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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/32237-h.zip b/32237-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d970462 --- /dev/null +++ b/32237-h.zip diff --git a/32237-h/32237-h.htm b/32237-h/32237-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e633105 --- /dev/null +++ b/32237-h/32237-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1606 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Assassin, by J. F. Bone + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.blockquot1 { + margin-left: 25%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Assassin, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +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: Assassin + +Author: Jesse Franklin Bone + +Illustrator: Ed Emsh + +Release Date: May 3, 2010 [EBook #32237] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASSASSIN *** + + + + +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 If Worlds of Science Fiction February 1958. 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 class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="547" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 800px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="800" height="282" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<h1>ASSASSIN</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>BY J. F. BONE</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3><i>Illustrated by Ed Emsh</i></h3> + +<div class="blockquot1"><p><i>The aliens wooed Earth with gifts, love, patience and +peace.</i><br /> +<i>Who could resist them? After all, no one shoots Santa +Claus!</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="blockquot"> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>he rifle lay comfortably in his hands, a gleaming precision +instrument that exuded a faint odor of gun oil and powder +solvent. It was a perfect specimen of the gunsmith's art, a +semi-automatic rifle with a telescopic sight—a precisely +engineered tool that could hurl death with pinpoint accuracy +for better than half a mile.</p></div> + + + +<p>Daniel Matson eyed the weapon with bleak gray eyes, the eyes of a +hunter framed in the passionless face of an executioner. His blunt +hands were steady as they lifted the gun and tried a dry shot at an +imaginary target. He nodded to himself. He was ready. Carefully he +laid the rifle down on the mattress which covered the floor of his +firing point, and looked out through the hole in the brickwork to the +narrow canyon of the street below.</p> + +<p>The crowd had thickened. It had been gathering since early morning, +and the growing press of spectators had now become solid walls of +people lining the street, packed tightly together on the sidewalks. +Yet despite the fact that there were virtually no police, the crowd +did not overflow into the streets, nor was there any of the pushing +crowding impatience that once attended an assemblage of this sort. +Instead there was a placid tolerance, a spirit of friendly good will, +an ingenuous complaisance that grated on Matson's nerves like the +screeching rasp of a file drawn across the edge of thin metal. He +shivered uncontrollably. It was hard to be a free man in a world of +slaves.</p> + +<p>It was a measure of the Aztlan's triumph that only a bare half-dozen +police 'copters patrolled the empty skies above the parade route. The +aliens had done this—had conquered the world without firing a shot or +speaking a word in anger. They had wooed Earth with understanding +patience and superlative guile—and Earth had fallen into their hands +like a lovesick virgin! There never had been any real opposition, and +what there was had been completely ineffective. Most of those who had +opposed the aliens were out of circulation, imprisoned in correctional +institutions, undergoing rehabilitation. Rehabilitation! a six bit +word for dehumanizing. When those poor devils finished their treatment +with Aztlan brain-washing techniques, they would be just like these +sheep below, with the difference that they would never be able to be +anything else. But these other stupid fools crowding the sidewalks, +waiting to hail their destruction—these were the ones who must be +saved. They—not the martyrs of the underground, were the important +part of humanity.</p> + +<p>A police 'copter windmilled slowly down the avenue toward his hiding +place, the rotating vanes and insect body of the craft starkly +outlined against the jagged backdrop of the city's skyline. He laughed +soundlessly as the susurrating flutter of the rotor blades beat +overhead and died whispering in the distance down the long canyon of +the street. His position had been chosen with care, and was invisible +from air and ground alike. He had selected it months ago, and had +taken considerable pains to conceal its true purpose. But after today +concealment wouldn't matter. If things went as he hoped, the place +might someday become a shrine. The idea amused him.</p> + +<p>Strange, he mused, how events conspire to change a man's career. Seven +years ago he had been a respected and important member of that far +different sort of crowd which had welcomed the visitors from space. +That was a human crowd—half afraid, wholly curious, jostling, noisy, +pushing—a teeming swarm that clustered in a thick disorderly ring +around the silver disc that lay in the center of the International +Airport overlooking Puget Sound. Then—he could have predicted his +career. And none of the predictions would have been true—for none +included a man with a rifle waiting in a blind for the game to +approach within range....</p> + +<p>The Aztlan ship had landed early that July morning, dropping silently +through the overcast covering International Airport. It settled gently +to rest precisely in the center of the junction of the three main +runways of the field, effectively tying up the transcontinental and +transoceanic traffic. Fully five hundred feet in diameter, the giant +ship squatted massively on the runway junction, cracking and buckling +the thick concrete runways under its enormous weight.</p> + +<p>By noon, after the first skepticism had died, and the unbelievable TV +pictures had been flashed to their waiting audience, the crowd began +to gather. All through that hot July morning they came, increasing by +the minute as farther outlying districts poured their curious into the +Airport. By early afternoon, literally hundreds of millions of eyes +were watching the great ship over a world-wide network of television +stations which cancelled their regular programs to give their viewers +an uninterrupted view of the enigmatic craft.</p> + +<p>By mid-morning the sun had burned off the overcast and was shining +with brassy brilliance upon the squads of sweating soldiers from Fort +Lewis, and more sweating squads of blue-clad police from the +metropolitan area of Seattle-Tacoma. The police and soldiery quickly +formed a ring around the ship and cleared a narrow lane around the +periphery, and this they maintained despite the increasing pressure of +the crowd.</p> + +<p>The hours passed and nothing happened. The faint creaking and snapping +sounds as the seamless hull of the vessel warmed its space-chilled +metal in the warmth of the summer sun were lost in the growing +impatience of the crowd. They wanted something to happen. Shouts and +catcalls filled the air as more nervous individuals clamored to +relieve the tension. Off to one side a small group began to clap their +hands rhythmically. The little claque gained recruits, and within +moments the air was riven by the thunder of thousands of palms meeting +in unison. Frightened the crowd might be, but greater than fear was +the desire to see what sort of creatures were inside.</p> + +<p>Matson stood in the cleared area surrounding the ship, a position of +privilege he shared with a few city and state officials and the high +brass from McChord Field, Fort Lewis, and Bremerton Navy Yard. He was +one of the bright young men who had chosen Government Service as a +career, and who, in these days of science-consciousness had risen +rapidly through ability and merit promotions to become the Director of +the Office of Scientific Research while still in his early thirties. A +dedicated man, trained in the bitter school of ideological survival, +he understood what the alien science could mean to this world. Their +knowledge would secure peace in whatever terms the possessors cared to +name, and Matson intended to make sure that his nation was the one +which possessed that knowledge.</p> + +<p>He stood beside a tall scholarly looking man named Roger Thornton, who +was his friend and incidentally the Commissioner of Police for the +Twin City metropolitan area. To a casual eye, their positions should +be reversed, for the lean ascetic Thornton looked far more like the +accepted idea of a scientist than burly, thick shouldered, square +faced Matson, whose every movement shouted Cop.</p> + +<p>Matson glanced quizzically at the taller man. "Well, Roger, I wonder +how long those birds inside are going to keep us waiting before we get +a look at them?"</p> + +<p>"You'd be surprised if they really were birds, wouldn't you?" Thornton +asked with a faint smile. "But seriously, I hope it isn't too much +longer. This mob is giving the boys a bad time." He looked anxiously +at the strained line of police and soldiery. "I guess I should have +ordered out the night shift and reserves instead of just the riot +squad. From the looks of things they'll be needed if this crowd gets +any more unruly."</p> + +<p>Matson chuckled. "You're an alarmist," he said mildly. "As far as I +can see they're doing all right. I'm not worried about them—or the +crowd, for that matter. The thing that's bothering me is my feet. I've +been standing on 'em for six hours and they're killing me!"</p> + +<p>"Mine too," Thornton sighed. "Tell you what I'll do. When this is all +over I'll split a bucket of hot water and a pint of arnica with you."</p> + +<p>"It's a deal," Matson said.</p> + +<p>As he spoke a deep musical hum came from inside the ship, and a +section of the rim beside him separated along invisible lines of +juncture, swinging downward to form a broad ramp leading upward to a +square orifice in the rim of the ship. A bright shadowless light that +seemed to come from the metal walls of the opening framed the shape of +the star traveller who stood there, rigidly erect, looking over the +heads of the section of the crowd before him.</p> + +<p>A concerted gasp of awe and admiration rose from the crowd—a gasp +that was echoed throughout the entire ring that surrounded the ship. +There must be other openings like this one, Matson thought dully as he +stared at the being from space. Behind him an Army tank rumbled +noisily on its treads as it drove through the crowd toward the ship, +the long gun in its turret lifting like an alert finger to point at +the figure of the alien.</p> + +<p>The stranger didn't move from his unnaturally stiff position. His +oddly luminous eyes never wavered from their fixed stare at a point +far beyond the outermost fringes of the crowd. Seven feet tall, +obviously masculine, he differed from mankind only in minor details. +His long slender hands lacked the little finger, and his waist was +abnormally small. Other than that, he was human in external +appearance. A wide sleeved tunic of metallic fabric covered his upper +body, gathered in at his narrow waist by a broad metal belt studded +with tiny bosses. The tunic ended halfway between hip and knee, +revealing powerfully muscled legs encased in silvery hose. Bright +yellow hair hung to his shoulders, clipped short in a square bang +across his forehead. His face was long, clean featured and +extraordinarily calm—almost godlike in its repose. Matson stared, +fascinated. He had the curious impression that the visitor had +stepped bodily out of the Middle Ages. His dress and haircut were +almost identical with that of a medieval courtier.</p> + +<p>The starman raised his hand—his strangely luminous steel gray eyes +scanned the crowd—and into Matson's mind came a wave of peaceful +calm, a warm feeling of goodwill and brotherhood, an indescribable +feeling of soothing relaxation. With an odd sense of shock Matson +realized that he was not the only one to experience this. As far back +as the farthest hangers-on near the airport gates the tenseness of the +waiting crowd relaxed. The effect was amazing! Troops lowered their +weapons with shamefaced smiles on their faces. Police relaxed their +sweating vigilance. The crowd stirred, moving backward to give its +members room. The emotion-charged atmosphere vanished as though it had +never been. And a cold chill played icy fingers up the spine of Daniel +Matson. He had felt the full impact of the alien's projection, and he +was more frightened than he had ever been in his life!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>hey had been clever—damnably clever! That initial greeting with its +disarming undertones of empathy and innocence had accomplished its +purpose. It had emasculated Mankind's natural suspicion of strangers. +And their subsequent actions—so beautifully timed—so careful to +avoid the slightest hint of evil, had completed what their +magnificently staged appearance had begun.