour, but he felt safe, for a change. A five-and-ten +furnished a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses that seemed to have blanks in +them, and he decided he might get by.</p> + +<p>There was no evidence of pursuit. He caught a cab, and headed for the +library. Ellen had been well-heeled—suspiciously so for a girl who +lived in a cold-water flat like that; he'd peeled fifteen tens from +her wallet, and there'd been more, not to mention the twenties. His +conscience bothered him a bit, but he was in no position to worry too +much.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>he library was still the puzzle of the ages to him—he'd used it half +his life, and still found it impossible to guess why such a building +had been chosen. But eventually, he found the periodical room, and +managed to get through the red tape enough to be given a small table +with a stack of newspapers and magazines.</p> + +<p>The mathematics magazines interested him most. He pored through them, +looking for a single hint of the things he had seen. Einstein's work +with gravity stood out, but no real advances had come from it. It was +still a philosophical rather than an actual attack on physics—as +beautiful as a new theology, and about as hard to utilize. He skimmed, +through the pages, but nothing showed. No real advance had been made +since his memory blanked out, except for one paper on variable stars +which was interesting, but unhelpful.</p> + +<p>He threw them aside in disgust. He knew that it was useless to look in +other languages. Work couldn't be done without some first stages that +would be reported, and any significant new theory would be picked up +and spread. Science wasn't yet completely under political wraps.</p> + +<p>For a second, he stopped as he came to a paper bearing his by-line. +Then he grimaced—it was an old one, just published—his attempt to +find how the phenomena of poltergeists could be fitted into the +conservation of energy, and his final proof that the whole business +was sheer rubbish. It would be nice to be able to get back to a life +where he could fool around with such learned jokes.</p> + +<p>The newspapers, beginning with the last day he could remember, were +almost as barren of results. There was the story of the cold war, +without the strange overtones that should be there if any of the major +powers—where all the major scientists would tend to be—had found +something new. He'd studied the statistical analysis of mob psychology +at times, and felt sure he could spot the signs.</p> + +<p>He skimmed on, without results, until he finally came to the current +paper. This he read more carefully. There was no mention of him. But +he found something on the fat man. It was a simple followup to the +story about the scientist who'd turned himself in at Bellevue—the man +had mysteriously disappeared, three hours later. And there was a +picture—the face of the fat man, with "Professor Arthur Meinzer" +under it.</p> + +<p>It didn't help.</p> + +<p>Hawkes shoved the magazines and papers back, and went through the +series of halls and stairs that led him to the main reference room, +inconveniently located on the top floor. He found the book he wanted, +and thumbed rapidly through it. Meinzer was listed on the bottom of +page 972—but as he looked for 973, a pile of ashes dribbled onto the +floor.</p> + +<p>There was no use. They'd gotten there ahead of him.</p> + +<p>He made one final attempt. He called the college, asking for Meinzer, +to find that nobody even knew the name! He knew they were lying—but +he could do nothing about that. Maybe it was only because of the +publicity—or maybe because someone or something had gotten to them +first!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f.jpg" alt="F" width="33" height="40" /></div> +<p>ear was growing with him as he came out on the street. He ducked into +a crowd, and headed slowly into a corner drug store, trying to seem +inconspicuous, but the fear mounted. They were near—they would get +him! Run, GO!</p> + +<p>He fought it down, and found that it was weakened, either by his +becoming used to it or because the urgency was less than it had been.</p> + +<p>He ducked into a phone-booth and called the newspaper, keeping his eye +on both entrances to the store. It seemed to take forever to locate +the proper man there, but finally he had his connection.</p> + +<p>"Meinzer," the voice said, with a curious doubtfulness.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yeah. Mister, that story's dead! Call up...."</p> + +<p>The telephone melted slowly, dropping into a little cold puddle on the +floor!</p> + +<p>Hawkes had felt the tension mounting, and he was prepared for +anything. Now he found himself on the street, darting across +Forty-second Street against the light, without even remembering having +left the booth. He stole a quick glance back, to see people staring at +him with open mouths. He thought he saw a slim figure in gray tweeds, +but he couldn't be sure—and there were probably thousands of such men +in New York.</p> + +<p>He ducked into a bank, wormed his way around the various aisles, and +out the back entrance. A cab was waiting there, and he held out a +bill.</p> + +<p>"I'm late, buddy. Penn Station!"</p> + +<p>The cab-driver took the bill and the hint, and darted out, just as the +light was changing.</p> + +<p>Penn Station was as good a place to try to get lost from pursuit as +any. Hawkes examined his wallet, considering trying to get a train +out—but he'd used up nearly all he had taken from Ellen.</p> + +<p>And all his careful disguise had proved useless. They weren't +fooled—and this business of dodging was wearing thin. By now, they'd +know his habits!</p> + +<p>He drew out a coin, flipping it. It came up heads. He frowned, but +there was nothing else to do. He moved down the ramp toward the subway +that would carry him back to Sixty-sixth and Broadway. He was probably +walking into their trap by now, but the coin was right. He had to free +Ellen. If they got him, it couldn't be much worse for him.</p> + +<p>Then he shuddered. He couldn't know whether it would be worse for his +country, or even his world. He couldn't really know anything.</p> + + +<h2>V</h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="16" height="40" /></div> +<p>t was growing dark as he walked down Sixty-sixth, eyeing every man +suspiciously, and knowing his suspicion would do no good. He was still +trying to think, though he knew his thoughts were as useless as his +suspicions.</p> + +<p>If he could remember! His mind came up sharply against leaving Irma +and taking out the mail; then it went abruptly blank. What had been in +the letter? It had been from a professor—it might have been from +Professor Meinzer. That would tie in neatly. But Meinzer was dead, and +he couldn't remember. They'd stripped him of his memory. How? Why? +Were they trying to prevent his giving information to others—or were +they trying to get something from him? And what could he know?</p> + +<p>He'd dabbled with ESP mathematically, but now he found himself +wondering if it could exist. Could they be tracking him by some +natural or mechanical ability to read his mind? He strained his own +mind to find a whisper of foreign thought, outside his brain. He drew +a blank, of course, as he'd expected.</p> + +<p>There were no answers. They could play with him, like a cat juggling a +mouse, letting him almost learn something—and then, always, they +arrived just in time to prevent his success!</p> + +<p>Put a rat in a maze where it can't learn the path, and it goes insane. +But what good would he be to anyone if they drove him insane? And why +bother with all that when they could silence him as well by killing +him?</p> + +<p>He'd forgotten to watch, and was surprised to find his feet on the +steps of the apartment building. He jerked back, and bumped into +someone.</p> + +<p>"Sorry." The words came from behind him, automatically, and he turned +to see the slim young man stepping aside. For a second, their eyes met +squarely. A row of teeth flashed in a brief smile as the man started +around him. "Guess I was thinking. Should have watched where I was +going."</p> + +<p>The man went on down the street, and turned in at the restaurant +entrance.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes lifted a foot that weighed a ton and slowly closed his mouth. +He'd been facing away from the street light—and his face might have +been hard to see. Yet....</p> + +<p>It didn't fit. The young man must have known him!</p> + +<p>He blanked it from his mind. He couldn't believe that it was anything +but lack of recognition. It was hard to see here, where the other was +facing the light, and he was in the shadow.</p> + +<p>But it still meant that they were waiting, nearby.</p> + +<p>He dashed up the stairs, expecting a rush at both landings. The normal +sounds of the apartment house went on. He listened at his door, but he +could hear nothing except the same drip he had heard before. Slowly, +he inserted the key and went in. The small bulb was still on. He crept +along, trying to move silently on floors that insisted on creaking. +The living room was as he had left it, and he caught sight of Ellen on +the bed.</p> + +<p>He spotted a mirror over one of the dressers, and used that to study +more of the bedroom. It seemed as empty as before.</p> + +<p>Finally, he stepped inside. There was no one there but Ellen, and she +seemed to be asleep, doubled up in a position that might have made the +unkind cords easier to stand. She moaned slightly as he untied her +gently, but didn't awaken. Her breathing was regular, and her breath +had the odd muskiness of someone who has slept for several hours.</p> + +<p>He found a bottle of liquor on the shelf where she had put it, and +rinsed out a couple of glasses. It was good liquor—good enough to +take without mixers, as they'd have to do.</p> + +<p>She came awake when he called her, rubbing her eyes and then her +wrists, where the cords had left a mark. But she was smiling. "Hi, +Will. I knew you'd come back. Hey, not on an empty stomach."</p> + +<p>"You need it—and so do I," he told her. "Bottoms up!"</p> + +<p>They were big glasses. She gasped over it, but she downed it, then +reached for the water he had brought as a chaser. She swallowed, and +blinked tears out of her eyes. "I don't usually drink."</p> + +<p>He made no comment, but refilled the glass. The liquor had less effect +on him than he'd expected, though he'd always had a good head for it. +It took some of the edge off his worrying, though.</p> + +<p>She giggled suddenly, and he frowned. She couldn't take much on an +empty stomach, it seemed. Then he shrugged. Let her drink—maybe if he +could get her drunk, he could find something out; at least he might +learn whether the slim young man had been there during the day.</p> + +<p>"Like when you found your dad's cider," she said, and giggled again. +"You got awful—hp!—awful drunk, Willy, din't you? You +were—so—funny!"</p> + +<p>She was trying to be careful with her words already. She slid around, +doing things that brought more honestly beautiful thigh into the light +than Will had seen in ten years. He reached to adjust her dress, and +she giggled again, sliding against him.</p> + +<p>"You kissed me then, Willy. Remember? Bet you don' remember!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e began it coldly, deliberately. If he could work on her emotions +enough, he'd crack the wall of evasion and lies, somehow. He reached +for her, calculating what would arouse her without causing any shock +to bring her back to her senses.</p> + +<p>He hadn't counted on the quickness of her reponse, nor the complete +acceptance of his right with which she took it. The liquor had reduced +her to the stage of a little girl who competely trusted her companion. +She seemed as unconscious of her body as a child might be.</p> + +<p>Instead of protesting, she reached down and began unfastening the +buttons on her dress. "'Syour turn now, Willy. Put you to bed last +night, you put me to bed t'-night. Then you gotta kiss me good-night. +Nighty-night, nighty-night."</p> + +<p>He felt like a heel at first. And then he began to feel like a +man—any man around a beautiful girl half-undressed, and getting more +so.</p> + +<p>She slipped under the sheets, tossing out the last of her clothing, +and crooning happily. "Gotta kiss me good-night, Willy. Nighty-night!"</p> + +<p>He yanked the pull-cord savagely, cutting off the light, and fumbling +in the darkness. After what seemed hours of awkwardness, he slid in +beside her, feeling her arms go around him in complete acceptance. To +hell with <i>them</i>! They could chase him some other time!</p> + +<p>He pulled her to him, while his blood beat in his neck, and he began +to lose any conscious volition of what he was doing. He drew her +tighter, while a great clot of emotion set fire to his brain. He—</p> + +<p>Cold beyond anything he had known bit at him. A tremendous pressure +within him seemed about to force him to explode outwards, and the +shock jerked him into full awareness.</p> + +<p>In a split second, he swung his eyes from the great, jagged landscape +on which he stood, up an impossible range of mountains that were all +harsh blacks and cold whites, to a cold black sky in which the stars +were blazing specks without a flicker. He saw the Earth above him, +bigger than the moon had ever been, and with the dim outlines of +continents showing through the soft stuff that must be clouds.</p> + +<p>He was on the moon! And naked, without air!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p>lmost at once, something clapped down around him, and the pressure +let up, while heat seemed to leap into the rocks under his feet and +make them comfortable. He gulped down the air that somehow seemed to +stay close to him, instead of evaporating into the vacuum.</p> + +<p>The moon! Now they had him!</p> + +<p>Fear blazed in him—a stark, unreasoning terror that was like a +physical thing. <i>Run—but you can't run! They've got you! You can't +escape!</i></p> + +<p>The light blotted out, and then snapped on, more strongly. He stood in +the kitchen of the cold-water apartment, still naked, with bits of +chalky dust between his toes.</p> + +<p>He had no time for reason. His brain seemed to have jumped over a +hurdle and come down in a puddle beyond, foul with the stuff it had +found there. He heard Ellen shriek, and then cry out again.</p> + +<p>He lurched into the bedroom, while she let out another gurgling cry as +the light showed him in the doorway. She came out of the bed, leaping +for him, crying his name—cold sober! But he wanted none of her act. +He shook her off.</p> + +<p>"You damned alien! You filthy monster, disguised as a girl! When you +get in a spot where I'm sure to find you out, you have a cute trick up +your sleeve—but it won't work. You can send me back there—back to +the rest of your kind, from wherever they came. But you won't fool me +into thinking you're human again. You can't pass one test!"</p> + +<p>He wouldn't be fooled into thinking it was a dream, either. He'd been +physically on the moon—the very dust on his feet proved that. They +might drive him insane, but they wouldn't do it that way.</p> + +<p>She was crying now, gasping out words that he only half heard. "I'm +human, Will. Oh, I'm human!"</p> + +<p>"Then prove it! Come here, and prove it!"</p> + +<p>She cried again at that, as he pulled her down with him. But slowly +her crying quieted.</p> + +<p>He awoke slowly, with sun-light streaming in the windows, and reached +for her. He owed her more apologies than one, though he wasn't too +sorry about most of it. She had proven herself human. And virginally +so. Her complete surrender still left something warm inside him, +where only the madness and the fear had been before.</p> + +<p>Then he jerked upright, as he found her gone. He cursed himself for a +fool, and listened for a stir and bustle from the kitchen, but there +was none.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e was getting used to dressing with a feeling of dire pressure +driving him on. He finished rapidly, and yanked the bedroom door open, +just as he heard the outer lock click. She was coming in with a bottle +of cream and a package of sausage as he reached the kitchen, and there +was a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth.</p> + +<p>And this time, he knew she wouldn't have betrayed him. Yet the fear +increased in him. He darted past her as she leaned to kiss him, +heading for the door. The room seemed to quiver. The hall was filled +with a faint golden haze!</p> + +<p>He had to get out! He jerked backwards, caught her hand, and pulled +her. "Ellen! We've got to get out!"</p> + +<p>It was a half-articulate shout, and she resisted, but he began +dragging her after him. Something fumbled at the lock, and a key +slipped into it. The door opened.</p> + +<p>Hawkes didn't know what kind of an alien he expected. He knew that men +could never have thrown him to the moon and back, not in another +thousand years. It had to be a monster.</p> + +<p>But he should have known that monsters here came in human form—they'd +have to.</p> + +<p>The fear rose to a shriek in his brain, and then died down as the +human form entered. It was too normal—too familiar. A medium-sized +man, dressed in a suit as inconspicuous as his own, wearing a silly +little mustache that no outland monster should ever wear.</p> + +<p>The creature jumped in, slamming the door behind it. "Stay there! You +can't risk it outside now! We've got to—"</p> + +<p>Hawkes hit the figure with his shoulder, in the best football fashion +he could muster. It could try—but it couldn't keep him and Ellen here +to be burned in their heat-ray bath, or treated to whatever alien +torture they had in mind. He felt his shoulder hit. And he knew he'd +missed. It was an arm that he struck against, and the arm brought him +upright, while a second arm drew back and came forward with a savage +right to his jaw.</p> + +<p>He went out with a dull plopping sound in his brain. Then, slowly, an +ache came out of the blackness, and the beginning of sound. He was +fighting out of the unconsciousness, fighting against time and the +monster who'd try to steal Ellen.</p> + +<p>But Ellen's hands were on his head, and an ice-cold towel was wet +against his forehead. "Will! Will!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e groaned and sat up. The other—alien or human—was gone.</p> + +<p>"Where—?" he began.</p> + +<p>She was trying to help him to his feet, and he got up groggily, with +his head beginning to clear.</p> + +<p>"He just ran out, Will." Ellen was crying, this time almost silently, +with the words coming out between shakes of her shoulders. "Will, +we've got to get out. We've got to. The men are coming for you. +They'll be here any minute. And it's wrong—it won't work! Oh, Will, +hurry!"</p> + +<p>"Men? Men are coming?" He'd almost forgotten that it could be men who +were after him.</p> + +<p>"I called them, Will. I thought I had to. But it won't work. Will, do +anything you like, but <i>get</i> out! They are fools. They...."</p> + +<p>He opened the door and peered out the doorway into the hall, which +seemed quiet. He'd been a fool again. He'd trusted her for some +reason, as if a body and loyalty had to go together. They'd been +smart, picking a virgin for the job. It must have cost them plenty, +unless they'd twisted her mind somehow. Maybe they could do it.</p> + +<p>But he knew that whatever they looked like, it couldn't be real men +who'd meet him out there.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked, and was surprised at the flatness of his voice.</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "Because I'm a fool, Will. Because I thought they +could help you—until <i>he</i> came! And because I'm still in love with +you, even if you'd forgotten me."</p> + +<p>But the fear inside him was drowning out her words, and the golden +haze was faint in the air again.</p> + +<p>"Okay," he said finally. "Okay, don't burn her, too, now that she's +done your dirty work. I'm coming."</p> + +<p>The haze disappeared slowly, and he started down the stairs, still +holding her hand.</p> + + +<h2>VI</h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>here were men with guns in the street. He'd heard two shots as he +came down the stairs, and had shoved Ellen behind him. But it was +silent now. People with dazed, frightened faces were still darting +into the houses, leaving the street to the men with the guns.