</p> + +<p>The feeling of trust had persisted. It lasted through quarantine, +clearance, the public receptions, and the private meetings with +scientists and the heads of government. It had persisted unabated +through the entire two months they remained in the Twin City area. The +aliens remained as they had been in the beginning—completely +unspoiled by the interest shown in them. They remained simple, +unaffected, and friendly, displaying an ingenuous innocence that +demanded a corresponding faith in return.</p> + +<p>Most of their time was spent at the University of Washington, where at +their own request they were studied by curious scholars, and in return +were given courses in human history and behavior. They were quite +frank about their reasons for following such a course of +action—according to their spokesman Ixtl they wanted to learn human +ways in order to make a better impression when they visited the rest +of Mankind. Matson read that blurb in an official press release and +laughed cynically. Better impression, hah! They couldn't have done any +better if they had an entire corps of public relations specialists +assisting them! They struck exactly the right note—and how could they +improve on perfection?</p> + +<p>From the beginning they left their great ship open and unguarded while +they commuted back and forth from the airport to the campus. And +naturally the government quickly rectified the second error and took +instant advantage of the first. A guard was posted around the ship to +keep it clear of the unofficially curious, while the officially +curious combed the vessel's interior with a fine tooth comb. Teams of +scientists and technicians under Matson's direction swarmed through +the ship, searching with the most advanced methods of human science +for the secrets of the aliens.</p> + +<p>They quickly discovered that while the star travellers might be +trusting, they were not exactly fools. There was nothing about the +impenetrably shielded mechanisms that gave the slightest clue as to +their purpose or to the principles upon which they operated—nor were +there any visible controls. The ship was as blankly uncommunicative as +a brick wall.</p> + +<p>Matson was annoyed. He had expected more than this, and his +frustration drove him to watch the aliens closely. He followed them, +sat in on their sessions with the scholars at the University, watched +them at their frequent public appearances, and came to know them well +enough to recognize the microscopic differences that made them +individuals. To the casual eye they were as alike as peas in a pod, +but Matson could separate Farn from Quicha, and Laz from Acana—and +Ixtl—well he would have stood out from the others in any +circumstances. But Matson never intruded. He was content to sit in the +background and observe.</p> + +<p>And what he saw bothered him. They gave him no reason for their +appearance on Earth, and whenever the question came up Ixtl parried it +adroitly. They were obviously not explorers for they displayed a +startling familiarity with Earth's geography and ecology. They were +possibly ambassadors, although they behaved like no ambassadors he had +ever seen. They might be traders, although what they would trade only +God and the aliens knew—and neither party was in a talking mood. +Mysteries bothered Matson. He didn't like them. But they could keep +their mystery if he could only have the technical knowledge that was +concealed beneath their beautifully shaped skulls.</p> + +<p>At that, he had to admit that their appearance had come at precisely +the right time. No one better than he knew how close Mankind had been +to the final war, when the last two major antagonists on Earth were +girding their human and industrial power for a final showdown. But the +aliens had become a diversion. The impending war was forgotten while +men waited to see what was coming next. It was obvious that the +starmen had a reason for being here, and until they chose to reveal +it, humanity would forget its deadly problems in anticipation of the +answer to this delightful puzzle that had come to them from outer +space. Matson was thankful for the breathing space, all too well aware +that it might be the last that Mankind might have, but the enigma of +the aliens still bothered him.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>He was walking down the main corridor of the Physics Building on the +University campus, wondering as he constantly did about how he could +extract some useful knowledge from the aliens when a quiet voice +speaking accentless English sounded behind him.</p> + +<p>"What precisely do you wish to know, Dr. Matson?" the voice said.</p> + +<p>Matson whirled to face the questioner, and looked into the face of +Ixtl. The alien was smiling, apparently pleased at having startled +him. "What gave you the idea that I wanted to know anything?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"You did," Ixtl said. "We all have been conscious of your thoughts for +many days. Forgive me for intruding, but I must. Your speculations +radiate on such a broad band that we cannot help being aware of them. +It has been quite difficult for us to study your customs and history +with this high level background noise. We are aware of your interest, +but your thoughts are so confused that we have never found questions +we could answer. If you would be more specific we would be happy to +give you the information which you seek."</p> + +<p>"Oh yeah!" Matson thought.</p> + +<p>"Of course. It would be to our advantage to have your disturbing +speculations satisfied and your fears set at rest. We could accomplish +more in a calmer environment. It is too bad that you do not receive as +strongly as you transmit. If you did, direct mental contact would +convince you that our reasons for satisfying you are good. But you +need not fear us, Earthman. We intend you no harm. Indeed, we plan to +help you once we learn enough to formulate a proper program."</p> + +<p>"I do not fear you," Matson said—knowing that he lied.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not consciously," Ixtl said graciously, "but nevertheless +fear is in you. It is too bad—and besides," he continued with a faint +smile "it is very uncomfortable. Your glandular emotions are quite +primitive, and very disturbing."</p> + +<p>"I'll try to keep them under control," Matson said dryly.</p> + +<p>"Physical control is not enough. With you there would have to be +mental control as well. Unfortunately you radiate much more strongly +than your fellow men, and we are unable to shut you out without +exerting considerable effort that could better be employed elsewhere." +The alien eyed Matson speculatively. "There you go again," he said. +"Now you're angry."</p> + +<p>Matson tried to force his mind to utter blankness, and the alien +smiled at him. "It does some good—but not much," he said. "Conscious +control is never perfect."</p> + +<p>"Well then, what can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Go away. Your range fortunately is short."</p> + +<p>Matson looked at the alien. "Not yet," he said coldly. "I'm still +looking for something."</p> + +<p>"Our technology," Ixtl nodded. "I know. However I can assure you it +will be of no help to you. You simply do not have the necessary +background. Our science is based upon a completely different +philosophy from yours."</p> + +<p>To Matson the terms were contradictory.</p> + +<p>"Not as much as you think," Ixtl continued imperturbably. "As you will +find out, I was speaking quite precisely." He paused and eyed Matson +thoughtfully. "It seems as though the only way to remove your +disturbing presence is to show you that our technology is of no help +to you. I will make a bargain with you. We shall show you our +machines, and in return you will stop harassing us. We will do all in +our power to make you understand; but whether you do or do not, you +will promise to leave and allow us to continue our studies in peace. +Is that agreeable?"</p> + +<p>Matson swallowed the lump in his throat. Here it was—handed to him on +a silver platter—and suddenly he wasn't sure that he wanted it!</p> + +<p>"It is," he said. After all, it was all he could expect.</p> + +<p>They met that night at the spaceship. The aliens, tall, calm and cool; +Matson stocky, heavy-set and sweating. The contrast was infernally +sharp, Matson thought. It was as if a primitive savage were meeting a +group of nuclear physicists at Los Alamos. For some unknown reason he +felt ashamed that he had forced these people to his wishes. But the +aliens were pleasant about it. They took the imposition in their usual +friendly way.</p> + +<p>"Now," Ixtl said. "Exactly what do you want to see—to know?"</p> + +<p>"First of all, what is the principle of your space drive?"</p> + +<p>"There are two," the alien said. "The drive that moves this ship in +normal space time is derived from Lurgil's Fourth Order equations +concerning the release of subatomic energy in a restricted space time +continuum. Now don't protest! I know you know nothing of Lurgil, nor +of Fourth Order equations. And while I can show you the mathematics, +I'm afraid they will be of little help. You see, our Fourth Order is +based upon a process which you would call Psychomathematics and that +is something I am sure you have not yet achieved."</p> + +<p>Matson shook his head. "I never heard of it," he admitted.</p> + +<p>"The second drive operates in warped space time," Ixtl continued, +"hyperspace in your language, and its theory is much more difficult +than that of our normal drive, although its application is quite +simple, merely involving apposition of congruent surfaces of hyper and +normal space at stress points in the ether where high gravitational +fields balance. Navigation in hyperspace is done by electronic +computer—somewhat more advanced models than yours. However, I can't +give you the basis behind the hyperspace drive." Ixtl smiled +depreciatingly. "You see, I don't know them myself. Only a few of the +most advanced minds of Aztlan can understand. We merely operate the +machines."</p> + +<p>Matson shrugged. He had expected something like this. Now they would +stall him off about the machines after handing him a fast line of +double-talk.</p> + +<p>"As I said," Ixtl went on, "there is no basis for understanding. +Still, if it will satisfy you, we will show you our machines—and the +mathematics that created them although I doubt that you will learn +anything more from them than you have from our explanation."</p> + +<p>"I could try," Matson said grimly.</p> + +<p>"Very well," Ixtl replied.</p> + +<p>He led the way into the center of the ship where the seamless housings +stood, the housings that had baffled some of the better minds of +Earth. Matson watched while the star men proceeded to be helpful. The +housings fell apart at invisible lines of juncture, revealing +mechanisms of baffling simplicity, and some things that didn't look +like machines at all. The aliens stripped the strange devices and Ixtl +attempted to explain. They had anti-gravity, forcefields, faster than +light drive, and advanced design computers that could be packed in a +suitcase. There were weird devices whose components seemed to run out +of sight at crazily impossible angles, other things that rotated +frictionlessly, suspended in fields of pure force, and still others +which his mind could not envisage even after his eyes had seen them. +All about him lay the evidence of a science so advanced and alien that +his brain shrank from the sight, refusing to believe such things +existed. And their math was worse! It began where Einstein left off +and went off at an incomprehensible tangent that involved psychology +and ESP. Matson was lost after the first five seconds!</p> + +<p>Stunned, uncomprehending and deflated, he left the ship. An impression +that he was standing with his toe barely inside the door of knowledge +became a conscious certainty as he walked slowly to his car. The wry +thought crossed his mind that if the aliens were trying to convince +him of his abysmal ignorance, they had succeeded far beyond their +fondest dreams!</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>They certainly had! Matson thought grimly as he selected five +cartridges from the box lying beside him. In fact they had succeeded +too well. They had turned his deflation into antagonism, his ignorance +into distrust. Like a savage, he suspected what he could not +understand. But unlike the true primitive, the emotional distrust +didn't interfere with his ability to reason or to draw logical +inferences from the data which he accumulated. In attempting to +convince, Ixtl had oversold his case.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="19" height="40" /></div> +<p>t was shortly after he had returned to Washington, that the aliens +gave the waiting world the reasons for their appearance on Earth. They +were, they said, members of a very ancient highly evolved culture +called Aztlan. And the Aztlans, long past the need for conquest and +expansion, had turned their mighty science to the help of other, less +fortunate, races in the galaxy. The aliens were, in a sense, +missionaries—one of hundreds of teams travelling the star lanes to +bring the benefits of Aztlan culture to less favored worlds. They +were, they unblushingly admitted, altruists—interested only in +helping others.</p> + +<p>It was pure corn, Matson reflected cynically, but the world lapped it +up and howled for more. After decades of cold war, lukewarm war, and +sporadic outbreaks of violence, that were inevitably building to +atomic destruction, men were willing to try anything that would ease +the continual burden of strain and worry. To Mankind, the Aztlans' +words were as refreshing as a cool breeze of hope in a desert of +despair.</p> + +<p>And the world got what it wanted.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Quite suddenly the aliens left the Northwest, and accompanied by +protective squads of FBI and Secret Service began to cross the nation. +Taking widely separated paths they visited cities, towns, and farms, +exhibiting the greatest curiosity about the workings of human +civilization. And, in turn, they were examined by hordes of hopeful +humans. Everywhere they went, they spread their message of good will +and hope backed by the incredibly convincing power of their telepathic +minds. Behind them, they left peace and hopeful calm; before them, +anticipation mounted. It rose to a crescendo in New York where the +paths of the star men met.</p> + +<p>The Aztlans invaded the United Nations. They spoke to the General +Assembly and the Security Council, were interviewed by the secretariat +and reporters from a hundred foreign lands. They told their story with +such conviction that even the Communist bloc failed to raise an +objection, which was as amazing to the majority of the delegates as +the fact of the star men themselves. Altruism, it seemed, had no +conflict with dialectic materialism. The aliens offered a watered-down +variety of their technology to the peoples of Earth with no strings +attached, and the governments of Earth accepted with open hands, much +as a small boy accepts a cookie from his mother. It was impossible for +men to resist the lure of something for nothing, particularly when it +was offered by such people as the Aztlans. After all, Matson reflected +bitterly, nobody shoots Santa Claus!</p> + +<p>From every nation in the world came invitations to the aliens to visit +their lands. The star men cheerfully accepted. They moved across +Europe, Asia, and Africa—visited South America, Central America, the +Middle East and Oceania. No country escaped them. They absorbed +languages, learned customs, and spread good will. Everywhere they went +relaxation followed in their footsteps, and throughout the world arose +a realization of the essential brotherhood of man.</p> + +<p>It took nearly three years of continual travelling before the aliens +again assembled at UN headquarters to begin the second part of their +promised plan—to give their science to Earth. And men waited with +calm expectation for the dawn of Golden Age.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Matson's lips twisted. Fools! Blind, stupid fools! Selling their +birthright for a mess of pottage! He shifted the rifle across his +knees and began filling the magazine with cartridges. He felt an empty +loneliness as he closed the action over the filled magazine and turned +the safety to "on". There was no comforting knowledge of support and +sympathy to sustain him in what he was about to do. There was no real +hope that there ever would be. His was a voice crying in the +wilderness, a voice that was ignored—as it had been when he visited +the President of the United States....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="43" height="40" /></div> +<p>atson entered the White House, presented his appointment card, and +was ushered past ice-eyed Secret Service men into the presidential +office. It was as close as he had ever been to the Chief Executive, +and he stared with polite curiosity across the width of desk which +separated them.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to see you about the Aztlan business," the President began +without preamble. "You were there when their ship landed, and you are +also one of the few men in the country who has seen them alone. In +addition, your office will probably be handling the bulk of our +requests in regard to the offer they made yesterday in the UN. You're +in a favorable spot." The President smiled and shrugged. "I wanted to +talk with you sooner, but business and routine play the devil with +one's desires in this office.</p> + +<p>"Now tell me," he continued, "your impression of these people."</p> + +<p>"They're an enigma," Matson said flatly. "To tell the truth, I can't +figure them out." He ran his fingers through his hair with a worried +gesture. "I'm supposed to be a pretty fair physicist, and I've had +quite a bit of training in the social sciences, but both the +mechanisms and the psychology of these Aztlans are beyond my +comprehension. All I can say for sure is that they're as far beyond us +as we are beyond the cavemen. In fact, we have so little in common +that I can't think of a single reason why they would want to stay +here, and the fact that they do only adds to my confusion."</p> + +<p>"But you must have learned something," the President said.</p> + +<p>"Oh we've managed to collect data," Matson replied. "But there's a lot +of difference between data and knowledge."</p> + +<p>"I can appreciate that, but I'd still like to know what you think. +Your opinion could have some weight."</p> + +<p>Matson doubted it. His opinions were contrary to those of the +majority. Still, the Chief asked for it—and he might possibly have an +open mind. It was a chance worth taking.</p> + +<p>"Well, Sir, I suppose you've heard of the so-called "wild talents" +some of our own people occasionally possess?"</p> + +<p>The President nodded.</p> + +<p>"It is my belief," Matson continued, "that the Aztlans possess these +to a far greater degree than we do, and that their science is based +upon them. They have something which they call psychomathematics, +which by definition is the mathematics of the mind, and this seems to +be the basis of their physical science. I saw their machines, and I +must confess that their purpose baffled me until I realized that they +must be mechanisms for amplifying their own natural equipment. We know +little or nothing about psi phenomena, so it is no wonder I couldn't +figure them out. As a matter of fact we've always treated psi as +something that shouldn't be mentioned in polite scientific +conversation."</p> + +<p>The President grinned. "I always thought you boys had your blind +spots."</p> + +<p>"We do—but when we're confronted with a fact, we try to find out +something about it—that is if the fact hits us hard enough, often +enough."</p> + +<p>"Well, you've been hit hard and often," the President chuckled, "What +did you find out?"</p> + +<p>"Facts," Matson said grimly, "just facts. Things that could be +determined by observation and measurement. We know that the aliens are +telepathic. We also know that they have a form of ESP—or perhaps a +recognition of danger would be a better term—and we know its range is +somewhat over a third of a mile. We know that they're telekinetic. The +lack of visible controls in their ship would tell us that, even if we +hadn't seen them move small objects at a distance. We know that they +have eidetic memories, and that they can reason on an extremely high +level. Other than that we know nothing. We don't even know their +physical structure. We've tried X-ray but they're radio-opaque. We've +tried using some human sensitives from the Rhine Institute, but +they're unable to get anywhere. They just turn empathic in the aliens' +presence, and when we get them back, they do nothing but babble about +the beauty of the Aztlan soul."</p> + +<p>"Considering the difficulties, you haven't done too badly," the +President said. "I take it then, that you're convinced that they are +an advanced life form. But do you think they're sincere in their +attitude toward us?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they're sincere enough," Matson said. "The only trouble is that +we don't know just what they're sincere about. You see, sir, we are in +the position of a savage to whom a trader brings the luxuries of +civilization. To the savage, the trader may represent purest altruism, +giving away such valuable things as glass beads and machine made cloth +for useless pieces of yellow rock and the skins of some native pest. +The savage hasn't the slightest inkling that he's being exploited. By +the time he realizes he's been had, and the yellow rock is gold and +the skins are mink, he has become so dependent upon the goods for +which the trader has whetted his appetite that he inevitably becomes +an economic slave.</p> + +<p>"Of course you can argue that the cloth and beads are far more +valuable to the savage than the gold or mink. But in the last +analysis, value is determined by the higher culture, and by that +standard, the savage gets taken. And ultimately civilization moves in +and the superior culture of the trader's race determines how the +savage will act.</p> + +<p>"Still, the savage has a basis for his acts. He is giving something +for something—making a trade. But we're not even in that position. +The aliens apparently want nothing from us. They have asked for +nothing except our good will, and that isn't a tradable item."</p> + +<p>"But they're altruists!" the President protested.</p> + +<p>"Sir, do you think that they're insane?" Matson asked curiously. "Do +they appear like fanatics to you?"</p> + +<p>"But we can't apply our standards to them. You yourself have said that +their civilization is more advanced than ours."</p> + +<p>"Whose standards can we apply?" Matson asked. "If not ours, then +whose? The only standards that we can possibly apply are our own, and +in the entire history of human experience there has never been a +single culture that has had a basis of pure altruism. Such a culture +could not possibly exist. It would be overrun and gobbled up by its +practical neighbors before it drew its first breath.</p> + +<p>"We must assume that the culture from which these aliens come has had +a practical basis in its evolutionary history. It could not have risen +full blown and altruistic like Minerva from the brain of Jove. And if +the culture had a practical basis in the past, it logically follows +that it has a practical basis in the present. Such a survival trait as +practicality would probably never be lost no matter how far the Aztlan +race has evolved. Therefore, we must concede that they are practical +people—people who do not give away something for nothing. But the +question still remains—what do they want?</p> + +<p>"Whatever it is, I don't think it is anything from which we will +profit. No matter how good it looks, I am convinced that cooperation +with these aliens will not ultimately be to our advantage. Despite the +reports of every investigative agency in this government, I cannot +believe that any such thing as pure altruism exists in a sane mind. +And whatever I may believe about the Aztlans, I do not think they're +insane."</p> + +<p>The President sighed. "You are a suspicious man, Matson, and perhaps +you are right; but it doesn't matter what you believe—or what I +believe for that matter. This government has decided to accept the +help the Aztlans are so graciously offering. And until the reverse is +proven, we must accept the fact that the star men <i>are</i> altruists, and +work with them on that basis. You will organize your office along +those lines, and extract every gram of information that you can. Even +you must admit that they have knowledge that will improve our American +way of life."</p> + +<p>Matson shook his head doggedly. "I'm afraid, Sir, if you expect Aztlan +science to improve the American way of life, you are going to be +disappointed. It might promote an Aztlan way of life, but the reverse +is hardly possible."</p> + +<p>"It's not my decision," the President said. "My hands are tied. +Congress voted for the deal by acclamation early this morning. I +couldn't veto it even if I wanted to."</p> + +<p>"I cannot cooperate in what I believe is our destruction." Matson said +in a flat voice.</p> + +<p>"Then you have only one course," the President said. "I will be forced +to accept your resignation." He sighed wearily.</p> + +<p>"Personally, I think you're making a mistake. Think it over before +you decide. You're a good man, and Lord knows the government can use +good men. There are far too many fools in politics." He shrugged and +stood up. The interview was over.</p> + +<p>Matson returned to his offices, filled with cold frustration. Even the +President believed he could do nothing, and these shortsighted +politicians who could see nothing more than the immediate gains—there +was a special hell reserved for them. There were too many fools in +politics. However, he would do what he could. His sense of duty was +stronger than his resentment. He would stay on and try to cushion some +of the damage which the Aztlans would inevitably cause, no matter how +innocent their motives. And perhaps the President was right—perhaps +the alien science would bring more good than harm.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f.jpg" alt="F" width="32" height="40" /></div> +<p>or the next two years Matson watched the spread of Aztlan ideas +throughout the world. He saw Aztlan devices bring health, food and +shelter to millions in underprivileged countries, and improve the lot +of those in more favored nations. He watched tyrannies and +authoritarian governments fall under the passive resistance of their +peoples. He saw militarism crumble to impotence as the Aztlan +influence spread through every facet of society, first as a trickle, +then as a steady stream, and finally as a rushing torrent. He saw +Mankind on the brink of a Golden Age—and he was unsatisfied.