</p> + +<p>Hawkes marched forward grimly, perversely stripped of fear, even +though he was sure some of the men out there were monsters and others +were their dupes. He tapped one of the men on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Okay, here I am. The girl goes free!"</p> + +<p>The man spun around as if mounted on a ball bearing and pulled by +strings. The gun fell from his hands. His emotion-taut face loosened +suddenly, seemed to run like melted wax, and congealed again in an +expression of utter idiocy. He gargled frothily, and then +screamed—high and shrill, like a tortured woman.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he was a lunging maniac, tearing up the street.</p> + +<p>Now the others were running—some toward cars, and some toward the +corners, running flat and desperately on the flat of their feet, +without any spring to their motions.</p> + +<p>Hawkes jerked his eyes down toward the big gas-storage tanks where +most of them had been, and the glow that had been in the corner of his +vision was gone. Men seemed to be coming out of a trance. They were +breaking away, forgetting about their guns and fleeing.</p> + +<p>Three men alone were left.</p> + +<p>Hawkes ducked back into the hall of the apartment, dragging Ellen with +him. The glass of the door was somewhat dirty, but it made a dim +mirror. He could see the slim young man and two others still there. +The two men darted into a waiting car, and the leader turned up the +street, running smoothly toward the apartment house.</p> + +<p>Hawkes could make no sense of it—unless it was another of the seeming +tricks designed to drive him out of his mind. He had decided he was +one of the rats in the maze that didn't go crazy—the pressure could +drive him somewhat mad, but it couldn't keep him that way.</p> + +<p>He didn't wait to see what had happened, or whether the sirens that +were sounding now were reinforcements for the men with guns or the +police. He didn't bother with the slim young man any more. They'd +apparently used their dupes to frighten out the people, and then had +scared off the dupes—the poor humans who didn't know what it was all +about. Now two of the three were gone, and the third monster was +coming for him.</p> + +<p>He'd escaped before. But sooner or later, they'd catch him—once they +were sure he wouldn't be driven insane.</p> + +<p>Or was this the beginning of insanity—a delusion of power, a feeling +that he could escape? He could never know, if it was. He had to assume +that he was sane.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e crouched back behind the stairs, while the young man in the gray +tweeds dashed up them. Then he headed out into the street. The siren +was near now—and tardily, he realized that the siren might herald the +coming of the real monsters. It was as easy to look like a cop as any +other human!</p> + +<p>He jerked open the door of the nearest car, pulled Ellen in, and +kicked the motor to life. He gunned away from the curb, tossed it into +second, and twisted around the corner, straight toward the siren that +was nearest. At the last minute, he jerked to the side of the street, +to let the police car shoot by. "Never run from a tiger—run toward +it. It sometimes works, and it's no worse."</p> + +<p>The car was a big one, and the motor purred smoothly. He glanced down +at the dash, and frowned. There was no key in the switch. For a +second, he stared at it, and then grinned. He'd picked a monster's +car, apparently—they'd done a neat job of duplicating, but they +didn't need all the safeguards that humans used, and the switch had +obviously been a dummy.</p> + +<p>He looked at the buttons on the dash, wondering which would make it +levitate. But he had no desire to test it, nor to stay in an auto +which could probably be traced so easily.</p> + +<p>He braked to a halt outside the subway and led Ellen down.</p> + +<p>"We're down to the last hole," he told her as the train pulled out of +the station. "How much money do you have?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head, and held up her arm. "I left it, Will."</p> + +<p>They were beyond the last hole, then. He realized now that as long as +they'd been in a crowded apartment house, filled with other humans, it +had proved a tough nut to crack for the aliens. But on the move....</p> + +<p>"Maybe we have a chance," he told her. "If humans were after me, it'd +be tough—but these things have to avoid the police."</p> + +<p>She looked at him, misery on her face. "There are no aliens, Will. +Those men you saw were F. B. I. men. That's where I reported you."</p> + +<p>"You...."</p> + +<p>He stared at her, but she was serious.</p> + +<p>"But there was nothing about me in the papers, Ellen."</p> + +<p>She pointed across the aisle. Spread over two columns on the front +page, an older picture of him showed plainly. And even at the +distance, the heading was boldly legible.</p> + +<p class="blockquot"> +$100,000 REWARD FOR<br /> +THIS MAN!<br /> +</p> + +<p>He stared at the figure twice, unbelieving. He was no longer alone +against a small group of humans or aliens. Now every living human on +the face of the planet would be looking for him!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e could feel their hot breath on his neck, feel eyes staring at him +through the papers. Fear began to rise in him, to be halted as the +train ground to a new station. Ellen jerked him out, and he moved with +her. It wasn't safe to be too long with one group, until they began to +wonder and compare faces!</p> + +<p>"But what—"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "Nothing, Will. I don't know. What can we do?"</p> + +<p>He'd been wondering, while they moved quietly through the groups of +people, and up the stairs. There was no place left. He had about a +dollar in change, and that would be of no use to them. They'd have to +dig a hole in the ground and pull it over them....</p> + +<p>It joggled his memory, and he grabbed her hand and jerked open the +door of a cab that was waiting for the light. He barked out an +address——the corner of Tenth Avenue and one of the streets below +Twentieth. The driver got into motion, not bothering to look back. The +address was near enough to where Hawkes wanted to be—an old +warehouse, with a loading platform. He'd played there as a kid, +climbing back under it and digging holes down into the damp, soft +earth, as kids have always done. He'd been by there since, and it had +remained unchanged.</p> + +<p>Sooner or later, the aliens would locate them. But it would give Ellen +and him a chance to rest—perhaps long enough for him to waylay +someone at night and steal enough for them to leave town. That +wouldn't be much help—but it was all he had left to count on.</p> + +<p>He saw trucks loading there, as he paid the cab-driver. His heart sank +abruptly, until he studied the way the big trailer was parked. If he +watched carefully, he could slip under it from the side, and there was +a chance he wouldn't be seen.</p> + +<p>He darted beneath it.</p> + +<p>Luck, for once was with him as he drew Ellen under the trailer and the +platform. The old opening was covered with rubble, but he scraped it +aside, and found an entrance barely big enough for them to wiggle +through. Then they were back in a dark pocket under the back of the +platform, barely big enough for them to sit upright. The hole had +seemed bigger when he was a kid.</p> + +<p>Outside, he heard a boy's voice yelling. "Monster attacks cops! +Monster kills five cops! Extra Paper!"</p> + +<p>Now he was a monster, to be shot on sight, probably.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have brought you into this, Ellen," he said bitterly. "I +should have left you. You don't even know what's going on—you haven't +the faintest idea. If it were just humans, as you think...."</p> + +<p>She snuggled against him in the coldness of the little cave. "Shh. I +got you into it. I—I ratted on you, Scarface!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_b.jpg" alt="B" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>ut he couldn't reply to her attempt at humor. There was no fear +now—not even the relief of fear. He'd felt brave for a few minutes, +back in the hallway of the apartment. Now the chips were down, and +sunk. They were here, in a dank hole, without food, and without a +chance, while all the world searched for him to kill him—and while +still-unknown aliens with unknown reasons played out their little game +with consummate skill that would inevitably locate him.</p> + +<p>It might take them a day—they probably would do nothing to him until +night came, and the warehouse street was deserted! Ten more hours!</p> + +<p>If he only knew what they wanted of him, or why! If he could remember!</p> + +<p>He sat there, numbed within himself. Ellen leaned her head forward +onto his lap, and he began stroking her hair softly. He'd have liked +to have had a chance with her. One night wasn't enough for a whole +life. He reached down to draw her face to his....</p> + +<p>Fear hit him, as something rustled behind him. He tried to turn and +look, but his neck refused. The fear grew to panic, and swelled higher +as the golden haze began to spread over the little cave. Then his +muscles snapped his head around sharply. The slim young man was +crawling toward them, holding something that looked like a flashlight. +Behind it, he could see the tense lips drawn back over clenched teeth. +The man wasn't smiling now. He opened his mouth, just as the thing +like a flashlight sprang into light.</p> + +<p>No time seemed to elapse, but suddenly Ellen and the young man were +both gone, and he sat in the dark hole, alone. He let out an animal +cry, and dashed out, crawling through the opening, and kicking the +rubble back as he went. He slipped out, and under the trailer. But +there was no sign. They'd taken her, and left him unconscious!</p> + +<p>He groaned, trying to figure. He'd always gone back to the same place +to hide, since he'd found it. They must expect him back there. They'd +take Ellen there and wait for him, drugging her, changing her mind, +setting her up to use against him. The first time hadn't worked, but +they'd try it again. It had to be that. If they hadn't taken her +there, he had no way of finding her, and he had to find her.</p> + +<p>He began running down the street, forcing himself to believe she was +there. Then he slowed. It would do no good to have them all notice +him, here on the street. Someone might recognize him then. He turned +around, walking back to the bus stop. There were still two dimes and a +nickel in his pocket.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e hunched down on the seat of the bus that seemed to crawl up Tenth +Avenue. But no one noticed him in the almost empty vehicle. He got off +at Sixty-Sixth and forced himself to walk to West End, up that to the +apartment-house.</p> + +<p>Men were drawing up in cars—men with guns in their hands. He made a +final dash for the apartment entrance. This must be the real show—for +which the other had been only a dress rehearsal to throw him off +balance. They could wait.</p> + +<p>He fumbled with the lock, until he finally got it open. Then he jumped +in, slamming the door shut behind him. Ellen stood there, and the +creature that had assaulted him before was pawing at her. But he had +no time for the monster.</p> + +<p>"Stay there!" he shouted at her. "You can't risk it outside now! We've +got to—"</p> + +<p>He saw she wasn't listening to him. He had to get rid of the creature +somehow, if he could get it far enough away from her. Then they'd find +some way to get outside, without going out through the entrance.</p> + +<p>The creature sprang at him awkwardly. His arm darted down to catch one +shoulder, and his right hand swung back and up. There was a savage +satisfaction in seeing the creature crumple.</p> + +<p>Ellen's voice reached him. "Will! Will, before I go crazy...."</p> + +<p>"You're free," he told her. "Go down the fire escape and leave that +here. I'll get rid of them out front somehow."</p> + +<p>He shut the door again, and went down. The words had sounded brave +enough, but there had been no courage behind them. Fear still rode +him, like the little golden haze that again hovered over him, showing +they had spotted him.</p> + +<p>He walked out, with it thick around him, rising slowly in temperature. +They had him—but Ellen might get away. He walked down the steps, his +hands up. They drew back, surprise and something else on their +features, their eyes on the haze that surrounded him. They were +shouting, but he couldn't hear the words over the shrieks of the +people along the street, rushing inside or trying to drag their kids +to safety.</p> + +<p>Hawkes doubled his legs under him and leaped. He was still attacking +the tiger—the slim young man, down by the big gas-storage tanks, +directing the new crop of human dupes.</p> + +<p>His charge carried him there, while the young man slipped aside. Then +someone fired a gun.</p> + +<p>He heard the young man yell hoarsely. "No shooting! Stop it! Damn it, +NO SHOOTING!"</p> + +<p>They weren't paying any attention to the shouts. Bullets ticked +against the tanks. Hawkes ducked frantically, physical fear knotting +his stomach.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>uddenly, he seemed to jerk upwards, to find himself suspended in +mid-air, fifty feet off the ground, just beyond the tanks. He stared +down at the men, dizzy with the height, but no longer surprised by +anything. The men were pointing their guns upwards, while the young +man leaped about among them. Bullets were splatting out, though none +came near Hawkes. They seemed to ricochet off the air a few feet in +front of him.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_004.jpg" width="600" height="417" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The slim young man drew back. And now, the rubble and stones along the +street began to lift, and to drive savagely at the attackers. A gale +swept along the street, though Hawkes could feel no breath of air, and +the force of it was enough to knock most of them down.</p> + +<p>They got up and began running, dashing away from the super-science +that the young man now seemed bent on turning against his own troop of +dupes, now that they were out of control.</p> + +<p>Hawkes came drifting downward. He started to cry out in fear, until he +noticed that the ground was coming up at him slowly, and that he was +slipping sideways. He landed on a street back of the tanks, as gently +as a feather.</p> + +<p>Surprisingly, everyone was gone when he risked a glance back at the +scene of the fight, with the back of the slim man just darting into +the apartment house. Then Hawkes cursed, as the creature came darting +out, with Ellen behind him, to leap into a car and drive off. The +sound of sirens grew louder, and a police car swung onto West End.</p> + +<p>Hawkes straightened up slowly, as it hit him. It had been the same +scene he'd gone through before that morning—but with himself in the +middle! He shot a glance at the sun, to see it still to the east, +though his memory of the day indicated it should have been after noon.</p> + +<p>Time! They'd twisted him back through time—the weapon that had looked +like a flashlight must have tossed him hours backwards, instead of +knocking him out. He'd been attacking himself there in the hallway of +his apartment! He'd knocked himself out. And the fight he had just +been through was the same fight that he had seen come to its end +before!</p> + +<p>Now, his younger self and Ellen must be just fleeing toward the +hideout under the loading platform, with the slim man still following. +If he could get there in time, before the man could run off with +Ellen....</p> + + +<h2>VII</h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>he paper he'd found kept the other passengers on the bus from seeing +him, but he was too deep in his own thoughts to read it. His eyes +roamed back to the story of the cop-killing monster—a seemingly +harmless florist in Brooklyn who'd suddenly gone berserk and rushed +down the streets with a knife; he'd been wrong in thinking that +concerned him. And he'd been wrong in thinking anyone would try to +kill him on sight. The reward notice and picture were in front of his +eyes—but it was a reward for information, and there was a huge box +that proclaimed he was <i>not</i> a criminal and must not be harmed, or +even allowed to know he was recognized.</p> + +<p>The new facts only confused the issue. He twisted about in his mind, +trying to explain why the young man had left him to drift down, and +gone rushing into the apartment. He was ready for the collecting—and +he'd been left uncollected!</p> + +<p>The girl had said there were no aliens. Now he wondered. She had known +more than he'd found from her—she'd known his brand of cigarettes, +even. And there had been that shopping list, with the lipstick on +it—the same type he now remembered her using. He'd known her +before—and not just as a little girl. That tied him in with Meinzer, +who was a mystery in himself.</p> + +<p>He puzzled over it. The things that had happened to him had always +been preceded by violent emotion, instead of followed by it. Usually, +it had been fear—but sometimes some other emotion, as had been the +case just before he was suddenly shifted to the Moon. Whenever he +seemed on the verge of discovering something or emotionally upset, it +hit at him. Did that mean he was only susceptible to the phenomena +when off balance? It still didn't account for the fact that some of +the things hadn't directly affected him, at all.</p> + +<p>The more he knew, the less he knew.</p> + +<p>He got off the bus and headed for the warehouse. This time, he had to +wait before he could see a chance to dart under the trailer and into +the entrance. He noticed that the gray sedan was parked nearby.</p> + +<p>He darted in.</p> + +<p>They were still there! He heard Ellen's voice, sounding as if she had +been crying, and then an answer from the other. He felt his way +carefully over the rubble, working as close as he could. Now, if he +sprang the few feet....</p> + +<p>"... must be a time-jump," the man's voice said, doubtfully. "I tell +you, Ellen, those damned fools were firing at him, up there in the +air, while you were still with him in the apartment. That's an angle +on this psi factor stuff we hadn't expected."</p> + +<p>The voice stopped for a moment. Then it picked up again. "Drat it! I +wish you hadn't called the F. B. I. on him—they got rattled when he +came out looking like a saint in a halo and jumped fifty feet up to +float around. Some fool started shooting, and the rest joined in."</p> + +<p>"I had to—he was talking about alien monsters. I thought he was going +crazy, Dan. I couldn't tell him anything—I promised him I wouldn't, +and I kept my promise. But I thought enough of them might catch him, +somehow.... Dan, can't we find him now? He needs us!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes lay frozen. He tried to move forward, but his body was tensed, +waiting for more. If something happened now....</p> + +<p>"Alien monsters?" Dan's voice grew bitter. "It is alien—and a +monster. This psi factor...."</p> + +<p>The words blurred, and seemed to echo and re-echo inside Hawkes' head. +That made twice he'd heard them mention the psi factor—the strange +ability a few human minds had to perform seeming miracles. Men who had +it could make dice roll the way they wanted. Young girls sometimes +had it before puberty, and could throw heavy objects around a room +without touching them; they did not even know they were the cause of +the motion, but blamed it on poltergeists. Other men caused strange +accidents—fires, for instance—the old salamander legend!</p> + +<p>There'd been a piece of paper—psi equals alpha, the psi factor was +the beginning of infinity for mankind. But it had been wrong. He'd +changed that, on the other side. It should have read psi equals omega, +the absolute end.</p> + +<p>He gasped hoarsely, and heard their startled voices stop, while the +flashlight beam swung around, to pick him out in the darkness. He felt +Ellen and her younger brother, Dan, pulling him forward into the +little cave with them, and he heard their voices questioning him. But +his head was spinning madly under the sudden flood of memories that +the missing key word had suddenly brought back.