</p> + +<p>Reason said that the star men were exactly what they claimed to be. +Their every action proved it. Their consistency was perfect, their +motives unimpeachable, and the results of their efforts were +astounding. Life on Earth was becoming pleasant for millions who never +knew the meaning of the word. Living standards improved, and +everywhere men were conscious of a feeling of warmth and brotherhood. +There was no question that the aliens were doing exactly what they +promised.</p> + +<p>But reason also told him that the aliens were subtly and methodically +destroying everything that man had created, turning him from an +individual into a satisfied puppet operated by Aztlan strings. For man +is essentially lazy—always searching for the easier way. Why should +he struggle to find an answer when the Aztlans had discovered it +millennia ago and were perfectly willing to share their knowledge? Why +should he use inept human devices when those of the aliens performed +similar operations with infinitely more ease and efficiency? Why +should he work when all he had to do was ask? There was plan behind +their acts.</p> + +<p>But at that point reason dissolved into pure speculation. Why were +they doing this? Was it merely mistaken kindliness or was there a +deeper more subtle motive? Matson didn't know, and in that lack of +knowledge lay the hell in which he struggled.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>For two years he stayed on with the OSR, watching humanity rush down +an unmarked road to an uncertain future. Then he ran away. He could +take no more of this blind dependence upon alien wisdom. And with the +change in administration that had occurred in the fall elections he no +longer had the sense of personal loyalty to the President which had +kept him working at a job he despised. He wanted no part of this brave +new world the aliens were creating. He wanted to be alone. Like a +hermit of ancient times who abandoned society to seek his soul, Matson +fled to the desert country of the South-west—as far as possible from +the Aztlans and their works.</p> + +<p>The grimly beautiful land toughened his muscles, blackened his skin, +and brought him a measure of peace. Humanity retreated to remoteness +except for Seth Winters, a leathery old-timer he had met on his first +trip into the desert. The acquaintance had ripened to friendship. Seth +furnished a knowledge of the desert country which Matson lacked, and +Matson's money provided the occasional grubstake they needed. For +weeks at a time they never saw another human—and Matson was +satisfied. The world could go its own way. He would go his.</p> + +<p>Running away was the smartest thing he could have done. Others more +brave perhaps, or perhaps less rational—had tried to fight, to form +an underground movement to oppose these altruists from space; but they +were a tiny minority so divided in motives and purpose that they could +not act as a unit. They were never more than a nuisance, and without +popular support they never had a chance. After the failure of a +complicated plot to assassinate the aliens, they were quickly rounded +up and confined. And the aliens continued their work.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Matson shrugged. It was funny how little things could mark mileposts +in a man's life. If he had known of the underground he probably would +have joined it and suffered the same penalty for failure. If he hadn't +fled, if he hadn't met Seth Winters, if he hadn't taken that last trip +into the desert, if any one of a hundred little things had happened +differently he would not be here. That last trip into the desert—he +remembered it as though it were yesterday....</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>The yellow flare of a greasewood fire cast flickering spears of light +into the encircling darkness. Above, in the purplish black vault of +the moonless sky the stars shone down with icy splendor. The air was +quiet, the evening breeze had died, and the stillness of the desert +night pressed softly upon the earth. Far away, muted by distance, came +the ululating wail of a coyote.</p> + +<p>Seth Winters laid another stick of quick-burning greasewood on the +fire and squinted across the smoke at Matson who was lying on his +back, arms crossed behind his head, eyeing the night sky with the +fascination of a dreamer.</p> + +<p>"It's certainly peaceful out here," Matson murmured as he rose to his +feet, stretched, and sat down again looking into the tiny fire.</p> + +<p>"'Tain't nothin' unusual, Dan'l. Not out here it ain't. It's been +plumb peaceful on this here desert nigh onto a million years. An' +why's it peaceful? Mainly 'cuz there ain't too many humans messin' +around in it."</p> + +<p>"Possibly you're right, Seth."</p> + +<p>"Shore I'm right. It jest ain't nacheral fer a bunch of Homo saps to +get together without an argyment startin' somewhere. 'Tain't the +nature of the critter to be peaceable. An' y'know, thet's the part of +this here sweetness an' light between nations that bothers me. Last +time I was in Prescott, I set down an' read six months of +newspapers—an' everything's jest too damn good to be true. Seems like +everybody's gettin' to love everybody else." He shook his head. "The +hull world's as sticky-sweet as molasses candy. It jest ain't +nacheral!"</p> + +<p>"The star men are keeping their word. They said that they would bring +us peace. Isn't that what they're doing?"</p> + +<p>"Shucks Dan'l—that don't give 'em no call to make the world a blasted +honey-pot with everybody bubblin' over with brotherly love. There +ain't no real excitement left. Even the Commies ain't raisin' hell +like they useta. People are gettin' more like a bunch of damn woolies +every day."</p> + +<p>"I'll admit that Mankind had herd instincts," Matson replied lazily, +"but I've never thought of them as particularly sheeplike. More like a +wolf pack, I'd say."</p> + +<p>"Wal, there's nothin' wolflike about 'em right now. Look, Dan'l, yuh +know what a wolf pack's like. They're smart, tough, and mean—an' the +old boss wolf is the smartest, toughest, and meanest critter in the +hull pack. The others respect him 'cuz he's proved his ability to +lead. But take a sheep flock now—the bellwether is jest a nice gentle +old castrate thet'll do jest whut the sheepherder wants. He's got no +originality. He's jest a noise thet the rest foller."</p> + +<p>"Could be."</p> + +<p>"It shore is! Jes f'r instance, an' speakin' of bellwethers, have yuh +ever heard of a character called Throckmorton Bixbee?"</p> + +<p>"Can't say I have. He sounds like a nance."</p> + +<p>"Whutever a nance is—he's it! But yuh're talkin' about our next +President, unless all the prophets are wrong. He's jest as bad as his +name. Of all the gutless wonders I've ever heard of that pilgrim takes +the prize. He even looks like a rabbit!"</p> + +<p>"I can see where I had better catch up on some contemporary history," +Matson said. "I've been out in the sticks too long."</p> + +<p>"If yuh know what's good fer yuh, yuh'll stay here. The rest of the +country's goin' t'hell. Brother Bixbee's jest a sample. About the only +thing that'd recommend him is that he's hot fer peace—an' he's got +those furriners' blessing. Seems like those freaks swing a lotta +weight nowadays, an' they ain't shy about tellin' folks who an' what +they favor. They've got bold as brass this past year."</p> + +<p>Matson nodded idly—then stiffened—turning a wide eyed stare on Seth. +A blinding light exploded in his brain as the words sank in. With +crystal clarity he knew the answer! He laughed harshly.</p> + +<p>Winters stared at him with mild surprise. "What's bit yuh, Dan'l?"</p> + +<p>But Matson was completely oblivious, busily buttressing the flash of +inspiration. Sure—that was the only thing it could be! Those aliens +were working on a program—one that was grimly recognizable once his +attention was focussed on it. There must have been considerable +pressure to make them move so fast that a short-lived human could see +what they were planning—but Matson had a good idea of what was +driving them, an atomic war that could decimate the world would be all +the spur they'd need!</p> + +<p>They weren't playing for penny ante stakes. They didn't want to +exploit Mankind. They didn't give a damn about Mankind! To them +humanity was merely an unavoidable nuisance—something to be pushed +aside, to be made harmless and dependent, and ultimately to be quietly +and bloodlessly eliminated. Man's civilization held nothing that the +star men wanted, but man's planet—that was a different story! Truly +the aliens were right when they considered man a savage. Like the +savage, man didn't realize his most valuable possession was his land!</p> + +<p>The peaceful penetration was what had fooled him. Mankind, faced with +a similar situation, and working from a position of overwhelming +strength would have reacted differently. Humanity would have invaded +and conquered. But the aliens had not even considered this obvious +step.</p> + +<p>Why?</p> + +<p>The answer was simple and logical. They couldn't! Even though their +technology was advanced enough to exterminate man with little or no +loss to themselves, combat and slaughter must be repulsive to them. It +had to be. With their telepathic minds they would necessarily have a +pathologic horror of suffering. They were so highly evolved that they +simply couldn't fight—at least not with the weapons of humanity. But +they could use the subtler weapon of altruism!</p> + +<p>And even more important—uncontrolled emotions were poison to them. In +fact Ixtl had admitted it back in Seattle. The primitive psi waves of +humanity's hates, lusts, fears, and exultations must be unbearable +torture to a race long past such animal outbursts. That was—must +be—why they were moving so fast. For their own safety, emotion had to +be damped out of the human race.</p> + +<p>Matson had a faint conception of what the aliens must have suffered +when they first surveyed that crowd at International Airport. No +wonder they looked so strangely immobile at that first contact! The +raw emotion must have nearly killed them! He felt a reluctant stir of +admiration for their courage, for the dedicated bravery needed to face +that crowd and establish a beachhead of tranquility. Those first few +minutes must have had compressed in them the agonies of a lifetime!</p> + +<p>Matson grinned coldly. The aliens were not invulnerable. If Mankind +could be taught to fear and hate them, and if that emotion could be +focussed, they never again would try to take this world. It would be +sheer suicide. As long as Mankind kept its emotions it would be safe +from this sort of invasion. But the problem was to teach Mankind to +fear and hate. Shock would do it, but how could that shock be applied?</p> + +<p>The thought led inevitably to the only possible conclusion. The aliens +would have to be killed, and in such a manner as to make humanity fear +retaliation from the stars. Fear would unite men against a possible +invasion, and fear would force men to reach for the stars to forestall +retribution.</p> + +<p>Matson grinned thinly. Human nature couldn't have changed much these +past years. Even with master psychologists like the Aztlans operating +upon it, changes in emotional pattern would require generations. He +sighed, looked into the anxious face of Seth Winters, and returned to +the reality of the desert night. His course was set. He knew what he +had to do.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> + +<p>e laid the rifle across his knees and opened the little leather box +sewn to the side of the guncase. With precise, careful movements he +removed the silencer and fitted it to the threaded muzzle of the gun. +The bulky, blue excrescence changed the rifle from a thing of beauty +to one of murder. He looked at it distastefully, then shrugged and +stretched out on the mattress, easing the ugly muzzle through the hole +in the brickwork. It wouldn't be long now....</p> + +<p>He glanced upward through the window above him at the Weather Bureau +instruments atop a nearby building. The metal cups of the anemometer +hung motionless against the metallic blue of the sky. No wind stirred +in the deep canyons of the city streets as the sun climbed in blazing +splendor above the towering buildings. He moved a trifle, shifting the +muzzle of the gun until it bore upon the sidewalks. The telescopic +sight picked out faces from the waiting crowd with a crystal clarity. +Everywhere was the same sheeplike placidity. He shuddered, the sights +jumping crazily from one face to another,—wondering if he had +misjudged his race, if he had really come too late, if he had +underestimated the powers of the Aztlans.</p> + +<p>Far down the avenue, an excited hum came to his ears, and the watching +crowd stirred. Faces lighted and Matson sighed. He was not wrong. +Emotion was only suppressed, not vanished. There was still time!</p> + +<p>The aliens were coming. Coming to cap the climax of their pioneer +work, to drive the first nail in humanity's coffin! For the first time +in history man's dream of the brotherhood of man was close to reality.