</p> + +<p>The letter from Professor Meinzer had been about his paper on +poltergeists which the old man had seen before publication. He'd been +doing research on the psi factor for the government, and he needed a +mathematician—even one who proved something which he knew wasn't +true, provided the mathematics could handle his theories.</p> + +<p>Hawkes' head was suddenly brimming with mental images of the seven +months, while he worked on the mathematics to tie down the strange +pattern of brain waves the old professor had found in the minds of +those who had the mysterious psi factor. Dan had worked with them, in +the little cluttered apartment, building the apparatus they needed. It +was through Dan that Ellen was hired, as a general assistant and +secretary.</p> + +<p>There had been only the four of them, working in deepest secrecy in +the three rooms which the government had felt were more suitable to +maintain complete security than any deeply buried laboratory could +have been. Ellen made a pretense of living there, and it was a +neighborhood where no landlady worried about the men who went to a +girl's place, provided everything was quiet.</p> + +<p>They'd succeeded, too—they had found the tiny bundle of cells that +controlled the psi factor, and learned to stimulate them by artificial +wave trains and hypnosis. But the small group in the top division of +the government to whom they were responsible had demanded more proof.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes had treated himself secretly, not knowing that Meinzer had done +the same two days before. And both had learned the same thing. The +wild talents appeared, but they couldn't be controlled. Meinzer hadn't +found security in the hospital, hard as he'd tried to find it. He'd +gotten up in the middle of the night and walked through the solid +wall, unable to stop until he was back with the group.</p> + +<p>Hawkes had tried another way to stop the wild abilities that operated +without his conscious control. He'd prepared a new hypnotic tape, +worded to make him forget everything he knew, or even the fact that he +had worked on the psi factor. He'd put in commands that would make him +avoid any reference to it, so that he couldn't learn accidentally. +He'd ordered his brain to have nothing to do with it. Then he'd +drugged himself with a combination of opiates and hypnotics that +should have knocked out a horse. Then he'd telephoned Dan to have men +pick him up in an hour and keep him drugged. He'd turned on the tape +recorder and stumbled back to the bed.</p> + +<p>He groaned, as he remembered his failure. "It's the ultimate, absolute +alien, all right—the back of a man's own mind. It's Freud's +unconsciousness, or id. The psi factor is controlled by that, and not +by the conscious mind. And the id is a primitive beast—it operates on +raw impulse, without reason or social consciousness. Every man's +unconsciousness is back in the jungle, before civilization—and we've +given that alien thing the greatest power that could exist when we +wake up the psi power."</p> + +<p>"Meinzer thought it was controlled, for a while," Ellen said. "He came +when Dan and I called him. I went with him up to your apartment, while +Dan got the men to carry you away. But we couldn't reach you—Meinzer +barely touched the tape-recorder when something seemed to pick us up +and drive us out of the room and down the stairs. We were just going +back when you came out."</p> + +<p>She shuddered, and Hawkes nodded. He'd obviously used that psi factor +to throw off the drugs at the first sign of anyone near him. He told +them sickly what had happened to the old man.</p> + +<p>"So I killed him," he finished bitterly.</p> + +<p>Dan shook his head. "No. Your psi factor works differently. You +control heat and radiation, you can move yourself or any object in +space for almost any distance, instantly if you want, and it seems you +can do the same through time. But you can't disintegrate things, as +Meinzer could. He had a suicide urge—we knew that before. When it got +out of control again, he blew himself up—just as your dominant urge +to protect yourself did all those things around you."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes grimaced. It wasn't pleasant to know, that he'd been doing all +the things he'd blamed on monsters. He'd somehow remembered that +someone was supposed to come to get him, and he'd run out in wild +fear, while his unconscious mind blasted the apartment with heat to +destroy all traces. He'd blasted down the subway entrance with another +bolt of energy to make his getaway. The poor cat had surprised him, +and been killed. His unconsciousness gone wild had tossed Dan's car +two hundred feet to the roof of the garage. When it found him losing +control emotionally with Ellen, it hadn't let his conscious brain give +it the information it needed—it had simply thrown him completely off +Earth, pulled air to him, and warmed the rocks. Then, when it found +the Moon unfit for life, it had thrown him back to his own world. It +had tossed him hours back in time this morning, and lifted him into +the air while it pelted his "enemies" with rocks, and built a wall +around him by throwing the bullets back instantly.</p> + +<p>And it had somehow clung to the implanted idea that he must not find +out about himself. It had destroyed anything where the written word +might give him a hint, and had even melted the telephone so that he +couldn't continue listening to other evidence.</p> + +<p>It had probably done a thousand other things that he couldn't even +remember, whenever its wild, reasonless fears were aroused and it +decided that he had to be protected!</p> + +<p>"You should have killed me," he told them. But he knew that they +couldn't have done it.</p> + +<p>"We had to let you sweat it out. You made us promise not to tell you +anything, and we thought you might be right," Ellen told him. "We +thought that it might adjust after awhile. All we did was to try to +pick you up, until we knew it was impossible."</p> + +<p>"Until Sis tipped off the Government men," Dan added. Hawkes could +imagine what their reaction had been to having a man with his power +running wild. He was surprised that they had bothered to make even an +attempt to see that he wasn't harmed.</p> + +<p>He shrugged helplessly. "And where does it leave us now—beyond this +hole in the ground?"</p> + +<p>"The Government's put about fifty specialists on the notes you and +Meinzer left," Dan answered, but there was no assurance in his voice. +"They're trying to find some way to bring the psi factor under the +control of your logical, rational mind."</p> + +<p>He got to his knees and began crawling out of the little cave, while +Hawkes tried to help Ellen follow him. Outside, Dan knocked off the +dirt from his clothes and headed for the sedan he'd, somehow gotten +off the roof.</p> + +<p>Hawkes followed, for want of anything better to do.</p> + +<p>He knew the answers now—and he was worse off than ever. Instead of a +horde of outside aliens, he had one single monster in his own skull, +where he could never fight it, or even hope to escape it.</p> + +<p>The power had been meant as a hope for the world. A man who could work +such seeming miracles might have ended the threat of war; he'd have +been the perfect spy, or better at attack than a hundred hydrogen +bombs that had to smash whole cities to remove a few men and weapons. +But now the world was better off without him. So long as he still +lived, there would be nothing but danger from the alien monster in his +head. He had no idea of his limits—but he was sure that it could +trigger the energies of the universe to move the whole world out of +its orbit, if that seemed necessary for his personal survival!</p> + + +<h2>VIII</h2> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes leaned forward cautiously as the gray sedan moved up Tenth +Avenue. His finger found the gun in Dan's coat pocket; and he pulled +it out stealthily.</p> + +<p>He knew that the only answer for him was suicide. He had to destroy +himself, since no one else could!</p> + +<p>He propped it up, pointing at his head, and his thumb pressed back on +the trigger, further and further, until he felt sure the smallest +change would set it off. Then he waited for the rough spot in the +street or the sudden stop at a light that would do the trick before he +could stop it.</p> + +<p>The car lurched—and the gun suddenly vanished, leaving his hand +empty.</p> + +<p>His responses were too quick—and his mind wasn't waiting, once it +knew there was danger. He slumped back on the rear seat, trying to +think. Drugs were out—he knew his system could throw them off.</p> + +<p>But he couldn't remove himself!</p> + +<p>He lifted his wrist—to his teeth, and bit down savagely. If he could +sever an artery.... Pain shot through him, and he stared down at the +blood.</p> + +<p>Then the blood was gone, and the wound was closing before his eyes, +until only smooth flesh remained. His mind could juggle the cells back +into their original form.</p> + +<p>It would have to be sudden, complete death.</p> + +<p>And no death was that sudden! For a fraction of a second, there'd be +life left—and during that split second, the damage would be repaired, +or he would be shifted from danger.</p> + +<p>There was no way out—unless he could pull himself to another planet, +or throw himself back into the dim past. But that would take voluntary +control, and he knew now that hours of effort had shown him how +impossible that was. He hadn't been able to lift a crumb of bread from +the table deliberately, in his original tests after he had treated +himself.</p> + +<p>He was faced with a problem that had to be solved—and there was no +possible solution that he could find.</p> + +<p>No man could face that dilemma forever without going insane. Hawkes +shuddered, trying to picture what would happen if he went mad, and the +wild talents began operating at every whim of his crazed mind!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_e.jpg" alt="E" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>llen shouted suddenly, grabbing for the wheel. Hawkes felt himself +tense, and began lifting from the seat of the car. But there was no +visible danger, and Dan was slowing to a halt at the curb, Hawkes' +body dropped back slowly.</p> + +<p>"Dan," Ellen was whispering hoarsely. "Dan, we can't. If we take him +back, they'll find him, and they'll know what he can do. They'll kill +him. Eventually, they'll kill Will!"</p> + +<p>Hawkes started to protest, but Dan's words cut him short.</p> + +<p>"You're right, Sis. They'll wait their time, until he won't know when +to expect it—and then they'll drop an H-bomb on him, if they have to. +That's faster than any nerve impulse!"</p> + +<p>He swung back to face Hawkes, reaching for the door of the car. "Get +out, Will—and get as far away as you can. I'm not going to drive you +to your death. They'll get you eventually, but I won't be the one to +make it easier for them!"</p> + +<p>Hawkes jerked. The old fear came back suddenly.</p> + +<p><i>You can't escape! They'll get you. Run! GO!</i></p> + +<p>He screamed, as the golden haze flickered again. He could wipe out the +Earth, but he couldn't survive, then. He could move back in time, but +it would only mean other dangers—no man could stay awake forever, and +he was used to civilized living.</p> + +<p>The haze hesitated, while the sense of danger mounted. Then it was +gone, as if the beast in his head had found no answer.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the gray sedan lifted again, to a height of fifty feet above +the tallest building. It shot forward, hesitated, and came down softly +on a deserted side-road in Central Park.</p> + +<p>His mind felt as if it were going to split. Dan and Ellen stared at +him speechlessly.</p> + +<p><i>You can't survive alone! No power is enough by itself! They'll get +you! You are your own death-sentence! RUN! DON'T RUN!</i></p> + +<p>Hawkes put his hand to his splitting skull, trying to force words +through the agonies of pain, while slow understanding began to reach +him.</p> + +<p>"Dan! The scientists ... get me there!"</p> + +<p>Then his mind seemed to clamp down on itself, and he was unconscious. +He could protect himself from almost anything—except his own brain!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e was conscious of no pain, but only of irritation. There was a +needle in his arm, and he removed it!</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes slowly, to find himself the center of a group of +men, while a white-clothed doctor stood staring at an empty hand that +must have held a hypodermic.</p> + +<p>Ellen cried out suddenly, and ran to him, cradling his head in her +hands. He found her arm with his own hand, and stroked it slowly.</p> + +<p>"You've found the answer?" he asked. Then he nodded, while the weight +that had lain on him so long began to lift. His voice was suddenly +positive. "You found it!"</p> + +<p>One of the men pushed forward, but Dan shook his head, and came over +to stand beside the cot where Hawkes lay. "No, Will. They didn't find +it—you did! You found what we should have known—your unconscious +mind may be a wild beast, but it isn't insane. When it was shocked +into realizing that it couldn't save you by itself, it looked for help +from your consciousness. And then it knocked you out—knocked itself +out—until we could work on you."</p> + +<p>"I guessed it," Hawkes said slowly. "But in that case, a psychotic +with his id out in the driver's seat should become normal when they +lock him up. Or wait—maybe his unconsciousness is a bit insane. +Maybe. But you still have to communicate with that unconscious part of +the brain, to make it understand that it has to surrender. And all the +psychiatrists have been driving themselves crazy trying to solve +that!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Touché</i>," an older man said, and there was a faint sound of +amusement from some of the others. "But this psi factor is the means +of communication! You told us that yourself, while you were undergoing +our hastily improvised hypnotic education of your brain. It always has +been. The minute a girl bothered with poltergeists finds she is the +cause of them, they stop. It's a faint, weak channel between +consciousness and unconsciousness—or subconsciousness, if you prefer. +And yours was widened by the treatment, even if it wasn't ready to +work yet. We simply used your own technique to improve the +relationship. All you ever needed was a longer, harder treatment than +you and Meinzer had given yourselves. You just stopped too soon."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>awkes dropped back comfortably onto the cot. He reached out for a +glass of water, lifted it to his lips, and put it back—without using +his hands. He thought of his clothes, and they were suddenly on him, +over the single white garment he had been wearing. Another thought +took that away, to leave him normally dressed.</p> + +<p>Whether they were entirely correct or not in their theories, the psi +factor was no longer wild. He had it under full control!</p> + +<p>He sat up, just as three men entered the crowded room. One wore the +uniform of a four-star general, but the familiar faces of the two +civilians told Hawkes at once that they were more important than any +general could be.</p> + +<p>He was about to become officially the National Arsenal and replacement +for all the armies, navies, and air-corps they had ever dreamed of +having. He'd also become their bridge into space, their means of +solving the secrets of the planets, and probably their chief +historical tool, since nothing could ever be secret from him.</p> + +<p>It was going to be a busy life for him and for the others like him who +would now be carefully selected and treated!</p> + +<p>He grinned faintly, as he realized that they didn't know yet just how +important he was. He wasn't going to be a National Resource—he'd be a +World Resource. This power was too great for any local political use, +and no man who had it along with the full correlation of his conscious +and subconscious mind could ever see it any other way.</p> + +<p>But right now, he had other pressing business. He grinned at Ellen. +"You don't mind a small wedding, do you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She shook her head, beginning to smile. He reached for her hand. This +psi factor was going to be a handy thing to have around, with its +complete control of space and time.</p> + +<p>"I'm taking a two-week honeymoon before we talk business," he told the +approaching three men. "But don't go away. We'll be back in ten +minutes!"</p> + +<p>Honolulu looked lovely in the moonlight, and June was the perfect +month for a wedding.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>EDITORIAL NOTE: Actually, <i>Pursuit</i> ends where the real +story is just beginning! Disregarding other powers, when men +can move instantly over any distance by simple desire, it's +the beginning of a life and culture totally unrelated to +anything we know. What will it be like? Where should houses +be built—and will they be built? A housewife can have her +dining-room in the mountains and her kitchen in a community +(to simplify and cheapen plumbing, etc.) 10,000 miles away, +or on another planet! There can be no national boundaries, +of course. What happens to the multiplicity of languages? +What happens to government? How do you catch a criminal? How +do you hold him?</p> + +<p>There are endless possibilities, naturally. We're tossing it +open to the readers. You tell us what you think that world +will be like—if you can! We'll print the best letters—and +if the authors want to use this background, we'll buy the +best stories based on it.</p> + +<p>We will not be responsible for mental break-downs, however!</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pursuit, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PURSUIT *** + +***** This file should be named 31587-h.htm or 31587-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/5/8/31587/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, 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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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: Pursuit + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Illustrator: Orban + +Release Date: March 10, 2010 [EBook #31587] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PURSUIT *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Space Science Fiction May 1952. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this + publication was renewed. + + + [Illustration] + + [Illustration] + + + PURSUIT + + + _by_ LESTER DEL REY + + + Illustrated by ORBAN + + * * * * * + + + + +I + +Fear cut through the unconscious mind of Wilbur Hawkes. With almost +physical violence, it tightened his throat and knifed at his heart. It +darted into his numbed brain, screaming at him. + +He was a soft egg in a vast globe of elastic gelatine. Two creatures +swam menacingly through the resisting globe toward him. The gelatine +fought against them, but they came on. One was near, and made a mystic +pass. He screamed at it, and the gelatine grew stronger, throwing them +back and away. Suddenly, the creatures drew back. A door opened, and +they were gone. But he couldn't let them go. If they escaped.... + +Hawkes jerked upright in his bed, gasping out a hoarse cry, and the +sound of his own voice completed the awakening. He opened his eyes to +a murky darkness that was barely relieved by the little night-light. +For a second, the nightmare was so strong on his mind that he seemed +to see two shadows beyond the door, rushing down the steps. He fought +off the illusion, and with straining senses jerked his head around the +room. There was nothing there. + +Sweat was beading his forehead, and he could feel his pulse racing. He +had to get out--had to leave--at once! + +He forced the idea aside. There was something cloudy in his mind, but +he made reason take over and shove away some of the heavy fear. His +fingers found a cigarette and lighted it automatically. The first +familiar breath of smoke in his lungs helped. He drew in deeply again, +while the tiny sounds in the room became meaningful. There was the +insistent ticking of a clock and the soft shushing sound of a tape +recorder. He stared at the machine, running on fast rewind, and +reversed it to play. But the tape seemed to be blank, or erased. + +He crushed the cigarette out on a table-top where other butts lay in +disorder. It looked wrong, and his mind leaped up in sudden frantic +fear, before he could calm it again. This time, reason echoed his +emotional unease. + +Hawkes had never smoked before! + +But his fingers were already lighting another by old habit. His +thoughts lurched, seeking for an answer. There was only a vague sense +of something missing--a period of time seemed to have passed. It felt +like a long period, but he had no memory of it. There had been the +final fight with Irma, when he'd gone stalking out of the house, +telling her to get a divorce any way she wanted. He'd opened the +mail-box and taken out a letter--a letter from a Professor.... + +His mind refused to go further. There was only a complete blank after +that. But it had been in midwinter, and now he could make out the +faint outlines of full-leafed trees against the sky through the +window! Months had gone by--and there was no faintest trace of them in +his mind. + +_They'll get you! You can't escape! Hurry, go, GO!..._ + +The cigarette fell from his shaking hands, and he was half out of the +bed before the rational part of his mind could cut off the fear +thoughts. He flipped on the lights, afraid of the dimness. It didn't +help. The room was dusty, as if unused for months, and there was a +cobweb in one corner by the mirror. + +His own face shocked him. It was the same lean, sharp-featured face as +ever, under the shock of nondescript, sandy hair. His ears still stuck +out too much, and his lips were a trifle too thin. It looked no more +than his thirty years; but it was a strained face, now--painted with +weeks of fatigue, and grayish with fear, sweat-streaked and with +nervous tension in every corded tendon of his throat. His somewhat +bony, average-height figure shook visibly as he climbed from the bed. + +Hawkes stood fighting himself, trying to get back in the bed, but it +was a losing battle. Something seemed to swing up in the corner of the +room, as if a shadow moved. He jerked his head toward it, but there +was nothing there. + +He heard his breath gasping harshly, and his knuckles whitened. There +was the taste of blood in the corner of his mouth where he was biting +his lips. + +_Get out! They'll be here at once! Leave--GO!_ + + * * * * * + +His hands were already fumbling with his under-clothing. He drew on +briefs jerkily, and grabbed for the shirt and suit he had never seen +before. He was no longer thinking, now. Blind panic was winning. He +thrust his feet into shoes, not bothering with socks. + +A slip of paper fell from his coat, with big sprawled Greek letters. +He saw only the last line as it fell to the floor--some equation that +ended with an infinity sign. Then psi and alpha, connected by a dash. +The alpha sign had been scratched out, and something written over it. +He tried to reach it, and more papers spilled from his coat pocket. +The fear washed up more strongly. He forgot the papers. Even the +cigarettes were too far away for him to return to them. His wallet lay +on the chair, and he barely grabbed it before the urge overpowered him +completely. + +The doorknob slipped in his sweating hands, but he managed to turn it. +The elevator wasn't at his floor, and he couldn't stop for it. His +feet pounded on the stairs, taking him down the three floors to the +street at a breakneck pace. The walls of the stairway seemed to be +rushing together, as if trying to close the way. He screamed at them, +until they were behind, and he was charging out of the front door. + +A half-drunken couple was coming in--a fat, older man and a slim girl +he barely saw. He hit them, throwing them aside. He jerked from the +entrance. Cars were streaming down West End Avenue. He dashed across, +paying no attention to them. His rush carried him onto the opposite +sidewalk. Then, finally, the blind panic left him, and he was leaning +against a building, gasping for breath, and wondering whether his +heart could endure the next beat. + +Across the street, the fat man he had hit was coming after him. Hawkes +gathered himself together to apologize, but the words never came. A +second blinding horror hit at him, and his eyes darted up towards the +windows of his apartment. + +It was only a tiny glow, at first, like a drop from the heart of a +sun. Then, before he could more than blink, it spread, until the whole +apartment seemed to blaze. A gout of smoke poured from the shattering +window, and a dull concussion struck his ears. + +The infernally bright flame flickered, leaped outward from the window, +and died down almost as quickly as it had come, leaving twisted, +half-molten metal where the window frames had been. + +They'd almost gotten him! Hawkes felt his legs weaken and quiver, +while his eyes remained glued to the spot that had lighted the whole +street a second before. They'd tried--but he'd escaped in time. + +It must have been a thermite bomb--nothing but thermite could be that +hot. He had never imagined that even such a bomb could give so much +heat so quickly. Where? In the tape-recorder? + +He waited numbly, expecting more fire, but the brief flame seemed to +have died out completely. He shook his head, unbelieving, and started +to cross the street again, to survey the damage or to join the crowd +that was beginning to collect. + + * * * * * + +The fear surged up in him again, halting his step as if he'd struck a +physical barrier. With it came the sound of an auto-horn, the button +held down permanently. His eyes darted down the street, to see a long, +gray sedan with old-fashioned running-boards come around the corner on +two wheels. Its brakes screeched, and it skidded to a halt beside +Hawkes' apartment building. + +A slim young man in gray tweeds leaped out of it and came to a stop. +He threw back heavy black hair with a toss of his head and ran into +the crowd that parted to let him through. Someone began pointing +towards Hawkes. + +Hawkes tried to slide around the corner without being seen, but a +flashlight in the young man's hands pinpointed him. A yell went up. + +"There he goes!" + +His feet sounded hopelessly on the sidewalk as he dashed up toward +Broadway, but behind came the sound of others in pursuit, and the +shouting was becoming a meaningless babble as others took it up. There +was no longer any doubt. Someone was certainly after him--there'd been +no time to turn in an alarm over the fire in his apartment. They'd +been coming for him before that started. + +What hideous crime could he have committed during the period he +couldn't remember? Or what spy-ring had encircled him? + +He had no time to think of the questions, even. He ducked into the +thin swarm of a few people leaving a theater just as the pursuing +group rounded the corner, with the slim young man in the lead. + +Their cries were enough. Hands reached for him from the theater crowd, +and a foot stretched out to trip him up. Terror lent speed to his +legs, but he could never outdistance them, as long as others picked up +the chase. + +A sudden blast of heat struck down, and the air was golden and hazy +above him. He staggered sideways, blinded by the glare. The crowd was +screaming in fear now, no longer holding him back. He felt the edge of +a subway entrance. There was no other choice. He ducked down the +steps, while his vision slowly returned, and risked a glance back at +the street--just as the whole entrance came down in a wreck of broken +wood and metal. + +A clap of thundering noise sounded above him, drowning the hoarse +screams of the people. The few persons in the station rushed for the +fallen entrance, to mill about it crazily, just as a train pulled in. +Hawkes started toward it, and then realized his pursuers would suspect +that. Whatever frightful weapon had been used against him had +back-fired on them--but they'd catch him at the next stop. + + * * * * * + +He found space at the end of the platform and dropped off, skirting +behind the train, and avoiding the the high-voltage rails. + +The uptown platform held only three people, and they seemed to be too +busy at the other end, trying to see the wreckage, to notice him. He +vaulted onto it, and dashed into the men's room. The few contents of +his coat pocket came out quickly, and he began to stuff them into his +trousers. He shoved the coat into a garbage can, wet his hair and +slicked it back, and opened his shirt collar. The change didn't make +much of a disguise, but they wouldn't be expecting him to show up so +near where he entered. + +His skin prickled as he came out, but he fought down the sickness in +his stomach. A few drops of rain were beginning to fall, and the crowd +around the accident was thinning out. That might help him--or it might +prove more dangerous. He had to chance it. + +He stopped to buy a paper, maintaining an air of casual interest in +the crowd. + +"What happened?" he asked. + +The newsstand attendant jerked his eyes back from they excitement +reluctantly. "Damned if I know. Someone, says a ball lightning came +down and broke over there. Caved in the entrance. Nobody's hurt +seriously, they say. I was just stacking up to go home when I heard it +go off. Didn't see it. Just saw the entrance falling in." + +Hawkes picked up his change and turned back across Broadway, +pretending he was studying the paper. The dateline showed it was July +10, just seven months from the beginning of his memory lapse. He +couldn't believe that there had been time enough for any group to +invent a heat-ray, if such a thing could exist. Yet nothing else would +explain the two sudden bursts of flame he had seen. Even if it could +be invented, it would hardly be used in public for anything less than +a National Emergency. + +What had happened in the seven blanked-out months? + + +II + +The room was smelly and cheap, with dirty walls and no carpet on the +floor, but it was a relief after the hours of tramping and riding +about the city. Hawkes sat on the rickety chair, letting the wetness +dry out of his clothes. He looked at the bed, trying to convince +himself he could strip and warm up there while his clothes dried. But +something in his head warned him that he couldn't--he'd have to be +ready to run again. The same urge had made him demand a room on the +ground floor, where he could escape through the window if they found +him. They could never find him here--but they would! Sooner or later, +whatever was after him would come! + +It had seemed simple enough, before. There had been three friends he +could trust. Seven months, he had felt, couldn't have killed their +faith in him, no matter what he'd done. And perhaps he'd been right, +though there'd been no chance to test it. + +He'd almost been caught at the first place. The two men outside had +seemed to be no more than a couple of friends awaiting for a bus. Only +the approach of another man who resembled Hawkes had tipped him off, +by the quick interest they had shown. + +The other places had also been posted--and beyond the third, he'd seen +the gray sedan with the running boards, parked back in the shadows, +waiting. + +There had been less than ten dollars in his wallet, and most of that +had gone for cab fares. He'd barely had enough left for this dingy +room, the later edition of the newspaper, and the coffee and donuts +that lay beside him, half-consumed. + +He glanced toward the door, listening with quick fear as steps sounded +on the stairs. Then he drew his breath in again, and reached for the +newspaper. But it told him as little as the first one had. + +This one mentioned the two mysterious explosions of "ball lightning" +in a feature on the first page, but only as curiosities. They even +gave his address and listed the apartment as being in his name, though +apparently not currently occupied. But no other reference was made to +him, or to the chase. + +He shook his head at that. He couldn't see a newspaper-man refusing to +make a story of it, if there was any other news about him to which +they could tie the burning of his apartment. Apparently it was not the +police who were after him, and he hadn't been guilty of anything so +ordinary as murder. + + * * * * * + +Outside the window, a sudden scream sounded, and he jerked from the +chair, reaching the door before he realized it was only a cat on the +prowl. He shuddered, his old hatred of cats coming to the surface. For +a minute, he thought of shutting the window. But he couldn't cut off +his chance to retreat through the garbage-littered back-yard. + +He returned to his search, beginning an inventory of the few +belongings that had been in his pocket. There was a notebook, and he +scanned it rapidly. A few pages were missing, and most were blank. +There was only a shopping list. That puzzled him for a minute--he +couldn't believe he'd taken to using lipstick as well as cigarettes, +though both were listed in his handwriting. The notebook contained +nothing else. + +He stuffed it back into his pockets, along with his keyring. There +were more keys than he'd expected, some of which were strange to him, +but none held any mark that would identify them. He put a few pennies +into another pocket--his entire wealth, now, in a world where no more +money would be available to him. He grimaced, dropping a comb into the +same pocket. + +Then there was only his wallet left. His identification card was +there, unchanged. Behind it, where his wife's picture had always been, +there was only a folded clipping. He drew it out, hoping for a clew. +It was only an announcement of people killed in an airplane crash--and +among those found dead was Mrs. Wilbur Hawkes, of New York. It seemed +that Irma had never reached Reno for the divorce. + +He tried to feel some sorrow at that, but time must have healed +whatever hurt there had been, even though he couldn't remember. She +had hated him ever since she'd found that he really wasn't willing to +please his father by becoming another of the vice-presidents in the +old man's bank, with an unearned but fancy salary. He'd preferred +teaching mathematics and dabbling with a bit of research into the +probable value of the ESP work being done at Duke University. He'd +explained why he hated banking; Irma had made it clear that she really +needed the mink coat no assistant professor could afford. It had been +stalemate--a bitter, seven-year stalemate, until she finally gave up +hope and demanded a divorce. + +He threw the clipping away, and pulled out the final bit of paper. It +was a rent receipt for a cold-water apartment on the poorer section of +West End--from the price of eighteen dollars a month, it had to be a +cold-water place. He frowned, considering it. Apartment 12. That might +explain why his own apartment had been unused, though it made little +sense to him. It would probably be watched by now, anyway. + + * * * * * + +He jerked to his feet at a sound on the window-sill, but it was only a +cat, eyeing the unfinished donut. He threw the food out, and the cat +dived after it. Hawkes waited for the touch of ice along his backbone +to go away. It didn't. + +This time, he tried to ignore it. He picked up the paper and began +going through it, looking for something that might give him some +slight clew. But there was nothing there. Only a heading on an inside +page that stirred his curiosity. + + _Scientist Seeks Confinement_ + +He glanced at it, noting that a Professor Meinzer, formerly of City +College, had appeared at Bellevue, asking to be put away in a padded +cell, preferably with a strait-jacket. The Professor had only +explained that he considered himself dangerous to society. No other +reason was found. Professor Meinzer had been doing private work, +believed to relate to his theory that.... + +The panic was back, thick in Hawkes' throat. He jerked back against +the wall, his heart racing, while he tried to fight it down. There was +no sound from the hall or outside. He forced his eyes back to the +paper. + +And the paper was surrounded by a golden haze. It burst into a +momentary flame as the haze flickered out. Hawkes dropped the ashes +from his clammy hands. He hadn't been burned! + +_You can't escape. Run. They'll get you!_ + +He heard the outside door open, as it had opened a hundred times. But +now it could only mean that more were coming. He jerked for the open +window. + +Something came sailing through the air to hit the sill. Hawkes +screamed weakly, far down in his throat, before his eyes could +register the fact that it was only the cat again. + +Then the cat let out a horrible beginning of a sound, and its poor, +half-starved body seemed to turn inside out, with a churning motion +that Hawkes could barely see. Blood and gore spattered from it, +striking his face and clothes. + +He froze, unable to move. Either they were outside in the yard, or +whatever frightful weapon they used could work through a closed door. +He tried to move, first one way, then the other. His feet remained +frozen. + +Then steps sounded in the hallway, and he waited no longer. His legs +came to sudden life, hurling him over the carcass of the cat and +outside. He went charging through the refuse, and then leaped and +clawed his way over the fence. The alley was deserted, and he shot +down it, to swing right, and into another alley. + +It wasn't until his muscles began to fail that he could control +himself enough to stop and stumble into a darkened spot among the +garbage cans, spent and gasping for breath. + + * * * * * + +There was no sign of anyone following. Hawkes had no idea of how they +could trace him--but he was beginning to suspect that nothing was +impossible, judging by the results of their weapons. For the moment, +though, he seemed to have shaken off pursuit. And the physical fatigue +had apparently eased some of his terror. + +What had shocked him into losing seven months out of his memory, and +still could drive him into absolute terror at the first sign of them? + +He couldn't go back to the room, and his own apartment was out of the +question. The rain had stopped, mercifully, but he couldn't walk the +streets indefinitely, dirty and bedraggled as he was. He tried to +think of something to do, but all of his schemes took money which he +no longer had. + +Finally, he arose wearily. Maybe the apartment for which he had the +rent receipt was watched--but he'd have to chance it. There was no +place else. + +He'd been accidentally heading toward it, and he continued now, +sticking to the alleys until he reached West End Avenue. He tried to +hurry, but the best his tired muscles could do was a slow shuffle. + +Light was beginning to show faintly in the sky, but it was still too +early for more than a few cars and a chance pedestrian. At this hour, +the avenue was used by only a few cruising cabs, heading toward better +sections. He shuffled along, trying to look like a man on his way home +after too much night out. The cat blood on his clothes bothered him, +until he tried weaving a little as he walked, imitating the drunks he +had seen often enough. + +He passed an all night diner, and fished for his pennies. But there +were several men inside. He went on, past Fifty-ninth Street, heading +for the apartment, which should be near Sixty-seventh. + +He was just reaching the top of the hill near Sixty-fourth when a gray +sedan sped along, heading downtown. There were running boards on it, +and behind the wheel sat the slim young man who'd given chase to +Hawkes before. + +Hawkes tried to duck, but the sedan was already braking and swinging +back. It was beside him before he could realize more than the old +clamor of his brain, telling him to run, that he couldn't escape. + +The car matched his speed, and the driver leaned far to the right. +"Will Hawkes," the young man called. "How about a lift?" + +The smile was pleasant, and the voice was casual, as if they were old +friends. There was no gun in the man's hands. It might have been any +honest offer of a ride. + +Hawkes braced himself, just as a patrol car turned onto the Avenue +ahead. He opened his mouth to scream, but his vocal cords were frozen. +The young man followed his eyes to the patrol car, and frowned. + +Then the gray sedan lifted smoothly upwards to a height of twenty +feet, turned sharply in mid-air, lifted again, and seemed to make a +smooth landing on top of a huge garage building! + +There had been no roar of jets and no evidence of any means of +propulsion. + + * * * * * + +The patrol car went on down the Avenue, heading for the diner. The +officers inside apparently had missed the whole affair. + +Hawkes' cowardly legs suddenly came unfrozen. He was conscious of them +churning madly. With an effort, he got partial control of himself, +managing to focus on the house numbers. + +There were no watchers outside the number he wanted, though they could +have been in rooms across the street. He had no choice, now. He leaped +up the steps and into the hallway. His eyes darted around, spotting a +door that led out to the side, probably into an alley. He drew himself +together, hiding behind the stairs. + +But there was no further pursuit for the moment. The fear that seemed +to come before each attack was missing. Maybe it meant he was safe for +the moment--though it hadn't warned him of the car the young man was +driving. + +Heat rays! Levitation! Hawkes dropped to his knees as fatigue and +reaction caught up with him again, but his mind churned over the new +evidence. As a mathematician, he was sure such things could not exist. +If they did, there would have been extension of math well in advance +of the perfection of the machines, and he'd have known of it as +speculative theory, at least. Yet, without such evidence, the devices +apparently existed. + +The police weren't in on it, that much was certain. It was more than a +hunt for a criminal. What had been going on during the months he had +missed? + +His mind shuttled over the spy-thrillers he had seen. If some nation +had the secrets, and he had discovered them.... But the heat ray would +never have been used openly, then; they wouldn't tip their hand. +Anyhow, the cold war was still going on, and that would have been +pointless when any nation had such power. + +And if the secret belonged to the United States, the young man would +never have levitated to avoid police at the greater risk of tipping +off anyone who saw that such things could be done. + +Nothing made sense--not even the crazy feeling of fear that had warned +him on some occasions and failed him this last time. The only +explanation that was credible was the totally incredible idea that +some life, alien to earth and with strange unearthly powers, was after +him--or that he was insane. + +He fumbled through a pack of cigarettes until he located the last one, +streaked with sweat that was still pouring down from his armpit, and +lighted it. It was all answer-less--just as his sudden need for +smoking was. + + +III + +Hawkes crushed out the cigarette and began climbing the wide stairs +slowly. It was probably an ambush into which he was heading--but +without this place, he had no chance of resting. He stared at the +numbers painted on the dirty red doors, and went on up a second flight +of stairs. The number he wanted was at the end of the hall, dimly +lighted. He dropped to the keyhole, but found it had been filled long +ago, probably when the Yale lock was installed. + +He put his ear against the door and listened. There was no sound from +inside except a monotonous noise that must be water dripping from a +leaky faucet. Finally, he climbed to his feet and reached for his +keys. The third one he tried fitted, and the door swung open. + +He fumbled about, looking for a light switch, and finally struck a +match. The switch was a string hanging down from a bare bulb. He +pulled it, to find he stood inside one of the old monstrosities with +which New York is filled--a combination kitchen and bathroom, with a +tiny closet for the toilet in one corner. There was an ice-box, a +dirty stove, a Franklin heater connected to the chimney, a small sink, +and a rickety table with four folding chairs. In a closet, cheap china +showed. + +He went through that, into the seven-by-twelve living room. There was +a cheap radio, a worn sofa, two more folding chairs and a big typing +table. The rug on the floor had been patched together. Then he +breathed more easily. Over the back of one of the chairs was a sports +jacket which he recognized as his own. He jerked it up suddenly and +began going through the pockets, but they had already been emptied. + +It didn't matter--he no longer cared why he should be in a place so +totally unlike any his usually neat habits would have led him to. It +was his. + +Then, as he came into the bedroom, he hesitated. It was smaller than +the living room, with a bed that took up half of one wall, and two +dressers jammed into the remaining space. One corner held a cardboard +closet--and hanging on the hook was a man's raincoat and hat, both at +least five sizes too big for him. His eyes darted about, to find a +strange mixture of things he remembered as his and possessions which +he would never have owned. On one of the dressers was a small +traveling case, filled with the cosmetics and appliances which only a +woman would use. + +He jerked open the closet, and his nose told him before his eyes that +it held only female clothing! Yet on the shelf his old hat rested +happily. + +He could make no sense of it--the place looked as if several people +lived in it, and yet it wasn't really fitted for anyone to spend his +whole time there. There was none of the accumulation of property that +would fit any permanent residence. He went out of the bedroom, passing +the typewriter desk. The typewriter was an old, standard Olympia--a +German machine he'd refitted with the Dvorak keyboard which he had +learned for greater efficiency. He was sure nobody else would want it. + +The dishes were dusty, and there was no food in the ice-box. + + * * * * * + +Now, though, it began to fit--a place where it was convenient to stop +in, but not a place to live. And perhaps he had been in the habit of +lending it to others. Though why he shouldn't have used his own +apartment was something he still couldn't understand. + +But it was possible there was no record of this place. + +He began shucking off his shirt as he went back through the living +room--until the marks on the rug caught his eyes. Something heavy had +rested there recently--there had been other desks about, or heavily +laden tables. And a bit of paper under the sofa could only have come +from one of the complicated computing machines used in high-power +mathematics. He scanned the fragment, making no sense of it, except +that it was esoteric enough to belong to any new branch of theory. For +a second, the heat-rays and levitations entered his head--but none of +the symbols fitted such a branch of physical development. + +What had been going on here--and why had the machines been removed so +recently that their traces still looked fresh? + +He shook his head--and froze, as a key turned in the lock. + +There was no time for flight. She stood in the doorway, blinking at +the light before he could turn. She, of course, was the girl whom he'd +barely noticed when he knocked the couple down as he charged out of +his apartment. + +Of course? He puzzled over that. He'd almost expected it--and yet, now +that he looked more closely, he couldn't even be sure that she was the +same. She wore the same green jacket, but nothing else he could be +sure of, because he had no other memory of that girl. This one was two +inches shorter than he was, with dark red hair and the deepest blue +eyes he had seen. She looked like an artist's conception of an Irish +colleen, except that her mouth was open half an inch, and she was +studying him with the look of being about ready to scream. + +"Who are you?" He forced the words out at her. + +She shook her head, and then smiled doubtfully. "Ellen Ibanez, +naturally. You startled me! But you must be Wilbur Hawkes, of course. +Didn't you get my wire?" + +He watched her, but there had been no stumbling over his name, and no +effort to make it sound too casual. Apparently, the name meant nothing +to her. He shook his head. "What wire?" Then he plunged ahead, +quickly. "You've heard of amnesia? Good. Well, I've got it--partially. +If you can tell me anything about myself before yesterday, Miss, I'll +never be anything but...." + +He choked on that, unable to finish. And behind the surface emotions, +his mind was poised, sniffing for danger. There was no feeling of it, +though he kept telling himself alternately that she had been the girl +at the door and that she obviously had not been. + +He'd seen her before. The tilt of her head, that unmatchable hair.... + + * * * * * + +"You poor man!" Her voice was all sympathy, and the bag she was +carrying dropped to the floor as she came over. "You mean you _really_ +can't remember--at all?" + +"Not for the last seven months!" + +She seemed surprised. "But that was when you answered my +advertisement. I never saw you--though you did call me, and your voice +sounds familiar. You sent me the check, and I mailed you the key. That +was all." + +"But I must have given you references--told you something--" + +Again, she shook her head. "Nothing. You said you were a teacher at +CCNY, but that you were quitting, and wanted a place to use as an +office. You didn't care what it was like. That's all." + +Hawkes felt she was lying--but it could have been true. And in his +present state, he probably believed everyone was other than they +seemed. He remembered the gray sedan rising to the roof--and the cat +turning inside out-- + +Sickness hit at him. He groped back towards a chair, sinking into it. +He'd almost found a refuge, and even hoped that he could find some of +the missing past. Now.... + +He must have partially fainted. He heard vague sounds, and then she +was putting something against his lips. It was bitter and hot, though +it only remotely resembled coffee. He gulped it gratefully, not caring +that it was sweet and black. He saw the bottle of old coffee powder, +caked with age, and heard the water boiling on the stove. Idly, he +wondered whether he'd bought the jar originally or she had. Then his +senses snapped back. + +"Thanks," he muttered thickly. He groped his way to his feet, his head +slowly clearing. "I guess I'd better go now." + +She forced him back into the chair. "You're in no condition to leave +here, Will Hawkes. Ugh! Your shoes are filthy. Let me help you ... +there, isn't that better? Whatever you've been doing to yourself, you +should be ashamed. You're going straight to bed while I clean some of +this up!" + +His head had sunk back on the table, and everything reached him +through a thick fog. It wasn't right--girls didn't act that way to +strange men who looked as if they'd come from a Bowery fight. Girls +didn't take a man's clothes off. Girls didn't.... + +He let her half carry him into the bedroom, and tried to protest as +she put him between clean sheets. He stared at the view of his +lavender shorts against the fresh whiteness, while things seemed far +away. He'd played with a girl named Ellen, once when he was eleven and +she was nine. She'd had bright copper hair, and her name had +been--what had it been? Not Ibanez. Bennett, that was it. Ellen +Bennett. + +He must have said it aloud. She chuckled. "Of course, Will. Though I +never thought you'd be the same Will Hawkes. I knew it when I saw that +scar on your shoulder, where you cut yourself sliding down our cellar +door. Go to sleep." + +Sliding down, sliding down into clouds of sleep. Sleep! She'd drugged +him! Something in the coffee! + + * * * * * + +He jerked up, reaching for her, but she ducked aside, drawing on the +tops to a pair of frilly pajamas. "Ellen, you--" + +"Shh!" She pulled a robe over the pajamas and lay down, outside the +blankets. "Shh, Will. You have to sleep. You're _so_ tired, _so_ +sleepy...." + +Her voice was soothing, and the fingers along the base of his neck was +relaxing. He reached out a last inquiring finger of doubt for the +feeling of danger, and couldn't find it. This was as wrong as the +other things had been wrong--but his mind let go, and he was suddenly +asleep. + +He awoke slowly, with a thick feeling in his mouth. Drugged! And the +sense of danger had failed him again! He swung over sharply, reaching +for her, but she was gone. + +His clothes lay beside him, neatly pressed, and he grabbed for them. +There was a pair of socks, too large, but better than none. His +muscles felt wrong as he began dressing, but the feeling wore away. +The clock said that less than two hours had passed. If she'd put a +drug in the coffee, it must have been one to which he was less +sensitive than the average. She'd probably never suspected that he +would waken. + +A trace of fear struck through him, but it was weaker than before, and +it seemed normal enough, under the circumstances. He fumbled over the +shoelaces, and then grabbed up his coat. + +She'd bring _them_ back! Maybe they'd used her as a spy! + +But he couldn't understand why she'd bothered to press his clothes. +And the apartment still puzzled him. Even if her story was true, it +simply wasn't the sort of a place where a girl like her would live. +Nor was it fixed as she might have arranged a place, even allowing for +what he might have done to it in seven months. + +He reached automatically for the lock in the dim hall, and realized +his hands knew the door, whatever else was true. Then he went out and +down the stairs. He heard a babble of kids' voices, part in English +and part in a sort of Spanish. That meant that things were normal, to +the casual observer along the street. But he knew it was poor evidence +that things really were as they should be. He stood in the comparative +darkness of the hall, staring out. Nothing was wrong, so far as he +could see. He had to risk it. + +Hawkes shoved past the women on the steps and headed down West End, +trying not to seem in a hurry. His eyes turned up to the roof of the +garage, but he could see nothing there; he'd half-expected that the +slim young man would be parked up on the roof, waiting. + + * * * * * + +Then the fear began, mounting slowly. He jerked around quickly, +scanning the street. For a second, he thought he saw the slim figure, +but it was only a back turned to him, and it disappeared into a +barber-shop. Probably someone else. + +The fear mounted a little, and he found his steps quickening. He cut +around the corner, where men were crowded into a little restaurant. He +was heading into a dead-end street, but there was an alley leading +from it. He had to keep off the main streets. + +Footsteps sounded behind him. + +He moved faster, and the footsteps also speeded up. He slowed, and +they kept on. Then they were nearly behind him, just as he reached the +alley and jerked back into it, grabbing for a broken bottle he had +spotted. + +"Will!" It was a gasping wheeze. "Will! For God's sake, it's only me. +I know everything--your amnesia. But let me explain!" + +It stopped him. He held the bottle carefully, as the fat figure of an +old man stepped softly around the corner, fear written on every aged +wrinkle. It was the man he'd stumbled into when he dashed out of his +apartment. + +But the fear there matched his own so completely that he dropped the +bottle. The other man stood trembling, gasping for breath. Then he +gathered himself together, though his pudgy hands still clenched +tightly, showing white knuckles. + +"Will," he repeated. "You must believe me. I know about you. I want to +help you--if there's any help for you, God forgive us both. And God +have mercy on Earth. It's worse than you can believe--and different. +It's...." + +Horror washed over the old man's face. He stood, fighting within +himself. Hawkes felt his own back hairs lift, and he drew back. For a +second, the fat man seemed to waver before him, as if his body was +only a projection. Then it quieted. + +"It--it almost had me for a second." + +He turned back to Hawkes, trying to control the quivering muscles in +his face. But his victory was still incomplete when he suddenly leaped +up. + +"Get back, Will. Oh, God, O God!" + +He leaped outwards, his fat old legs pumping savagely. Then the air +seemed to quiver. + +[Illustration] + +Where he had been, there was only a dark cloud of smoke, spreading +outwards in a rough equivalent of his shape. A spurt of steam leaped +upwards savagely, and the smoke seemed darker. It began to drift on +the air, touched a building, and left a spot of smudginess, before it +drifted on, getting thinner with each gust of wind. It was as if every +atom of his body had suddenly disassociated itself from every other +atom. + + * * * * * + +Hawkes found his fingernails cutting his palms, and there was blood +flowing from his bitten tongue. He heard a hacking moan in his throat. +He struggled against something that seemed to be holding him down, and +then leaped at least ten feet, to land running. + +The alley was twisted and narrow. He shot down it and around a corner. +An ice-house stood there, and he barely avoided the loading trucks. He +was back near the apartment building where he'd found the girl, and he +doubled to a door that showed. It seemed to be locked, but somehow, he +got through it. He seemed to melt through the door, though he wasn't +sure whether his lunge smashed it or whether his fingers had found +the latch in time. + +He ducked around loose-hanging electric wires, under twisted pipes, +and across a pile of coal around a hot-water heater. He twisted and +turned, to come into complete darkness, and halt short, listening. + +The fear was going--and there were again no sounds of pursuit. But he +couldn't be sure. He'd heard no sounds when the fat man had leaped +out, but they had been there. + +Silently and thickly, he cursed. To find a man who seemed to be his +friend, and who knew about him--and then to have them kill that man +with such horrible efficiency before he could learn what it was all +about! + +He gagged in the darkness, almost fainting again. + +Then, slowly, it was too much. For the moment, he could run no more, +and nothing seemed to matter. He understood his sudden bravado no +better than the unnatural cowardice that had been riding his +shoulders, but he shrugged, and moved forward. + +The dark passage led out to steps, that carried him up to the +sidewalk, in front of the building. Ellen Ibanez--or Bennett--was less +than five feet from him, and her eyes were fixed firmly on his face. + + +IV + +She seemed surprised, but tried to smile. "I thought I left you +asleep, Will," she said, in a tone that was meant to be bantering. +"'Smatter, the fuse blow?" + +He accepted the excuse for his presence in the basement. "Yeah, it +did. You left the iron on. I wondered what happened to you?" + +"Nothing. Just shopping. There wasn't a bit of food in the place--and +I must say, Will, you aren't much of a housekeeper. I bought pounds of +soap!" + +He followed her up the stairs, and his key opened the door. He was +still operating on the general belief that they'd be least likely to +spot him where they had already found him once. If the girl had tipped +them off, then they had it figured out that he had run off, and +probably wouldn't be back. + +He hoped so, at any rate. + +She was talking too briskly, and she was too careful not to mention +that the iron was cool, with its cord wrapped neatly around the +handle. He offered no explanation, but let her babble on about the +strange coincidence of his being _the_ Will Hawkes, and how she'd +almost forgotten the childhood days. + +"How come the Ibanez?" he asked, finally. + +"Stage name! I tried to make a go of the musicals, but it wasn't my +line, I found. But the name stuck." + +"And where'd you learn how to drug coffee that way?" + +She didn't change expression. There was even a touch of a twinkle in +her eye. "Waitress in a combination bar and restaurant. You needed the +sleep, Will. And I guess I still feel as much of a mother to you as I +did when you used to get hurt, so long ago." + +She had things out of the bags now, and he saw that she had been doing +a lot of shopping. There had still been time enough to call the slim +young man, though--or, he suddenly realized, the fat man. He had no +more reason to believe her an enemy than a friend. Then he corrected +that. If she'd known enough to call the fat man, and had been his +friend, she could have told him things. She'd denied knowing anything, +though. + +He couldn't understand why he trusted her--and yet, somehow, he did. +Even if he knew she'd called them, he would still have to trust her. +He was sure now that she was lying, and that she had been the girl at +the door--but that meant she'd been with the fat man. And the fat man +had seemed to be his friend. Or, had the man been set to lure him out, +but miscalculated, and gotten only what had been meant for him? + +His head was spinning, and he