</p> + +<p>And he was about to destroy it! The irony bit into Matson's soul, and +for a moment he hesitated, feeling the wave of tolerance and good will +rising from the street below. Did he have the right to destroy man's +dream? Did he dare tamper with the will of the world? Had he the right +to play God?</p> + +<p>The parade came slowly down the happy street, a kaleidoscope of color +and movement that approached and went past in successive waves and +masses. This was a gala day, this eve of world union! The insigne of +the UN was everywhere. The aliens had used the organization to further +their plans and it was now all-powerful. A solid bank of UN flags led +the van of delegates, smiling and swathed in formal dress, sitting +erect in their black official cars draped with the flags of native +lands that would soon be furled forever if the aliens had their way.</p> + +<p>And behind them came the Aztlans!</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>They rode together, standing on a pure white float, a bar of dazzling +white in a sea of color. All equal, their inhumanly beautiful faces +calm and remote, the Aztlans rode through the joyful crowd. There was +something inspiring about the sight and for a moment, Matson felt a +wave of revulsion sweep through him.</p> + +<p>He sighed and thumbed the safety to "off", pulled the cocking lever +and slid the first cartridge into the breech. He settled himself +drawing a breath of air into his lungs, letting a little dribble out +through slack lips, catching the remainder of the exhalation with +closed glottis. The sights wavered and steadied upon the head of the +center alien, framing the pale noble face with its aureole of golden +hair. The luminous eyes were dull and introspective as the alien tried +to withdraw from the emotions of the crowd. There was no awareness of +danger on the alien's face. At 600 yards he was beyond their esper +range and he was further covered by the feelings of the crowd. The +sights lowered to the broad chest and centered there as Matson's +spatulate fingers took up the slack in the trigger and squeezed softly +and steadily.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>A coruscating glow bathed the bodies of three of the aliens as their +tall forms jerked to the smashing impact of the bullets! Their +metallic tunics melted and sloughed as inner fires ate away the +fragile garments that covered them! Flexible synthetic skin cracked +and curled in the infernal heat, revealing padding, wirelike tendons, +rope-like cords of flexible tubing and a metallic skeleton that melted +and dripped in white hot drops in the heat of atomic flame—</p> + +<p>"Robots!" Matson gasped with sudden blinding realization. "I should +have known! No wonder they seemed inhuman. Their builders would never +dare expose themselves to the furies and conflicts of our emotionally +uncontrolled world!"</p> + +<p>One of the aliens crouched on the float, his four-fingered hands +pressed against a smoking hole in his metal tunic. The smoke thickened +and a yellowish ichor poured out bursting into flame on contact with +the air. The fifth alien, Ixtl, was untouched, standing with hands +widestretched in a gesture that at once held command and appeal.</p> + +<p>Matson reloaded quickly, but held his fire. The swarming crowd +surrounding the alien was too thick for a clear shot and Matson, with +sudden revulsion, was unwilling to risk further murder in a cause +already won. The tall, silver figure of the alien winced and +shuddered, his huge body shaking like a leaf in a storm! His builders +had never designed him to withstand the barrage of focussed emotion +that was sweeping from the crowd. Terror, shock, sympathy, hate, +loathing, grief, and disillusionment—the incredible gamut of human +feelings wrenched and tore at the Aztlan, shorting delicate circuits, +ripping the poised balance of his being as the violent discordant +blasts lanced through him with destroying energy! Ixtl's classic +features twisted in a spasm of inconceivable agony, a thin curl of +smoke drifted from his distorted tragic mask of a mouth as he +crumpled, a pitiful deflated figure against the whiteness of the +float.</p> + +<p>The cries of fear and horror changed their note as the aliens' true +nature dawned upon the crowd. Pride of flesh recoiled as the swarming +humans realized the facts. Revulsion at being led by machines swelled +into raw red rage. The mob madness spread as an ominous growl began +rising from the streets.</p> + +<p>A panicky policeman triggered it, firing his Aztlan-built shock tube +into the forefront of the mob. A dozen men fell, to be trampled by +their neighbors as a swarm of men and women poured over the struggling +officer and buried him from sight. Like wildfire, pent-up emotions +blazed out in a flame of fury. The parade vanished, sucked into the +maelstrom and torn apart. Fists flew, flesh tore, men and women +screamed in high bitter agony as the mob clawed and trampled in a +surging press of writhing forms that filled the street from one line +of buildings to the other.</p> + +<p>Half-mad with triumph, drunk with victory, shocked at the terrible +form that death had taken in coming to Ixtl, Matson raised his +clenched hands to the sky and screamed in a raw inhuman voice, a cry +in which all of man's violence and pride were blended! The spasm +passed as quickly as it came, and with its passing came exhaustion. +The job was done. The aliens were destroyed. Tomorrow would bring +reaction and with it would come fear.</p> + +<p>Tomorrow or the next day man would hammer out a true world union, +spurred by the thought of a retribution that would never come. Yet all +that didn't matter. The important thing—the only important thing—was +preserved. Mankind would have to unite for survival—or so men would +think—and he would never disillusion them. For this was man's world, +and men were again free to work out their own destiny for better or +for worse, without interference, and without help. The golden dream +was over. Man might fail, but if he did he would fail on his own +terms. And if he succeeded—Matson looked up grimly at the shining +sky....</p> + +<p>Slowly he rose to his feet and descended to the raging street below.</p> + +<h3>END</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Assassin, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASSASSIN *** + +***** This file should be named 32237-h.htm or 32237-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/2/3/32237/ + +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: Assassin + +Author: Jesse Franklin Bone + +Illustrator: Ed Emsh + +Release Date: May 3, 2010 [EBook #32237] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASSASSIN *** + + + + +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 If Worlds of Science Fiction February + 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + ASSASSIN + + + BY J. F. BONE + + + _Illustrated by Ed Emsh_ + + + _The aliens wooed Earth with gifts, love, patience and + peace._ + _Who could resist them? After all, no one shoots Santa + Claus!_ + + * * * * * + + + + + The rifle lay comfortably in his hands, a gleaming precision + instrument that exuded a faint odor of gun oil and powder + solvent. It was a perfect specimen of the gunsmith's art, a + semi-automatic rifle with a telescopic sight--a precisely + engineered tool that could hurl death with pinpoint accuracy + for better than half a mile. + +Daniel Matson eyed the weapon with bleak gray eyes, the eyes of a +hunter framed in the passionless face of an executioner. His blunt +hands were steady as they lifted the gun and tried a dry shot at an +imaginary target. He nodded to himself. He was ready. Carefully he +laid the rifle down on the mattress which covered the floor of his +firing point, and looked out through the hole in the brickwork to the +narrow canyon of the street below. + +The crowd had thickened. It had been gathering since early morning, +and the growing press of spectators had now become solid walls of +people lining the street, packed tightly together on the sidewalks. +Yet despite the fact that there were virtually no police, the crowd +did not overflow into the streets, nor was there any of the pushing +crowding impatience that once attended an assemblage of this sort. +Instead there was a placid tolerance, a spirit of friendly good will, +an ingenuous complaisance that grated on Matson's nerves like the +screeching rasp of a file drawn across the edge of thin metal. He +shivered uncontrollably. It was hard to be a free man in a world of +slaves. + +It was a measure of the Aztlan's triumph that only a bare half-dozen +police 'copters patrolled the empty skies above the parade route. The +aliens had done this--had conquered the world without firing a shot or +speaking a word in anger. They had wooed Earth with understanding +patience and superlative guile--and Earth had fallen into their hands +like a lovesick virgin! There never had been any real opposition, and +what there was had been completely ineffective. Most of those who had +opposed the aliens were out of circulation, imprisoned in correctional +institutions, undergoing rehabilitation. Rehabilitation! a six bit +word for dehumanizing. When those poor devils finished their treatment +with Aztlan brain-washing techniques, they would be just like these +sheep below, with the difference that they would never be able to be +anything else. But these other stupid fools crowding the sidewalks, +waiting to hail their destruction--these were the ones who must be +saved. They--not the martyrs of the underground, were the important +part of humanity. + +A police 'copter windmilled slowly down the avenue toward his hiding +place, the rotating vanes and insect body of the craft starkly +outlined against the jagged backdrop of the city's skyline. He laughed +soundlessly as the susurrating flutter of the rotor blades beat +overhead and died whispering in the distance down the long canyon of +the street. His position had been chosen with care, and was invisible +from air and ground alike. He had selected it months ago, and had +taken considerable pains to conceal its true purpose. But after today +concealment wouldn't matter. If things went as he hoped, the place +might someday become a shrine. The idea amused him. + +Strange, he mused, how events conspire to change a man's career. Seven +years ago he had been a respected and important member of that far +different sort of crowd which had welcomed the visitors from space. +That was a human crowd--half afraid, wholly curious, jostling, noisy, +pushing--a teeming swarm that clustered in a thick disorderly ring +around the silver disc that lay in the center of the International +Airport overlooking Puget Sound. Then--he could have predicted his +career. And none of the predictions would have been true--for none +included a man with a rifle waiting in a blind for the game to +approach within range.... + +The Aztlan ship had landed early that July morning, dropping silently +through the overcast covering International Airport. It settled gently +to rest precisely in the center of the junction of the three main +runways of the field, effectively tying up the transcontinental and +transoceanic traffic. Fully five hundred feet in diameter, the giant +ship squatted massively on the runway junction, cracking and buckling +the thick concrete runways under its enormous weight. + +By noon, after the first skepticism had died, and the unbelievable TV +pictures had been flashed to their waiting audience, the crowd began +to gather. All through that hot July morning they came, increasing by +the minute as farther outlying districts poured their curious into the +Airport. By early afternoon, literally hundreds of millions of eyes +were watching the great ship over a world-wide network of television +stations which cancelled their regular programs to give their viewers +an uninterrupted view of the enigmatic craft. + +By mid-morning the sun had burned off the overcast and was shining +with brassy brilliance upon the squads of sweating soldiers from Fort +Lewis, and more sweating squads of blue-clad police from the +metropolitan area of Seattle-Tacoma. The police and soldiery quickly +formed a ring around the ship and cleared a narrow lane around the +periphery, and this they maintained despite the increasing pressure of +the crowd. + +The hours passed and nothing happened. The faint creaking and snapping +sounds as the seamless hull of the vessel warmed its space-chilled +metal in the warmth of the summer sun were lost in the growing +impatience of the crowd. They wanted something to happen. Shouts and +catcalls filled the air as more nervous individuals clamored to +relieve the tension. Off to one side a small group began to clap their +hands rhythmically. The little claque gained recruits, and within +moments the air was riven by the thunder of thousands of palms meeting +in unison. Frightened the crowd might be, but greater than fear was +the desire to see what sort of creatures were inside. + +Matson stood in the cleared area surrounding the ship, a position of +privilege he shared with a few city and state officials and the high +brass from McChord Field, Fort Lewis, and Bremerton Navy Yard. He was +one of the bright young men who had chosen Government Service as a +career, and who, in these days of science-consciousness had risen +rapidly through ability and merit promotions to become the Director of +the Office of Scientific Research while still in his early thirties. A +dedicated man, trained in the bitter school of ideological survival, +he understood what the alien science could mean to this world. Their +knowledge would secure peace in whatever terms the possessors cared to +name, and Matson intended to make sure that his nation was the one +which possessed that knowledge. + +He stood beside a tall scholarly looking man named Roger Thornton, who +was his friend and incidentally the Commissioner of Police for the +Twin City metropolitan area. To a casual eye, their positions should +be reversed, for the lean ascetic Thornton looked far more like the +accepted idea of a scientist than burly, thick shouldered, square +faced Matson, whose every movement shouted Cop. + +Matson glanced quizzically at the taller man. "Well, Roger, I wonder +how long those birds inside are going to keep us waiting before we get +a look at them?" + +"You'd be surprised if they really were birds, wouldn't you?" Thornton +asked with a faint smile. "But seriously, I hope it isn't too much +longer. This mob is giving the boys a bad time." He looked anxiously +at the strained line of police and soldiery. "I guess I should have +ordered out the night shift and reserves instead of just the riot +squad. From the looks of things they'll be needed if this crowd gets +any more unruly." + +Matson chuckled. "You're an alarmist," he said mildly. "As far as I +can see they're doing all right. I'm not worried about them--or the +crowd, for that matter. The thing that's bothering me is my feet. I've +been standing on 'em for six hours and they're killing me!" + +"Mine too," Thornton sighed. "Tell you what I'll do. When this is all +over I'll split a bucket of hot water and a pint of arnica with you." + +"It's a deal," Matson said. + +As he spoke a deep musical hum came from inside the ship, and a +section of the rim beside him separated along invisible lines of +juncture, swinging downward to form a broad ramp leading upward to a +square orifice in the rim of the ship. A bright shadowless light that +seemed to come from the metal walls of the opening framed the shape of +the star traveller who stood there, rigidly erect, looking over the +heads of the section of the crowd before him. + +A concerted gasp of awe and admiration rose from the crowd--a gasp +that was echoed throughout the entire ring that surrounded the ship. +There must be other openings like this one, Matson thought dully as he +stared at the being from space. Behind him an Army tank rumbled +noisily on its treads as it drove through the crowd toward the ship, +the long gun in its turret lifting like an alert finger to point at +the figure of the alien. + +The stranger didn't move from his unnaturally stiff position. His +oddly luminous eyes never wavered from their fixed stare at a point +far beyond the outermost fringes of the crowd. Seven feet tall, +obviously masculine, he differed from mankind only in minor details. +His long slender hands lacked the little finger, and his waist was +abnormally small. Other than that, he was human in external +appearance. A wide sleeved tunic of metallic fabric covered his upper +body, gathered in at his narrow waist by a broad metal belt studded +with tiny bosses. The tunic ended halfway between hip and knee, +revealing powerfully muscled legs encased in silvery hose. Bright +yellow hair hung to his shoulders, clipped short in a square bang +across his forehead. His face was long, clean featured and +extraordinarily calm--almost godlike in its repose. Matson stared, +fascinated. He had the curious impression that the visitor had +stepped bodily out of the Middle Ages. His dress and haircut were +almost identical with that of a medieval courtier. + +The starman raised his hand--his strangely luminous steel gray eyes +scanned the crowd--and into Matson's mind came a wave of peaceful +calm, a warm feeling of goodwill and brotherhood, an indescribable +feeling of soothing relaxation. With an odd sense of shock Matson +realized that he was not the only one to experience this. As far back +as the farthest hangers-on near the airport gates the tenseness of the +waiting crowd relaxed. The effect was amazing! Troops lowered their +weapons with shamefaced smiles on their faces. Police relaxed their +sweating vigilance. The crowd stirred, moving backward to give its +members room. The emotion-charged atmosphere vanished as though it had +never been. And a cold chill played icy fingers up the spine of Daniel +Matson. He had felt the full impact of the alien's projection, and he +was more frightened than he had ever been in his life! + + * * * * * + +They had been clever--damnably clever! That initial greeting with its +disarming undertones of empathy and innocence had accomplished its +purpose. It had emasculated Mankind's natural suspicion of strangers. +And their subsequent actions--so beautifully timed--so careful to +avoid the slightest hint of evil, had completed what their +magnificently staged appearance had begun. + +The feeling of trust had persisted. It lasted through quarantine, +clearance, the public receptions, and the private meetings with +scientists and the heads of government. It had persisted unabated +through the entire two months they remained in the Twin City area. The +aliens remained as they had been in the beginning--completely +unspoiled by the interest shown in them. They remained simple, +unaffected, and friendly, displaying an ingenuous innocence that +demanded a corresponding faith in return. + +Most of their time was spent at the University of Washington, where at +their own request they were studied by curious scholars, and in return +were given courses in human history and behavior. They were quite +frank about their reasons for following such a course of +action--according to their spokesman Ixtl they wanted to learn human +ways in order to make a better impression when they visited the rest +of Mankind. Matson read that blurb in an official press release and +laughed cynically. Better impression, hah! They couldn't have done any +better if they had an entire corps of public relations specialists +assisting them! They struck exactly the right note--and how could they +improve on perfection? + +From the beginning they left their great ship open and unguarded while +they commuted back and forth from the airport to the campus. And +naturally the government quickly rectified the second error and took +instant advantage of the first. A guard was posted around the ship to +keep it clear of the unofficially curious, while the officially +curious combed the vessel's interior with a fine tooth comb. Teams of +scientists and technicians under Matson's direction swarmed through +the ship, searching with the most advanced methods of human science +for the secrets of the aliens. + +They quickly discovered that while the star travellers might be +trusting, they were not exactly fools. There was nothing about the +impenetrably shielded mechanisms that gave the slightest clue as to +their purpose or to the principles upon which they operated--nor were +there any visible controls. The ship was as blankly uncommunicative as +a brick wall. + +Matson was annoyed. He had expected more than this, and his +frustration drove him to watch the aliens closely. He followed them, +sat in on their sessions with the scholars at the University, watched +them at their frequent public appearances, and came to know them well +enough to recognize the microscopic differences that made them +individuals. To the casual eye they were as alike as peas in a pod, +but Matson could separate Farn from Quicha, and Laz from Acana--and +Ixtl--well he would have stood out from the others in any +circumstances. But Matson never intruded. He was content to sit in the +background and observe. + +And what he saw bothered him. They gave him no reason for their +appearance on Earth, and whenever the question came up Ixtl parried it +adroitly. They were obviously not explorers for they displayed a +startling familiarity with Earth's geography and ecology. They were +possibly ambassadors, although they behaved like no ambassadors he had +ever seen. They might be traders, although what they would trade only +God and the aliens knew--and neither party was in a talking mood. +Mysteries bothered Matson. He didn't like them. But they could keep +their mystery if he could only have the technical knowledge that was +concealed beneath their beautifully shaped skulls. + +At that, he had to admit that their appearance had come at precisely +the right time. No one better than he knew how close Mankind had been +to the final war, when the last two major antagonists on Earth were +girding their human and industrial power for a final showdown. But the +aliens had become a diversion. The impending war was forgotten while +men waited to see what was coming next. It was obvious that the +starmen had a reason for being here, and until they chose to reveal +it, humanity would forget its deadly problems in anticipation of the +answer to this delightful puzzle that had come to them from outer +space. Matson was thankful for the breathing space, all too well aware +that it might be the last that Mankind might have, but the enigma of +the aliens still bothered him. + + +He was walking down the main corridor of the Physics Building on the +University campus, wondering as he constantly did about how he could +extract some useful knowledge from the aliens when a quiet voice +speaking accentless English sounded behind him. + +"What precisely do you wish to know, Dr. Matson?" the voice said. + +Matson whirled to face the questioner, and looked into the face of +Ixtl. The alien was smiling, apparently pleased at having startled +him. "What gave you the idea that I wanted to know anything?" he +asked. + +"You did," Ixtl said. "We all have been conscious of your thoughts for +many days. Forgive me for intruding, but I must. Your speculations +radiate on such a broad band that we cannot help being aware of them. +It has been quite difficult for us to study your customs and history +with this high level background noise. We are aware of your interest, +but your thoughts are so confused that we have never found questions +we could answer. If you would be more specific we would be happy to +give you the information which you seek." + +"Oh yeah!" Matson thought. + +"Of course. It would be to our advantage to have your disturbing +speculations satisfied and your fears set at rest. We could accomplish +more in a calmer environment. It is too bad that you do not receive as +strongly as you transmit. If you did, direct mental contact would +convince you that our reasons for satisfying you are good. But you +need not fear us, Earthman. We intend you no harm. Indeed, we plan to +help you once we learn enough to formulate a proper program." + +"I do not fear you," Matson said--knowing that he lied. + +"Perhaps not consciously," Ixtl said graciously, "but nevertheless +fear is in you. It is too bad--and besides," he continued with a faint +smile "it is very uncomfortable. Your glandular emotions are quite +primitive, and very disturbing." + +"I'll try to keep them under control," Matson said dryly. + +"Physical control is not enough. With you there would have to be +mental control as well. Unfortunately you radiate much more strongly +than your fellow men, and we are unable to shut you out without +exerting considerable effort that could better be employed elsewhere." +The alien eyed Matson speculatively. "There you go again," he said. +"Now you're angry." + +Matson tried to force his mind to utter blankness, and the alien +smiled at him. "It does some good--but not much," he said. "Conscious +control is never perfect." + +"Well then, what can I do?" + +"Go away. Your range fortunately is short." + +Matson looked at the alien. "Not yet," he said coldly. "I'm still +looking for something." + +"Our technology," Ixtl nodded. "I know. However I can assure you it +will be of no help to you. You simply do not have the necessary +background. Our science is based upon a completely different +philosophy from yours." + +To Matson the terms were contradictory. + +"Not as much as you think," Ixtl continued imperturbably. "As you will +find out, I was speaking quite precisely." He paused and eyed Matson +thoughtfully. "It seems as though the only way to remove your +disturbing presence is to show you that our technology is of no help +to you. I will make a bargain with you. We shall show you our +machines, and in return you will stop harassing us. We will do all in +our power to make you understand; but whether you do or do not, you +will promise to leave and allow us to continue our studies in peace. +Is that agreeable?" + +Matson swallowed the lump in his throat. Here it was--handed to him on +a silver platter--and suddenly he wasn't sure that he wanted it! + +"It is," he said. After all, it was all he could expect. + +They met that night at the spaceship. The aliens, tall, calm and cool; +Matson stocky, heavy-set and sweating. The contrast was infernally +sharp, Matson thought. It was as if a primitive savage were meeting a +group of nuclear physicists at Los Alamos. For some unknown reason he +felt ashamed that he had forced these people to his wishes. But the +aliens were pleasant about it. They took the imposition in their usual +friendly way. + +"Now," Ixtl said. "Exactly what do you want to see--to know?" + +"First of all, what is the principle of your space drive?" + +"There are two," the alien said. "The drive that moves