gave it up. He was a fool to trust her +simply because the fear feeling subsided around her--but he had +nothing better to do than to follow his hunches, and then try to play +the odds as best he could. + + * * * * * + +"Cigarettes," she said, handing him a pack of his brand. "And for me. +Shoe dye--your shoes need it, and I couldn't find a shoe store. I did +get a shirt though, and a tie. You'll find a hat in that bag. Size +seven and a quarter?" + +He nodded gratefully, and went in to change. His old shirt had caught +most of the cat's blood, and he needed a fresh one. There were a +couple of spots on his trousers, but they'd do. And the sports jacket +matched well enough. He daubed the dye onto his shoes--one of the +combined polish and dye things. + +"Cold-cuts all right?" she asked, and he called back a vague answer +that seemed to satisfy her. He was staring at the shoe dye. + +It worked fairly well, when he experimented. He daubed it onto his +hair with a wisp of cotton. His hair began to mat down, but he found +that combing it out as he went along removed the worst of the wax and +still left some of the color. It worked better than it should have +done. + +He found a bottle of something that smelled of alcohol and belonged in +her cosmetics, and began removing most of the mess. By being careful, +he got the wax and most of the dye smell off, while leaving his hair +darker. + +"Better wash up," she called. + +There was a razor among the things she had bought. He daubed some of +the dye on his upper lip, where the stubble of a mustache was showing. +It was easier there, if it didn't wash off in soap and water. + +Some of it did, but when he finished shaving, he felt better. It +wouldn't pass close inspection, but he now seemed to have darker hair, +and the dye had exaggerated the little beginning of a mustache enough +to make some change in his appearance. + +He waited for her to comment, but she said nothing. He waited for her +questions about what he was going to do, and her explanations that of +course he couldn't stay there. She merely went on talking idly, while +they ate. It didn't fit. + +Finally he stood up and began taking down the rope that was strung up +over one end of the room, to use as a clothes line, he supposed. She +looked up at that. "What--" + +"You can fight, if you want to," he told her. "Or you can save +yourself the headache of being knocked out. Take your choice. People +don't pay much attention to screams in a place like this. And I'm not +going to harm you, if you'll take it easily." + +"You mean it!" Her eyes were huge in her face, and there was a touch +of fright now. She gulped visibly, and then seemed to go limp. "All +right, Will. In the bedroom?" + +He nodded, and she went ahead of him. She didn't struggle, until he +was about to gag her. Then she drew her head aside. "There's money in +my bag, if you're going out." + + * * * * * + +He swore, hotly and sickly. If she'd only act just once as a normal +female should! Maybe Irma had been a hysterical, cold-blooded fool, +but she couldn't have been that much different from other women--even +the books indicated Ellen should be anything but so damned +cooperative! + +"If you'll tell me what's going on, I'll still let you go," he +suggested, drawing her hands tighter together. + +"I can't, Will. I don't know." + +He had to believe her--he knew she was telling the truth, at least to +some extent. And that made it just so much worse. He bound the gag +over her mouth as gently as he could, and closed the door behind him. +Her big eyes haunted him as he turned to the telephone. + +The information girl at CCNY could only tell him that Wilbur Hawkes +had resigned abruptly seven months before, and no one knew where he +was--they had heard he was doing government research. He snorted at +that--it was always the excuse, when nobody knew anything. + +He tried a few other numbers, and gave up. Nobody knew--and nobody +seemed to react to his name any differently from what they would have +done had he remained a quiet, professorish man, minding his own +business, instead of being chased by.... + +He couldn't complete that. The idea was still too fantastic. Even if +there were alien life-forms that were subtly invading Earth, why +should they pick on him? What good could a little, unimportant +mathematician do them--particularly if they had the powers he already +knew they possessed? It was a poor answer, though no harder to believe +than that any group on Earth could so suddenly come up with miracles. + +Anyhow, men knew enough already to be pretty sure that Mars and Venus +wouldn't have creatures that could invade Earth--and the other planets +were hopeless. Perhaps from another star--but that would mean +violating the theories of mass-increase with the speed of light, and +he was not ready to accept that, yet. + +This time, he went out of the building without looking first. It could +do no good--they could hide from him, he knew, and he would only call +attention to himself by looking around. With the change in appearance, +he might get by. He moved rapidly up to Broadway, where he found a +little clothing store and a ready-made suit that nearly fitted him. +The tailor there seemed unconcerned when he insisted the cuffs be +turned up at once, and that he wanted to wear it immediately. It took +nearly an hour, but he felt safe, for a change. A five-and-ten +furnished a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses that seemed to have blanks in +them, and he decided he might get by. + +There was no evidence of pursuit. He caught a cab, and headed for the +library. Ellen had been well-heeled--suspiciously so for a girl who +lived in a cold-water flat like that; he'd peeled fifteen tens from +her wallet, and there'd been more, not to mention the twenties. His +conscience bothered him a bit, but he was in no position to worry too +much. + + * * * * * + +The library was still the puzzle of the ages to him--he'd used it half +his life, and still found it impossible to guess why such a building +had been chosen. But eventually, he found the periodical room, and +managed to get through the red tape enough to be given a small table +with a stack of newspapers and magazines. + +The mathematics magazines interested him most. He pored through them, +looking for a single hint of the things he had seen. Einstein's work +with gravity stood out, but no real advances had come from it. It was +still a philosophical rather than an actual attack on physics--as +beautiful as a new theology, and about as hard to utilize. He skimmed, +through the pages, but nothing showed. No real advance had been made +since his memory blanked out, except for one paper on variable stars +which was interesting, but unhelpful. + +He threw them aside in disgust. He knew that it was useless to look in +other languages. Work couldn't be done without some first stages that +would be reported, and any significant new theory would be picked up +and spread. Science wasn't yet completely under political wraps. + +For a second, he stopped as he came to a paper bearing his by-line. +Then he grimaced--it was an old one, just published--his attempt to +find how the phenomena of poltergeists could be fitted into the +conservation of energy, and his final proof that the whole business +was sheer rubbish. It would be nice to be able to get back to a life +where he could fool around with such learned jokes. + +The newspapers, beginning with the last day he could remember, were +almost as barren of results. There was the story of the cold war, +without the strange overtones that should be there if any of the major +powers--where all the major scientists would tend to be--had found +something new. He'd studied the statistical analysis of mob psychology +at times, and felt sure he could spot the signs. + +He skimmed on, without results, until he finally came to the current +paper. This he read more carefully. There was no mention of him. But +he found something on the fat man. It was a simple followup to the +story about the scientist who'd turned himself in at Bellevue--the man +had mysteriously disappeared, three hours later. And there was a +picture--the face of the fat man, with "Professor Arthur Meinzer" +under it. + +It didn't help. + +Hawkes shoved the magazines and papers back, and went through the +series of halls and stairs that led him to the main reference room, +inconveniently located on the top floor. He found the book he wanted, +and thumbed rapidly through it. Meinzer was listed on the bottom of +page 972--but as he looked for 973, a pile of ashes dribbled onto the +floor. + +There was no use. They'd gotten there ahead of him. + +He made one final attempt. He called the college, asking for Meinzer, +to find that nobody even knew the name! He knew they were lying--but +he could do nothing about that. Maybe it was only because of the +publicity--or maybe because someone or something had gotten to them +first! + + * * * * * + +Fear was growing with him as he came out on the street. He ducked into +a crowd, and headed slowly into a corner drug store, trying to seem +inconspicuous, but the fear mounted. They were near--they would get +him! Run, GO! + +He fought it down, and found that it was weakened, either by his +becoming used to it or because the urgency was less than it had been. + +He ducked into a phone-booth and called the newspaper, keeping his eye +on both entrances to the store. It seemed to take forever to locate +the proper man there, but finally he had his connection. + +"Meinzer," the voice said, with a curious doubtfulness. + +"Oh, yeah. Mister, that story's dead! Call up...." + +The telephone melted slowly, dropping into a little cold puddle on the +floor! + +Hawkes had felt the tension mounting, and he was prepared for +anything. Now he found himself on the street, darting across +Forty-second Street against the light, without even remembering having +left the booth. He stole a quick glance back, to see people staring at +him with open mouths. He thought he saw a slim figure in gray tweeds, +but he couldn't be sure--and there were probably thousands of such men +in New York. + +He ducked into a bank, wormed his way around the various aisles, and +out the back entrance. A cab was waiting there, and he held out a +bill. + +"I'm late, buddy. Penn Station!" + +The cab-driver took the bill and the hint, and darted out, just as the +light was changing. + +Penn Station was as good a place to try to get lost from pursuit as +any. Hawkes examined his wallet, considering trying to get a train +out--but he'd used up nearly all he had taken from Ellen. + +And all his careful disguise had proved useless. They weren't +fooled--and this business of dodging was wearing thin. By now, they'd +know his habits! + +He drew out a coin, flipping it. It came up heads. He frowned, but +there was nothing else to do. He moved down the ramp toward the subway +that would carry him back to Sixty-sixth and Broadway. He was probably +walking into their trap by now, but the coin was right. He had to free +Ellen. If they got him, it couldn't be much worse for him. + +Then he shuddered. He couldn't know whether it would be worse for his +country, or even his world. He couldn't really know anything. + + +V + +It was growing dark as he walked down Sixty-sixth, eyeing every man +suspiciously, and knowing his suspicion would do no good. He was still +trying to think, though he knew his thoughts were as useless as his +suspicions. + +If he could remember! His mind came up sharply against leaving Irma +and taking out the mail; then it went abruptly blank. What had been in +the letter? It had been from a professor--it might have been from +Professor Meinzer. That would tie in neatly. But Meinzer was dead, and +he couldn't remember. They'd stripped him of his memory. How? Why? +Were they trying to prevent his giving information to others--or were +they trying to get something from him? And what could he know? + +He'd dabbled with ESP mathematically, but now he found himself +wondering if it could exist. Could they be tracking him by some +natural or mechanical ability to read his mind? He strained his own +mind to find a whisper of foreign thought, outside his brain. He drew +a blank, of course, as he'd expected. + +There were no answers. They could play with him, like a cat juggling a +mouse, letting him almost learn something--and then, always, they +arrived just in time to prevent his success! + +Put a rat in a maze where it can't learn the path, and it goes insane. +But what good would he be to anyone if they drove him insane? And why +bother with all that when they could silence him as well by killing +him? + +He'd forgotten to watch, and was surprised to find his feet on the +steps of the apartment building. He jerked back, and bumped into +someone. + +"Sorry." The words came from behind him, automatically, and he turned +to see the slim young man stepping aside. For a second, their eyes met +squarely. A row of teeth flashed in a brief smile as the man started +around him. "Guess I was thinking. Should have watched where I was +going." + +The man went on down the street, and turned in at the restaurant +entrance. + + * * * * * + +Hawkes lifted a foot that weighed a ton and slowly closed his mouth. +He'd been facing away from the street light--and his face might have +been hard to see. Yet.... + +It didn't fit. The young man must have known him! + +He blanked it from his mind. He couldn't believe that it was anything +but lack of recognition. It was hard to see here, where the other was +facing the light, and he was in the shadow. + +But it still meant that they were waiting, nearby. + +He dashed up the stairs, expecting a rush at both landings. The normal +sounds of the apartment house went on. He listened at his door, but he +could hear nothing except the same drip he had heard before. Slowly, +he inserted the key and went in. The small bulb was still on. He crept +along, trying to move silently on floors that insisted on creaking. +The living room was as he had left it, and he caught sight of Ellen on +the bed. + +He spotted a mirror over one of the dressers, and used that to study +more of the bedroom. It seemed as empty as before. + +Finally, he stepped inside. There was no one there but Ellen, and she +seemed to be asleep, doubled up in a position that might have made the +unkind cords easier to stand. She moaned slightly as he untied her +gently, but didn't awaken. Her breathing was regular, and her breath +had the odd muskiness of someone who has slept for several hours. + +He found a bottle of liquor on the shelf where she had put it, and +rinsed out a couple of glasses. It was good liquor--good enough to +take without mixers, as they'd have to do. + +She came awake when he called her, rubbing her eyes and then her +wrists, where the cords had left a mark. But she was smiling. "Hi, +Will. I knew you'd come back. Hey, not on an empty stomach." + +"You need it--and so do I," he told her. "Bottoms up!" + +They were big glasses. She gasped over it, but she downed it, then +reached for the water he had brought as a chaser. She swallowed, and +blinked tears out of her eyes. "I don't usually drink." + +He made no comment, but refilled the glass. The liquor had less effect +on him than he'd expected, though he'd always had a good head for it. +It took some of the edge off his worrying, though. + +She giggled suddenly, and he frowned. She couldn't take much on an +empty stomach, it seemed. Then he shrugged. Let her drink--maybe if he +could get her drunk, he could find something out; at least he might +learn whether the slim young man had been there during the day. + +"Like when you found your dad's cider," she said, and giggled again. +"You got awful--hp!--awful drunk, Willy, din't you? You +were--so--funny!" + +She was trying to be careful with her words already. She slid around, +doing things that brought more honestly beautiful thigh into the light +than Will had seen in ten years. He reached to adjust her dress, and +she giggled again, sliding against him. + +"You kissed me then, Willy. Remember? Bet you don' remember!" + + * * * * * + +He began it coldly, deliberately. If he could work on her emotions +enough, he'd crack the wall of evasion and lies, somehow. He reached +for her, calculating what would arouse her without causing any shock +to bring her back to her senses. + +He hadn't counted on the quickness of her reponse, nor the complete +acceptance of his right with which she took it. The liquor had reduced +her to the stage of a little girl who competely trusted her companion. +She seemed as unconscious of her body as a child might be. + +Instead of protesting, she reached down and began unfastening the +buttons on her dress. "'Syour turn now, Willy. Put you to bed last +night, you put me to bed t'-night. Then you gotta kiss me good-night. +Nighty-night, nighty-night." + +He felt like a heel at first. And then he began to feel like a +man--any man around a beautiful girl half-undressed, and getting more +so. + +She slipped under the sheets, tossing out the last of her clothing, +and crooning happily. "Gotta kiss me good-night, Willy. Nighty-night!" + +He yanked the pull-cord savagely, cutting off the light, and fumbling +in the darkness. After what seemed hours of awkwardness, he slid in +beside her, feeling her arms go around him in complete acceptance. To +hell with _them_! They could chase him some other time! + +He pulled her to him, while his blood beat in his neck, and he began +to lose any conscious volition of what he was doing. He drew her +tighter, while a great clot of emotion set fire to his brain. He-- + +Cold beyond anything he had known bit at him. A tremendous pressure +within him seemed about to force him to explode outwards, and the +shock jerked him into full awareness. + +In a split second, he swung his eyes from the great, jagged landscape +on which he stood, up an impossible range of mountains that were all +harsh blacks and cold whites, to a cold black sky in which the stars +were blazing specks without a flicker. He saw the Earth above him, +bigger than the moon had ever been, and with the dim outlines of +continents showing through the soft stuff that must be clouds. + +He was on the moon! And naked, without air! + + * * * * * + +Almost at once, something clapped down around him, and the pressure +let up, while heat seemed to leap into the rocks under his feet and +make them comfortable. He gulped down the air that somehow seemed to +stay close to him, instead of evaporating into the vacuum. + +The moon! Now they had him! + +Fear blazed in him--a stark, unreasoning terror that was like a +physical thing. _Run--but you can't run! They've got you! You can't +escape!_ + +The light blotted out, and then snapped on, more strongly. He stood in +the kitchen of the cold-water apartment, still naked, with bits of +chalky dust between his toes. + +He had no time for reason. His brain seemed to have jumped over a +hurdle and come down in a puddle beyond, foul with the stuff it had +found there. He heard Ellen shriek, and then cry out again. + +He lurched into the bedroom, while she let out another gurgling cry as +the light showed him in the doorway. She came out of the bed, leaping +for him, crying his name--cold sober! But he wanted none of her act. +He shook her off. + +"You damned alien! You filthy monster, disguised as a girl! When you +get in a spot where I'm sure to find you out, you have a cute trick up +your sleeve--but it won't work. You can send me back there--back to +the rest of your kind, from wherever they came. But you won't fool me +into thinking you're human again. You can't pass one test!" + +He wouldn't be fooled into thinking it was a dream, either. He'd been +physically on the moon--the very dust on his feet proved that. They +might drive him insane, but they wouldn't do it that way. + +She was crying now, gasping out words that he only half heard. "I'm +human, Will. Oh, I'm human!" + +"Then prove it! Come here, and prove it!" + +She cried again at that, as he pulled her down with him. But slowly +her crying quieted. + +He awoke slowly, with sun-light streaming in the windows, and reached +for her. He owed her more apologies than one, though he wasn't too +sorry about most of it. She had proven herself human. And virginally +so. Her complete surrender still left something warm inside him, +where only the madness and the fear had been before. + +Then he jerked upright, as he found her gone. He cursed himself for a +fool, and listened for a stir and bustle from the kitchen, but there +was none. + + * * * * * + +He was getting used to dressing with a feeling of dire pressure +driving him on. He finished rapidly, and yanked the bedroom door open, +just as he heard the outer lock click. She was coming in with a bottle +of cream and a package of sausage as he reached the kitchen, and there +was a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. + +And this time, he knew she wouldn't have betrayed him. Yet the fear +increased in him. He darted past her as she leaned to kiss him, +heading for the door. The room seemed to quiver. The hall was filled +with a faint golden haze! + +He had to get out! He jerked backwards, caught her hand, and pulled +her. "Ellen! We've got to get out!" + +It was a half-articulate shout, and she resisted, but he began +dragging her after him. Something fumbled at the lock, and a key +slipped into it. The door opened. + +Hawkes didn't know what kind of an alien he expected. He knew that men +could never have thrown him to the moon and back, not in another +thousand years. It had to be a monster. + +But he should have known that monsters here came in human form--they'd +have to. + +The fear rose to a shriek in his brain, and then died down as the +human form entered. It was too normal--too familiar. A medium-sized +man, dressed in a suit as inconspicuous as his own, wearing a silly +little mustache that no outland monster should ever wear. + +The creature jumped in, slamming the door behind it. "Stay there! You +can't risk it outside now! We've got to--" + +Hawkes hit the figure with his shoulder, in the best football fashion +he could muster. It could try--but it couldn't keep him and Ellen here +to be burned in their heat-ray bath, or treated to whatever alien +torture they had in mind. He felt his shoulder hit. And he knew he'd +missed. It was an arm that he struck against, and the arm brought him +upright, while a second arm drew back and came forward with a savage +right to his jaw. + +He went out with a dull plopping sound in his brain. Then, slowly, an +ache came out of the blackness, and the beginning of sound. He was +fighting out of the unconsciousness, fighting against time and the +monster who'd try to steal Ellen. + +But Ellen's hands were on his head, and an ice-cold towel was wet +against his forehead. "Will! Will!" + + * * * * * + +He groaned and sat up. The other--alien or human--was gone. + +"Where--?" he began. + +She was trying to help him to his feet, and he got up groggily, with +his head beginning to clear. + +"He just ran out, Will." Ellen was crying, this time almost silently, +with the words coming out between shakes of her shoulders. "Will, +we've got to get out. We've got to. The men are coming for you. +They'll be here any minute. And it's wrong--it won't work! Oh, Will, +hurry!" + +"Men? Men are coming?" He'd almost forgotten that it could be men who +were after him. + +"I called them, Will. I thought I had to. But it won't work. Will, do +anything you like, but _get_ out! They are fools. They...." + +He opened the door and peered out the doorway into the hall, which +seemed quiet. He'd been a fool again. He'd trusted her for some +reason, as if a body and loyalty had to go together. They'd been +smart, picking a virgin for the job. It must have cost them plenty, +unless they'd twisted her mind somehow. Maybe they could do it. + +But he knew that whatever they looked like, it couldn't be real men +who'd meet him out there. + +"Why?" he asked, and was surprised at the flatness of his voice. + +She shook her head. "Because I'm a fool, Will. Because I thought they +could help you--until _he_ came! And because I'm still in love with +you, even if you'd forgotten me." + +But the fear inside him was drowning out her words, and the golden +haze was faint in the air again. + +"Okay," he said finally. "Okay, don't burn her, too, now that she's +done your dirty work. I'm coming." + +The haze disappeared slowly, and he started down the stairs, still +holding her hand. + + +VI + +There were men with guns in the street. He'd heard two shots as he +came down the stairs, and had shoved Ellen behind him. But it was +silent now. People with dazed, frightened faces were still darting +into the houses, leaving the street to the men with the guns. + +Hawkes marched forward grimly, perversely stripped of fear, even +though he was sure some of the men out there were monsters and others +were their dupes. He tapped one of the men on the shoulder. + +"Okay, here I am. The girl goes free!" + +The man spun around as if mounted on a ball bearing and pulled by +strings. The gun fell from his hands. His emotion-taut face loosened +suddenly, seemed to run like melted wax, and congealed again in an +expression of utter idiocy. He gargled frothily, and then +screamed--high and shrill, like a tortured woman. + +Suddenly he was a lunging maniac, tearing up the street. + +Now the others were running--some toward cars, and some toward the +corners, running flat and desperately on the flat of their feet, +without any spring to their motions. + +Hawkes jerked his eyes down toward the big gas-storage tanks where +most of them had been, and the glow that had been in the corner of his +vision was gone. Men seemed to be coming out of a trance. They were +breaking away, forgetting about their guns and fleeing. + +Three men alone were left. + +Hawkes ducked back into the hall of the apartment, dragging Ellen with +him. The glass of the door was somewhat dirty, but it made a dim +mirror. He could see the slim young man and two others still there. +The two men darted into a waiting car, and the leader turned up the +street, running smoothly toward the apartment house. + +Hawkes could make no sense of it--unless it was another of the seeming +tricks designed to drive him out of his mind. He had decided he was +one of the rats in the maze that didn't go crazy--the pressure could +drive him somewhat mad, but it couldn't keep him that way. + +He didn't wait to see what had happened, or whether the sirens that +were sounding now were reinforcements for the men with guns or the +police. He didn't bother with the slim young man any more. They'd +apparently used their dupes to frighten out the people, and then had +scared off the dupes--the poor humans who didn't know what it was all +about. Now two of the three were gone, and the third monster was +coming for him. + +He'd escaped before. But sooner or later, they'd catch him--once they +were sure he wouldn't be driven insane. + +Or was this the beginning of insanity--a delusion of power, a feeling +that he could escape? He could never know, if it was. He had to assume +that he was sane. + + * * * * * + +He crouched back behind the stairs, while the young man in the gray +tweeds dashed up them. Then he headed out into the street. The siren +was near now--and tardily, he realized that the siren might herald the +coming of the real monsters. It was as easy to look like a cop as any +other human! + +He jerked open the door of the nearest car, pulled Ellen in, and +kicked the motor to life. He gunned away from the curb, tossed it into +second, and twisted around the corner, straight toward the siren that +was nearest. At the last minute, he jerked to the side of the street, +to let the police car shoot by. "Never run from a tiger--run toward +it. It sometimes works, and it's no worse." + +The car was a big one, and the motor purred smoothly. He glanced down +at the dash, and frowned. There was no key in the switch. For a +second, he stared at it, and then grinned. He'd picked a monster's +car, apparently--they'd done a neat job of duplicating, but they +didn't need all the safeguards that humans used, and the switch had +obviously been a dummy. + +He looked at the buttons on the dash, wondering which would make it +levitate. But he had no desire to test it, nor to stay in an auto +which could probably be traced so easily. + +He braked to a halt outside the subway and led Ellen down. + +"We're down to the last hole," he told her as the train pulled out of +the station. "How much money do you have?" + +She shook her head, and held up her arm. "I left it, Will." + +They were beyond the last hole, then. He realized now that as long as +they'd been in a crowded apartment house, filled with other humans, it +had proved a tough nut to crack for the aliens. But on the move.... + +"Maybe we have a chance," he told her. "If humans were after me, it'd +be tough--but these things have to avoid the police." + +She looked at him, misery on her face. "There are no aliens, Will. +Those men you saw were F. B. I. men. That's where I reported you." + +"You...." + +He stared at her, but she was serious. + +"But there was nothing about me in the papers, Ellen." + +She pointed across the aisle. Spread over two columns on the front +page, an older picture of him showed plainly. And even at the +distance, the heading was boldly legible. + + $100,000 REWARD FOR + THIS MAN! + +He stared at the figure twice, unbelieving. He was no longer alone +against a small group of humans or aliens. Now every living human on +the face of the planet would be looking for him! + + * * * * * + +He could feel their hot breath on his neck, feel eyes staring at him +through the papers. Fear began to rise in him, to be halted as the +train ground to a new station. Ellen jerked him out, and he moved with +her. It wasn't safe to be too long with one group, until they began to +wonder and compare faces! + +"But what--" + +She shook her head. "Nothing, Will. I don't know. What can we do?" + +He'd been wondering, while they moved quietly through the groups of +people, and up the stairs. There was no place left. He had about a +dollar in change, and that would be of no use to them. They'd have to +dig a hole in the ground and pull it over them.... + +It joggled his memory, and he grabbed her hand and jerked open the +door of a cab that was waiting for the light. He barked out an +address----the corner of Tenth Avenue and one of the streets below +Twentieth. The driver got into motion, not bothering to look back. The +address was near enough to where Hawkes wanted to be--an old +warehouse, with a loading platform. He'd played there as a kid, +climbing back under it and digging holes down into the damp, soft +earth, as kids have always done. He'd been by there since, and it had +remained unchanged. + +Sooner or later, the aliens would locate them. But it would give Ellen +and him a chance to rest--perhaps long enough for him to waylay +someone at night and steal enough for them to leave town. That +wouldn't be much help--but it was all he had left to count on. + +He saw trucks loading there, as he paid the cab-driver. His heart sank +abruptly, until he studied the way the big trailer was parked. If he +watched carefully, he could slip under it from the side, and there was +a chance he wouldn't be seen. + +He darted beneath it. + +Luck, for once was with him as he drew Ellen under the trailer and the +platform. The old opening was covered with rubble, but he scraped it +aside, and found an entrance barely big enough for them to wiggle +through. Then they were back in a dark pocket under the back of the +platform, barely big enough for them to sit upright. The hole had +seemed bigger when he was a kid. + +Outside, he heard a boy's voice yelling. "Monster attacks cops! +Monster kills five cops! Extra Paper!" + +Now he was a monster, to be shot on sight, probably. + +"I shouldn't have brought you into this, Ellen," he said bitterly. "I +should have left you. You don't even know what's going on--you haven't +the faintest idea. If it were just humans, as you think...." + +She snuggled against him in the coldness of the little cave. "Shh. I +got you into it. I--I ratted on you, Scarface!" + + * * * * * + +But he couldn't reply to her attempt at humor. There was no fear +now--not even the relief of fear. He'd felt brave for a few minutes, +back in the hallway of the apartment. Now the chips were down, and +sunk. They were here, in a dank hole, without food, and without a +chance, while all the world searched for him to kill him--and while +still-unknown aliens with unknown reasons played out their little game +with consummate skill that would inevitably locate him. + +It might take them a day--they probably would do nothing to him until +night came, and the warehouse street was deserted! Ten more hours! + +If he only knew what they wanted of him, or why! If he could remember! + +He sat there, numbed within himself. Ellen leaned her head forward +onto his lap, and he began stroking her hair softly. He'd have liked +to have had a chance with her. One night wasn't enough for a whole +life. He reached down to draw her face to his.... + +Fear hit him, as something rustled behind him. He tried to turn and +look, but his neck refused. The fear grew to panic, and swelled higher +as the golden haze began to spread over the little cave. Then his +muscles snapped his head around sharply. The slim young man was +crawling toward them, holding something that looked like a flashlight. +Behind it, he could see the tense lips drawn back over clenched teeth. +The man wasn't smiling now. He opened his mouth, just as the thing +like a flashlight sprang into light. + +No time seemed to elapse, but suddenly Ellen and the young man were +both gone, and he sat in the dark hole, alone. He let out an animal +cry, and dashed out, crawling through the opening, and kicking the +rubble back as he went. He slipped out, and under the trailer. But +there was no sign. They'd taken her, and left him unconscious! + +He groaned, trying to figure. He'd always gone back to the same place +to hide, since he'd found it. They must expect him back there. They'd +take Ellen there and wait for him, drugging her, changing her mind, +setting her up to use against him. The first time hadn't worked, but +they'd try it again. It had to be that. If they hadn't taken her +there, he had no way of finding her, and he had to find her. + +He began running down the street, forcing himself to believe she was +there. Then he slowed. It would do no good to have them all notice +him, here on the street. Someone might recognize him then. He turned +around, walking back to the bus stop. There were still two dimes and a +nickel in his pocket. + + * * * * * + +He hunched down on the seat of the bus that seemed to crawl up Tenth +Avenue. But no one noticed him in the almost empty vehicle. He got off +at Sixty-Sixth and forced himself to walk to West End, up that to the +apartment-house. + +Men were drawing up in cars--men with guns in their hands. He made a +final dash for the apartment entrance. This must be the real show--for +which the other had been only a dress rehearsal to throw him off +balance. They could wait. + +He fumbled with the lock, until he finally got it open. Then he jumped +in, slamming the door shut behind him. Ellen stood there, and the +creature that had assaulted him before was pawing at her. But he had +no time for the monster. + +"Stay there!" he shouted at her. "You can't risk it outside now! We've +got to--" + +He saw she wasn't listening to him. He had to get rid of the creature +somehow, if he could get it far enough away from her. Then they'd find +some way to get outside, without going out through the entrance. + +The creature sprang at him awkwardly. His arm darted down to catch one +shoulder, and his right hand swung back and up. There was a savage +satisfaction in seeing the creature crumple. + +Ellen's voice reached him. "Will! Will, before I go crazy...." + +"You're free," he told her. "Go down the fire escape and leave that +here. I'll get rid of them out front somehow." + +He shut the door again, and went down. The words had sounded brave +enough, but there had been no courage behind them. Fear still rode +him, like the little golden haze that again hovered over him, showing +they had spotted him. + +He walked out, with it thick around him, rising slowly in temperature. +They had him--but Ellen might get away. He walked down the steps, his +hands up. They drew back, surprise and something else on their +features, their eyes on the haze that surrounded him. They were +shouting, but he couldn't hear the words over the shrieks of the +people along the street, rushing inside or trying to drag their kids +to safety. + +Hawkes doubled his legs under him and leaped. He was still attacking +the tiger--the slim young man, down by the big gas-storage tanks, +directing the new crop of human dupes. + +His charge carried him there, while the young man slipped aside. Then +someone fired a gun. + +He heard the young man yell hoarsely. "No shooting! Stop it! Damn it, +NO SHOOTING!" + +They weren't paying any attention to the shouts. Bullets ticked +against the tanks. Hawkes ducked frantically, physical fear knotting +his stomach. + + * * * * * + +Suddenly, he seemed to jerk upwards, to find himself suspended in +mid-air, fifty feet off the ground, just beyond the tanks. He stared +down at the men, dizzy with the height, but no longer surprised by +anything. The men were pointing their guns upwards, while the young +man leaped about among them. Bullets were splatting out, though none +came near Hawkes. They seemed to ricochet off the air a few feet in +front of him. + +[Illustration] + +The slim young man drew back. And now, the rubble and stones along the +street began to lift, and to drive savagely at the attackers. A gale +swept along the street, though Hawkes could feel no breath of air, and +the force of it was enough to knock most of them down. + +They got up and began running, dashing away from the super-science +that the young man now seemed bent on turning against his own troop of +dupes, now that they were out of control. + +Hawkes came drifting downward. He started to cry out in fear, until he +noticed that the ground was coming up at him slowly, and that he was +slipping sideways. He landed on a street back of the tanks, as gently +as a feather. + +Surprisingly, everyone was gone when he risked a glance back at the +scene of the fight, with the back of the slim man just darting into +the apartment house. Then Hawkes cursed, as the creature came darting +out, with Ellen behind him, to leap into a car and drive off. The +sound of sirens grew louder, and a police car swung onto West End. + +Hawkes straightened up slowly, as it hit him. It had been the same +scene he'd gone through before that morning--but with himself in the +middle! He shot a glance at the sun, to see it still to the east, +though his memory of the day indicated it should have been after noon. + +Time! They'd twisted him back through time--the weapon that had looked +like a flashlight must have tossed him hours backwards, instead of +knocking him out. He'd been attacking himself there in the hallway of +his apartment! He'd knocked himself out. And the fight he had just +been through was the same fight that he had seen come to its end +before! + +Now, his younger self and Ellen must be just fleeing toward the +hideout under the loading platform, with the slim man still following. +If he could get there in time, before the man could run off with +Ellen.... + + +VII + +The paper he'd found kept the other passengers on the bus from seeing +him, but he was too deep in his own thoughts to read it. His eyes +roamed back to the story of the cop-killing monster--a seemingly +harmless florist in Brooklyn who'd suddenly gone berserk and rushed +down the streets with a knife; he'd been wrong in thinking that +concerned him. And he'd been wrong in thinking anyone would try to +kill him on sight. The reward notice and picture were in front of his +eyes--but it was a reward for information, and there was a huge box +that proclaimed he was _not_ a criminal and must not be harmed, or +even allowed to know he was recognized. + +The new facts only confused the issue. He twisted about in his mind, +trying to explain why the young man had left him to drift down, and +gone rushing into the apartment. He was ready for the collecting--and +he'd been left uncollected! + +The girl had said there were no aliens. Now he wondered. She had known +more than he'd found from her--she'd known his brand of cigarettes, +even. And there had been that shopping list, with the lipstick on +it--the same type he now remembered her using. He'd known her +before--and not just as a little girl. That tied him in with Meinzer, +who was a mystery in himself. + +He puzzled over it. The things that had happened to him had always +been preceded by violent emotion, instead of followed