this ship in +normal space time is derived from Lurgil's Fourth Order equations +concerning the release of subatomic energy in a restricted space time +continuum. Now don't protest! I know you know nothing of Lurgil, nor +of Fourth Order equations. And while I can show you the mathematics, +I'm afraid they will be of little help. You see, our Fourth Order is +based upon a process which you would call Psychomathematics and that +is something I am sure you have not yet achieved." + +Matson shook his head. "I never heard of it," he admitted. + +"The second drive operates in warped space time," Ixtl continued, +"hyperspace in your language, and its theory is much more difficult +than that of our normal drive, although its application is quite +simple, merely involving apposition of congruent surfaces of hyper and +normal space at stress points in the ether where high gravitational +fields balance. Navigation in hyperspace is done by electronic +computer--somewhat more advanced models than yours. However, I can't +give you the basis behind the hyperspace drive." Ixtl smiled +depreciatingly. "You see, I don't know them myself. Only a few of the +most advanced minds of Aztlan can understand. We merely operate the +machines." + +Matson shrugged. He had expected something like this. Now they would +stall him off about the machines after handing him a fast line of +double-talk. + +"As I said," Ixtl went on, "there is no basis for understanding. +Still, if it will satisfy you, we will show you our machines--and the +mathematics that created them although I doubt that you will learn +anything more from them than you have from our explanation." + +"I could try," Matson said grimly. + +"Very well," Ixtl replied. + +He led the way into the center of the ship where the seamless housings +stood, the housings that had baffled some of the better minds of +Earth. Matson watched while the star men proceeded to be helpful. The +housings fell apart at invisible lines of juncture, revealing +mechanisms of baffling simplicity, and some things that didn't look +like machines at all. The aliens stripped the strange devices and Ixtl +attempted to explain. They had anti-gravity, forcefields, faster than +light drive, and advanced design computers that could be packed in a +suitcase. There were weird devices whose components seemed to run out +of sight at crazily impossible angles, other things that rotated +frictionlessly, suspended in fields of pure force, and still others +which his mind could not envisage even after his eyes had seen them. +All about him lay the evidence of a science so advanced and alien that +his brain shrank from the sight, refusing to believe such things +existed. And their math was worse! It began where Einstein left off +and went off at an incomprehensible tangent that involved psychology +and ESP. Matson was lost after the first five seconds! + +Stunned, uncomprehending and deflated, he left the ship. An impression +that he was standing with his toe barely inside the door of knowledge +became a conscious certainty as he walked slowly to his car. The wry +thought crossed his mind that if the aliens were trying to convince +him of his abysmal ignorance, they had succeeded far beyond their +fondest dreams! + + +They certainly had! Matson thought grimly as he selected five +cartridges from the box lying beside him. In fact they had succeeded +too well. They had turned his deflation into antagonism, his ignorance +into distrust. Like a savage, he suspected what he could not +understand. But unlike the true primitive, the emotional distrust +didn't interfere with his ability to reason or to draw logical +inferences from the data which he accumulated. In attempting to +convince, Ixtl had oversold his case. + + * * * * * + +It was shortly after he had returned to Washington, that the aliens +gave the waiting world the reasons for their appearance on Earth. They +were, they said, members of a very ancient highly evolved culture +called Aztlan. And the Aztlans, long past the need for conquest and +expansion, had turned their mighty science to the help of other, less +fortunate, races in the galaxy. The aliens were, in a sense, +missionaries--one of hundreds of teams travelling the star lanes to +bring the benefits of Aztlan culture to less favored worlds. They +were, they unblushingly admitted, altruists--interested only in +helping others. + +It was pure corn, Matson reflected cynically, but the world lapped it +up and howled for more. After decades of cold war, lukewarm war, and +sporadic outbreaks of violence, that were inevitably building to +atomic destruction, men were willing to try anything that would ease +the continual burden of strain and worry. To Mankind, the Aztlans' +words were as refreshing as a cool breeze of hope in a desert of +despair. + +And the world got what it wanted. + + +Quite suddenly the aliens left the Northwest, and accompanied by +protective squads of FBI and Secret Service began to cross the nation. +Taking widely separated paths they visited cities, towns, and farms, +exhibiting the greatest curiosity about the workings of human +civilization. And, in turn, they were examined by hordes of hopeful +humans. Everywhere they went, they spread their message of good will +and hope backed by the incredibly convincing power of their telepathic +minds. Behind them, they left peace and hopeful calm; before them, +anticipation mounted. It rose to a crescendo in New York where the +paths of the star men met. + +The Aztlans invaded the United Nations. They spoke to the General +Assembly and the Security Council, were interviewed by the secretariat +and reporters from a hundred foreign lands. They told their story with +such conviction that even the Communist bloc failed to raise an +objection, which was as amazing to the majority of the delegates as +the fact of the star men themselves. Altruism, it seemed, had no +conflict with dialectic materialism. The aliens offered a watered-down +variety of their technology to the peoples of Earth with no strings +attached, and the governments of Earth accepted with open hands, much +as a small boy accepts a cookie from his mother. It was impossible for +men to resist the lure of something for nothing, particularly when it +was offered by such people as the Aztlans. After all, Matson reflected +bitterly, nobody shoots Santa Claus! + +From every nation in the world came invitations to the aliens to visit +their lands. The star men cheerfully accepted. They moved across +Europe, Asia, and Africa--visited South America, Central America, the +Middle East and Oceania. No country escaped them. They absorbed +languages, learned customs, and spread good will. Everywhere they went +relaxation followed in their footsteps, and throughout the world arose +a realization of the essential brotherhood of man. + +It took nearly three years of continual travelling before the aliens +again assembled at UN headquarters to begin the second part of their +promised plan--to give their science to Earth. And men waited with +calm expectation for the dawn of Golden Age. + + +Matson's lips twisted. Fools! Blind, stupid fools! Selling their +birthright for a mess of pottage! He shifted the rifle across his +knees and began filling the magazine with cartridges. He felt an empty +loneliness as he closed the action over the filled magazine and turned +the safety to "on". There was no comforting knowledge of support and +sympathy to sustain him in what he was about to do. There was no real +hope that there ever would be. His was a voice crying in the +wilderness, a voice that was ignored--as it had been when he visited +the President of the United States.... + + * * * * * + +Matson entered the White House, presented his appointment card, and +was ushered past ice-eyed Secret Service men into the presidential +office. It was as close as he had ever been to the Chief Executive, +and he stared with polite curiosity across the width of desk which +separated them. + +"I wanted to see you about the Aztlan business," the President began +without preamble. "You were there when their ship landed, and you are +also one of the few men in the country who has seen them alone. In +addition, your office will probably be handling the bulk of our +requests in regard to the offer they made yesterday in the UN. You're +in a favorable spot." The President smiled and shrugged. "I wanted to +talk with you sooner, but business and routine play the devil with +one's desires in this office. + +"Now tell me," he continued, "your impression of these people." + +"They're an enigma," Matson said flatly. "To tell the truth, I can't +figure them out." He ran his fingers through his hair with a worried +gesture. "I'm supposed to be a pretty fair physicist, and I've had +quite a bit of training in the social sciences, but both the +mechanisms and the psychology of these Aztlans are beyond my +comprehension. All I can say for sure is that they're as far beyond us +as we are beyond the cavemen. In fact, we have so little in common +that I can't think of a single reason why they would want to stay +here, and the fact that they do only adds to my confusion." + +"But you must have learned something," the President said. + +"Oh we've managed to collect data," Matson replied. "But there's a lot +of difference between data and knowledge." + +"I can appreciate that, but I'd still like to know what you think. +Your opinion could have some weight." + +Matson doubted it. His opinions were contrary to those of the +majority. Still, the Chief asked for it--and he might possibly have an +open mind. It was a chance worth taking. + +"Well, Sir, I suppose you've heard of the so-called "wild talents" +some of our own people occasionally possess?" + +The President nodded. + +"It is my belief," Matson continued, "that the Aztlans possess these +to a far greater degree than we do, and that their science is based +upon them. They have something which they call psychomathematics, +which by definition is the mathematics of the mind, and this seems to +be the basis of their physical science. I saw their machines, and I +must confess that their purpose baffled me until I realized that they +must be mechanisms for amplifying their own natural equipment. We know +little or nothing about psi phenomena, so it is no wonder I couldn't +figure them out. As a matter of fact we've always treated psi as +something that shouldn't be mentioned in polite scientific +conversation." + +The President grinned. "I always thought you boys had your blind +spots." + +"We do--but when we're confronted with a fact, we try to find out +something about it--that is if the fact hits us hard enough, often +enough." + +"Well, you've been hit hard and often," the President chuckled, "What +did you find out?" + +"Facts," Matson said grimly, "just facts. Things that could be +determined by observation and measurement. We know that the aliens are +telepathic. We also know that they have a form of ESP--or perhaps a +recognition of danger would be a better term--and we know its range is +somewhat over a third of a mile. We know that they're telekinetic. The +lack of visible controls in their ship would tell us that, even if we +hadn't seen them move small objects at a distance. We know that they +have eidetic memories, and that they can reason on an extremely high +level. Other than that we know nothing. We don't even know their +physical structure. We've tried X-ray but they're radio-opaque. We've +tried using some human sensitives from the Rhine Institute, but +they're unable to get anywhere. They just turn empathic in the aliens' +presence, and when we get them back, they do nothing but babble about +the beauty of the Aztlan soul." + +"Considering the difficulties, you haven't done too badly," the +President said. "I take it then, that you're convinced that they are +an advanced life form. But do you think they're sincere in their +attitude toward us?" + +"Oh, they're sincere enough," Matson said. "The only trouble is that +we don't know just what they're sincere about. You see, sir, we are in +the position of a savage to whom a trader brings the luxuries of +civilization. To the savage, the trader may represent purest altruism, +giving away such valuable things as glass beads and machine made cloth +for useless pieces of yellow rock and the skins of some native pest. +The savage hasn't the slightest inkling that he's being exploited. By +the time he realizes he's been had, and the yellow rock is gold and +the skins are mink, he has become so dependent upon the goods for +which the trader has whetted his appetite that he inevitably becomes +an economic slave. + +"Of course you can argue that the cloth and beads are far more +valuable to the savage than the gold or mink. But in the last +analysis, value is determined by the higher culture, and by that +standard, the savage gets taken. And ultimately civilization moves in +and the superior culture of the trader's race determines how the +savage will act. + +"Still, the savage has a basis for his acts. He is giving something +for something--making a trade. But we're not even in that position. +The aliens apparently want nothing from us. They have asked for +nothing except our good will, and that isn't a tradable item." + +"But they're altruists!" the President protested. + +"Sir, do you think that they're insane?" Matson asked curiously. "Do +they appear like fanatics to you?" + +"But we can't apply our standards to them. You