by it. Usually, +it had been fear--but sometimes some other emotion, as had been the +case just before he was suddenly shifted to the Moon. Whenever he +seemed on the verge of discovering something or emotionally upset, it +hit at him. Did that mean he was only susceptible to the phenomena +when off balance? It still didn't account for the fact that some of +the things hadn't directly affected him, at all. + +The more he knew, the less he knew. + +He got off the bus and headed for the warehouse. This time, he had to +wait before he could see a chance to dart under the trailer and into +the entrance. He noticed that the gray sedan was parked nearby. + +He darted in. + +They were still there! He heard Ellen's voice, sounding as if she had +been crying, and then an answer from the other. He felt his way +carefully over the rubble, working as close as he could. Now, if he +sprang the few feet.... + +"... must be a time-jump," the man's voice said, doubtfully. "I tell +you, Ellen, those damned fools were firing at him, up there in the +air, while you were still with him in the apartment. That's an angle +on this psi factor stuff we hadn't expected." + +The voice stopped for a moment. Then it picked up again. "Drat it! I +wish you hadn't called the F. B. I. on him--they got rattled when he +came out looking like a saint in a halo and jumped fifty feet up to +float around. Some fool started shooting, and the rest joined in." + +"I had to--he was talking about alien monsters. I thought he was going +crazy, Dan. I couldn't tell him anything--I promised him I wouldn't, +and I kept my promise. But I thought enough of them might catch him, +somehow.... Dan, can't we find him now? He needs us!" + + * * * * * + +Hawkes lay frozen. He tried to move forward, but his body was tensed, +waiting for more. If something happened now.... + +"Alien monsters?" Dan's voice grew bitter. "It is alien--and a +monster. This psi factor...." + +The words blurred, and seemed to echo and re-echo inside Hawkes' head. +That made twice he'd heard them mention the psi factor--the strange +ability a few human minds had to perform seeming miracles. Men who had +it could make dice roll the way they wanted. Young girls sometimes +had it before puberty, and could throw heavy objects around a room +without touching them; they did not even know they were the cause of +the motion, but blamed it on poltergeists. Other men caused strange +accidents--fires, for instance--the old salamander legend! + +There'd been a piece of paper--psi equals alpha, the psi factor was +the beginning of infinity for mankind. But it had been wrong. He'd +changed that, on the other side. It should have read psi equals omega, +the absolute end. + +He gasped hoarsely, and heard their startled voices stop, while the +flashlight beam swung around, to pick him out in the darkness. He felt +Ellen and her younger brother, Dan, pulling him forward into the +little cave with them, and he heard their voices questioning him. But +his head was spinning madly under the sudden flood of memories that +the missing key word had suddenly brought back. + +The letter from Professor Meinzer had been about his paper on +poltergeists which the old man had seen before publication. He'd been +doing research on the psi factor for the government, and he needed a +mathematician--even one who proved something which he knew wasn't +true, provided the mathematics could handle his theories. + +Hawkes' head was suddenly brimming with mental images of the seven +months, while he worked on the mathematics to tie down the strange +pattern of brain waves the old professor had found in the minds of +those who had the mysterious psi factor. Dan had worked with them, in +the little cluttered apartment, building the apparatus they needed. It +was through Dan that Ellen was hired, as a general assistant and +secretary. + +There had been only the four of them, working in deepest secrecy in +the three rooms which the government had felt were more suitable to +maintain complete security than any deeply buried laboratory could +have been. Ellen made a pretense of living there, and it was a +neighborhood where no landlady worried about the men who went to a +girl's place, provided everything was quiet. + +They'd succeeded, too--they had found the tiny bundle of cells that +controlled the psi factor, and learned to stimulate them by artificial +wave trains and hypnosis. But the small group in the top division of +the government to whom they were responsible had demanded more proof. + + * * * * * + +Hawkes had treated himself secretly, not knowing that Meinzer had done +the same two days before. And both had learned the same thing. The +wild talents appeared, but they couldn't be controlled. Meinzer hadn't +found security in the hospital, hard as he'd tried to find it. He'd +gotten up in the middle of the night and walked through the solid +wall, unable to stop until he was back with the group. + +Hawkes had tried another way to stop the wild abilities that operated +without his conscious control. He'd prepared a new hypnotic tape, +worded to make him forget everything he knew, or even the fact that he +had worked on the psi factor. He'd put in commands that would make him +avoid any reference to it, so that he couldn't learn accidentally. +He'd ordered his brain to have nothing to do with it. Then he'd +drugged himself with a combination of opiates and hypnotics that +should have knocked out a horse. Then he'd telephoned Dan to have men +pick him up in an hour and keep him drugged. He'd turned on the tape +recorder and stumbled back to the bed. + +He groaned, as he remembered his failure. "It's the ultimate, absolute +alien, all right--the back of a man's own mind. It's Freud's +unconsciousness, or id. The psi factor is controlled by that, and not +by the conscious mind. And the id is a primitive beast--it operates on +raw impulse, without reason or social consciousness. Every man's +unconsciousness is back in the jungle, before civilization--and we've +given that alien thing the greatest power that could exist when we +wake up the psi power." + +"Meinzer thought it was controlled, for a while," Ellen said. "He came +when Dan and I called him. I went with him up to your apartment, while +Dan got the men to carry you away. But we couldn't reach you--Meinzer +barely touched the tape-recorder when something seemed to pick us up +and drive us out of the room and down the stairs. We were just going +back when you came out." + +She shuddered, and Hawkes nodded. He'd obviously used that psi factor +to throw off the drugs at the first sign of anyone near him. He told +them sickly what had happened to the old man. + +"So I killed him," he finished bitterly. + +Dan shook his head. "No. Your psi factor works differently. You +control heat and radiation, you can move yourself or any object in +space for almost any distance, instantly if you want, and it seems you +can do the same through time. But you can't disintegrate things, as +Meinzer could. He had a suicide urge--we knew that before. When it got +out of control again, he blew himself up--just as your dominant urge +to protect yourself did all those things around you." + + * * * * * + +Hawkes grimaced. It wasn't pleasant to know, that he'd been doing all +the things he'd blamed on monsters. He'd somehow remembered that +someone was supposed to come to get him, and he'd run out in wild +fear, while his unconscious mind blasted the apartment with heat to +destroy all traces. He'd blasted down the subway entrance with another +bolt of energy to make his getaway. The poor cat had surprised him, +and been killed. His unconsciousness gone wild had tossed Dan's car +two hundred feet to the roof of the garage. When it found him losing +control emotionally with Ellen, it hadn't let his conscious brain give +it the information it needed--it had simply thrown him completely off +Earth, pulled air to him, and warmed the rocks. Then, when it found +the Moon unfit for life, it had thrown him back to his own world. It +had tossed him hours back in time this morning, and lifted him into +the air while it pelted his "enemies" with rocks, and built a wall +around him by throwing the bullets back instantly. + +And it had somehow clung to the implanted idea that he must not find +out about himself. It had destroyed anything where the written word +might give him a hint, and had even melted the telephone so that he +couldn't continue listening to other evidence. + +It had probably done a thousand other things that he couldn't even +remember, whenever its wild, reasonless fears were aroused and it +decided that he had to be protected! + +"You should have killed me," he told them. But he knew that they +couldn't have done it. + +"We had to let you sweat it out. You made us promise not to tell you +anything, and we thought you might be right," Ellen told him. "We +thought that it might adjust after awhile. All we did was to try to +pick you up, until we knew it was impossible." + +"Until Sis tipped off the Government men," Dan added. Hawkes could +imagine what their reaction had been to having a man with his power +running wild. He was surprised that they had bothered to make even an +attempt to see that he wasn't harmed. + +He shrugged helplessly. "And where does it leave us now--beyond this +hole in the ground?" + +"The Government's put about fifty specialists on the notes you and +Meinzer left," Dan answered, but there was no assurance in his voice. +"They're trying to find some way to bring the psi factor under the +control of your logical, rational mind." + +He got to his knees and began crawling out of the little cave, while +Hawkes tried to help Ellen follow him. Outside, Dan knocked off the +dirt from his clothes and headed for the sedan he'd, somehow gotten +off the roof. + +Hawkes followed, for want of anything better to do. + +He knew the answers now--and he was worse off than ever. Instead of a +horde of outside aliens, he had one single monster in his own skull, +where he could never fight it, or even hope to escape it. + +The power had been meant as a hope for the world. A man who could work +such seeming miracles might have ended the threat of war; he'd have +been the perfect spy, or better at attack than a hundred hydrogen +bombs that had to smash whole cities to remove a few men and weapons. +But now the world was better off without him. So long as he still +lived, there would be nothing but danger from the alien monster in his +head. He had no idea of his limits--but he was sure that it could +trigger the energies of the universe to move the whole world out of +its orbit, if that seemed necessary for his personal survival! + + +VIII + +Hawkes leaned forward cautiously as the gray sedan moved up Tenth +Avenue. His finger found the gun in Dan's coat pocket; and he pulled +it out stealthily. + +He knew that the only answer for him was suicide. He had to destroy +himself, since no one else could! + +He propped it up, pointing at his head, and his thumb pressed back on +the trigger, further and further, until he felt sure the smallest +change would set it off. Then he waited for the rough spot in the +street or the sudden stop at a light that would do the trick before he +could stop it. + +The car lurched--and the gun suddenly vanished, leaving his hand +empty. + +His responses were too quick--and his mind wasn't waiting, once it +knew there was danger. He slumped back on the rear seat, trying to +think. Drugs were out--he knew his system could throw them off. + +But he couldn't remove himself! + +He lifted his wrist--to his teeth, and bit down savagely. If he could +sever an artery.... Pain shot through him, and he stared down at the +blood. + +Then the blood was gone, and the wound was closing before his eyes, +until only smooth flesh remained. His mind could juggle the cells back +into their original form. + +It would have to be sudden, complete death. + +And no death was that sudden! For a fraction of a second, there'd be +life left--and during that split second, the damage would be repaired, +or he would be shifted from danger. + +There was no way out--unless he could pull himself to another planet, +or throw himself back into the dim past. But that would take voluntary +control, and he knew now that hours of effort had shown him how +impossible that was. He hadn't been able to lift a crumb of bread from +the table deliberately, in his original tests after he had treated +himself. + +He was faced with a problem that had to be solved--and there was no +possible solution that he could find. + +No man could face that dilemma forever without going insane. Hawkes +shuddered, trying to picture what would happen if he went mad, and the +wild talents began operating at every whim of his crazed mind! + + * * * * * + +Ellen shouted suddenly, grabbing for the wheel. Hawkes felt himself +tense, and began lifting from the seat of the car. But there was no +visible danger, and Dan was slowing to a halt at the curb, Hawkes' +body dropped back slowly. + +"Dan," Ellen was whispering hoarsely. "Dan, we can't. If we take him +back, they'll find him, and they'll know what he can do. They'll kill +him. Eventually, they'll kill Will!" + +Hawkes started to protest, but Dan's words cut him short. + +"You're right, Sis. They'll wait their time, until he won't know when +to expect it--and then they'll drop an H-bomb on him, if they have to. +That's faster than any nerve impulse!" + +He swung back to face Hawkes, reaching for the door of the car. "Get +out, Will--and get as far away as you can. I'm not going to drive you +to your death. They'll get you eventually, but I won't be the one to +make it easier for them!" + +Hawkes jerked. The old fear came back suddenly. + +_You can't escape! They'll get you. Run! GO!_ + +He screamed, as the golden haze flickered again. He could wipe out the +Earth, but he couldn't survive, then. He could move back in time, but +it would only mean other dangers--no man could stay awake forever, and +he was used to civilized living. + +The haze hesitated, while the sense of danger mounted. Then it was +gone, as if the beast in his head had found no answer. + +Suddenly the gray sedan lifted again, to a height of fifty feet above +the tallest building. It shot forward, hesitated, and came down softly +on a deserted side-road in Central Park. + +His mind felt as if it were going to split. Dan and Ellen stared at +him speechlessly. + +_You can't survive alone! No power is enough by itself! They'll get +you! You are your own death-sentence! RUN! DON'T RUN!_ + +Hawkes put his hand to his splitting skull, trying to force words +through the agonies of pain, while slow understanding began to reach +him. + +"Dan! The scientists ... get me there!" + +Then his mind seemed to clamp down on itself, and he was unconscious. +He could protect himself from almost anything--except his own brain! + + * * * * * + +He was conscious of no pain, but only of irritation. There was a +needle in his arm, and he removed it! + +He opened his eyes slowly, to find himself the center of a group of +men, while a white-clothed doctor stood staring at an empty hand that +must have held a hypodermic. + +Ellen cried out suddenly, and ran to him, cradling his head in her +hands. He found her arm with his own hand, and stroked it slowly. + +"You've found the answer?" he asked. Then he nodded, while the weight +that had lain on him so long began to lift. His voice was suddenly +positive. "You found it!" + +One of the men pushed forward, but Dan shook his head, and came over +to stand beside the cot where Hawkes lay. "No, Will. They didn't find +it--you did! You found what we should have known--your unconscious +mind may be a wild beast, but it isn't insane. When it was shocked +into realizing that it couldn't save you by itself, it looked for help +from your consciousness. And then it knocked you out--knocked itself +out--until we could work on you." + +"I guessed it," Hawkes said slowly. "But in that case, a psychotic +with his id out in the driver's seat should become normal when they +lock him up. Or wait--maybe his unconsciousness is a bit insane. +Maybe. But you still have to communicate with that unconscious part of +the brain, to make it understand that it has to surrender. And all the +psychiatrists have been driving themselves crazy trying to solve +that!" + +"_Touche_," an older man said, and there was a faint sound of +amusement from some of the others. "But this psi factor is the means +of communication! You told us that yourself, while you were undergoing +our hastily improvised hypnotic education of your brain. It always has +been. The minute a girl bothered with poltergeists finds she is the +cause of them, they stop. It's a faint, weak channel between +consciousness and unconsciousness--or subconsciousness, if you prefer. +And yours was widened by the treatment, even if it wasn't ready to +work yet. We simply used your own technique to improve the +relationship. All you ever needed was a longer, harder treatment than +you and Meinzer had given yourselves. You just stopped too soon." + + * * * * * + +Hawkes dropped back comfortably onto the cot. He reached out for a +glass of water, lifted it to his lips, and put it back--without using +his hands. He thought of his clothes, and they were suddenly on him, +over the single white garment he had been wearing. Another thought +took that away, to leave him normally dressed. + +Whether they were entirely correct or not in their theories, the psi +factor was no longer wild. He had it under full control! + +He sat up, just as three men entered the crowded room. One wore the +uniform of a four-star general, but the familiar faces of the two +civilians told Hawkes at once that they were more important than any +general could be. + +He was about to become officially the National Arsenal and replacement +for all the armies, navies, and air-corps they had ever dreamed of +having. He'd also become their bridge into space, their means of +solving the secrets of the planets, and probably their chief +historical tool, since nothing could ever be secret from him. + +It was going to be a busy life for him and for the others like him who +would now be carefully selected and treated! + +He grinned faintly, as he realized that they didn't know yet just how +important he was. He wasn't going to be a National Resource--he'd be a +World Resource. This power was too great for any local political use, +and no man who had it along with the full correlation of his conscious +and subconscious mind could ever see it any other way. + +But right now, he had other pressing business. He grinned at Ellen. +"You don't mind a small wedding, do you?" he asked. + +She shook her head, beginning to smile. He reached for her hand. This +psi factor was going to be a handy thing to have around, with its +complete control of space and time. + +"I'm taking a two-week honeymoon before we talk business," he told the +approaching three men. "But don't go away. We'll be back in ten +minutes!" + +Honolulu looked lovely in the moonlight, and June was the perfect +month for a wedding. + + * * * * * + + EDITORIAL NOTE: Actually, _Pursuit_ ends where the real + story is just beginning! Disregarding other powers, when men + can move instantly over any distance by simple desire, it's + the beginning of a life and culture totally unrelated to + anything we know. What will it be like? Where should houses + be built--and will they be built? A housewife can have her + dining-room in the mountains and her kitchen in a community + (to simplify and cheapen plumbing, etc.) 10,000 miles away, + or on another planet! There can be no national boundaries, + of course. What happens to the multiplicity of languages? + What happens to government? How do you catch a criminal? How + do you hold him? + + There are endless possibilities, naturally. We're tossing it + open to the readers. You tell us what you think that world + will be like--if you can! We'll print the best letters--and + if the authors want to use this background, we'll buy the + best stories based on it. + + We will not be responsible for mental break-downs, however! + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pursuit, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PURSUIT *** + +***** This file should be named 31587.txt or 31587.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/5/8/31587/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, 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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