yourself have said that +their civilization is more advanced than ours." + +"Whose standards can we apply?" Matson asked. "If not ours, then +whose? The only standards that we can possibly apply are our own, and +in the entire history of human experience there has never been a +single culture that has had a basis of pure altruism. Such a culture +could not possibly exist. It would be overrun and gobbled up by its +practical neighbors before it drew its first breath. + +"We must assume that the culture from which these aliens come has had +a practical basis in its evolutionary history. It could not have risen +full blown and altruistic like Minerva from the brain of Jove. And if +the culture had a practical basis in the past, it logically follows +that it has a practical basis in the present. Such a survival trait as +practicality would probably never be lost no matter how far the Aztlan +race has evolved. Therefore, we must concede that they are practical +people--people who do not give away something for nothing. But the +question still remains--what do they want? + +"Whatever it is, I don't think it is anything from which we will +profit. No matter how good it looks, I am convinced that cooperation +with these aliens will not ultimately be to our advantage. Despite the +reports of every investigative agency in this government, I cannot +believe that any such thing as pure altruism exists in a sane mind. +And whatever I may believe about the Aztlans, I do not think they're +insane." + +The President sighed. "You are a suspicious man, Matson, and perhaps +you are right; but it doesn't matter what you believe--or what I +believe for that matter. This government has decided to accept the +help the Aztlans are so graciously offering. And until the reverse is +proven, we must accept the fact that the star men _are_ altruists, and +work with them on that basis. You will organize your office along +those lines, and extract every gram of information that you can. Even +you must admit that they have knowledge that will improve our American +way of life." + +Matson shook his head doggedly. "I'm afraid, Sir, if you expect Aztlan +science to improve the American way of life, you are going to be +disappointed. It might promote an Aztlan way of life, but the reverse +is hardly possible." + +"It's not my decision," the President said. "My hands are tied. +Congress voted for the deal by acclamation early this morning. I +couldn't veto it even if I wanted to." + +"I cannot cooperate in what I believe is our destruction." Matson said +in a flat voice. + +"Then you have only one course," the President said. "I will be forced +to accept your resignation." He sighed wearily. + +"Personally, I think you're making a mistake. Think it over before +you decide. You're a good man, and Lord knows the government can use +good men. There are far too many fools in politics." He shrugged and +stood up. The interview was over. + +Matson returned to his offices, filled with cold frustration. Even the +President believed he could do nothing, and these shortsighted +politicians who could see nothing more than the immediate gains--there +was a special hell reserved for them. There were too many fools in +politics. However, he would do what he could. His sense of duty was +stronger than his resentment. He would stay on and try to cushion some +of the damage which the Aztlans would inevitably cause, no matter how +innocent their motives. And perhaps the President was right--perhaps +the alien science would bring more good than harm. + + * * * * * + +For the next two years Matson watched the spread of Aztlan ideas +throughout the world. He saw Aztlan devices bring health, food and +shelter to millions in underprivileged countries, and improve the lot +of those in more favored nations. He watched tyrannies and +authoritarian governments fall under the passive resistance of their +peoples. He saw militarism crumble to impotence as the Aztlan +influence spread through every facet of society, first as a trickle, +then as a steady stream, and finally as a rushing torrent. He saw +Mankind on the brink of a Golden Age--and he was unsatisfied. + +Reason said that the star men were exactly what they claimed to be. +Their every action proved it. Their consistency was perfect, their +motives unimpeachable, and the results of their efforts were +astounding. Life on Earth was becoming pleasant for millions who never +knew the meaning of the word. Living standards improved, and +everywhere men were conscious of a feeling of warmth and brotherhood. +There was no question that the aliens were doing exactly what they +promised. + +But reason also told him that the aliens were subtly and methodically +destroying everything that man had created, turning him from an +individual into a satisfied puppet operated by Aztlan strings. For man +is essentially lazy--always searching for the easier way. Why should +he struggle to find an answer when the Aztlans had discovered it +millennia ago and were perfectly willing to share their knowledge? Why +should he use inept human devices when those of the aliens performed +similar operations with infinitely more ease and efficiency? Why +should he work when all he had to do was ask? There was plan behind +their acts. + +But at that point reason dissolved into pure speculation. Why were +they doing this? Was it merely mistaken kindliness or was there a +deeper more subtle motive? Matson didn't know, and in that lack of +knowledge lay the hell in which he struggled. + + +For two years he stayed on with the OSR, watching humanity rush down +an unmarked road to an uncertain future. Then he ran away. He could +take no more of this blind dependence upon alien wisdom. And with the +change in administration that had occurred in the fall elections he no +longer had the sense of personal loyalty to the President which had +kept him working at a job he despised. He wanted no part of this brave +new world the aliens were creating. He wanted to be alone. Like a +hermit of ancient times who abandoned society to seek his soul, Matson +fled to the desert country of the South-west--as far as possible from +the Aztlans and their works. + +The grimly beautiful land toughened his muscles, blackened his skin, +and brought him a measure of peace. Humanity retreated to remoteness +except for Seth Winters, a leathery old-timer he had met on his first +trip into the desert. The acquaintance had ripened to friendship. Seth +furnished a knowledge of the desert country which Matson lacked, and +Matson's money provided the occasional grubstake they needed. For +weeks at a time they never saw another human--and Matson was +satisfied. The world could go its own way. He would go his. + +Running away was the smartest thing he could have done. Others more +brave perhaps, or perhaps less rational--had tried to fight, to form +an underground movement to oppose these altruists from space; but they +were a tiny minority so divided in motives and purpose that they could +not act as a unit. They were never more than a nuisance, and without +popular support they never had a chance. After the failure of a +complicated plot to assassinate the aliens, they were quickly rounded +up and confined. And the aliens continued their work. + + +Matson shrugged. It was funny how little things could mark mileposts +in a man's life. If he had known of the underground he probably would +have joined it and suffered the same penalty for failure. If he hadn't +fled, if he hadn't met Seth Winters, if he hadn't taken that last trip +into the desert, if any one of a hundred little things had happened +differently he would not be here. That last trip into the desert--he +remembered it as though it were yesterday.... + + +The yellow flare of a greasewood fire cast flickering spears of light +into the encircling darkness. Above, in the purplish black vault of +the moonless sky the stars shone down with icy splendor. The air was +quiet, the evening breeze had died, and the stillness of the desert +night pressed softly upon the earth. Far away, muted by distance, came +the ululating wail of a coyote. + +Seth Winters laid another stick of quick-burning greasewood on the +fire and squinted across the smoke at Matson who was lying on his +back, arms crossed behind his head, eyeing the night sky with the +fascination of a dreamer. + +"It's certainly peaceful out here," Matson murmured as he rose to his +feet, stretched, and sat down again looking into the tiny fire. + +"'Tain't nothin' unusual, Dan'l. Not out here it ain't. It's been +plumb peaceful on this here desert nigh onto a million years. An' +why's it peaceful? Mainly 'cuz there ain't too many humans messin' +around in it." + +"Possibly you're right, Seth." + +"Shore I'm right. It jest ain't nacheral fer a bunch of Homo saps to +get together without an argyment startin' somewhere. 'Tain't the +nature of the critter to be peaceable. An' y'know, thet's the part of +this here sweetness an' light between nations that bothers me. Last +time I was in Prescott, I set down an' read six months of +newspapers--an' everything's jest too damn good to be true. Seems like +everybody's gettin' to love everybody else." He shook his head. "The +hull world's as sticky-sweet as molasses candy. It jest ain't +nacheral!" + +"The star men are keeping their word. They said that they would bring +us peace. Isn't that what they're doing?" + +"Shucks Dan'l--that don't give 'em no call to make the world a blasted +honey-pot with everybody bubblin' over with brotherly love. There +ain't no real excitement left. Even the Commies ain't raisin' hell +like they useta. People are gettin' more like a bunch of damn woolies +every day." + +"I'll admit that Mankind had herd instincts," Matson replied lazily, +"but I've never thought of them as particularly sheeplike. More like a +wolf pack, I'd say." + +"Wal, there's nothin' wolflike about 'em right now. Look, Dan'l, yuh +know what a wolf pack's like. They're smart, tough, and mean--an' the +old boss wolf is the smartest, toughest, and meanest critter in the +hull pack. The others respect him 'cuz he's proved his ability to +lead. But take a sheep flock now--the bellwether is jest a nice gentle +old castrate thet'll do jest whut the sheepherder wants. He's got no +originality. He's jest a noise thet the rest foller." + +"Could be." + +"It shore is! Jes f'r instance, an' speakin' of bellwethers, have yuh +ever heard of a character called Throckmorton Bixbee?" + +"Can't say I have. He sounds like a nance." + +"Whutever a nance is--he's it! But yuh're talkin' about our next +President, unless all the prophets are wrong. He's jest as bad as his +name. Of all the gutless wonders I've ever heard of that pilgrim takes +the prize. He even looks like a rabbit!" + +"I can see where I had better catch up on some contemporary history," +Matson said. "I've been out in the sticks too long." + +"If yuh know what's good fer yuh, yuh'll stay here. The rest of the +country's goin' t'hell. Brother Bixbee's jest a sample. About the only +thing that'd recommend him is that he's hot fer peace--an' he's got +those furriners' blessing. Seems like those freaks swing a lotta +weight nowadays, an' they ain't shy about tellin' folks who an' what +they favor. They've got bold as brass this past year." + +Matson nodded idly--then stiffened--turning a wide eyed stare on Seth. +A blinding light exploded in his brain as the words sank in. With +crystal clarity he knew the answer! He laughed harshly. + +Winters stared at him with mild surprise. "What's bit yuh, Dan'l?" + +But Matson was completely oblivious, busily buttressing the flash of +inspiration. Sure--that was the only thing it could be! Those aliens +were working on a program--one that was grimly recognizable once his +attention was focussed on it. There must have been considerable +pressure to make them move so fast that a short-lived human could see +what they were planning--but Matson had a good idea of what was +driving them, an atomic war that could decimate the world would be all +the spur they'd need! + +They weren't playing for penny ante stakes. They didn't want to +exploit Mankind. They didn't give a damn about Mankind! To them +humanity was merely an unavoidable nuisance--something to be pushed +aside, to be made harmless and dependent, and ultimately to be quietly +and bloodlessly eliminated. Man's civilization held nothing that the +star men wanted, but man's planet--that was a different story! Truly +the aliens were right when they considered man a savage. Like the +savage, man didn't realize his most valuable possession was his land! + +The peaceful penetration was what had fooled him. Mankind, faced with +a similar situation, and working from a position of overwhelming +strength would have reacted differently. Humanity would have invaded +and conquered. But the aliens had not even considered this obvious +step. + +Why? + +The answer was simple and logical. They couldn't! Even though their +technology was advanced enough to exterminate man with little or no +loss to themselves, combat and slaughter must be repulsive to them. It +had to be. With their telepathic minds they would necessarily have a +pathologic horror of suffering. They were so highly evolved that they +simply couldn't fight--at least not with the weapons of humanity. But +they could use the subtler weapon of altruism! + +And even more important--uncontrolled emotions were poison to them. In +fact Ixtl had admitted it back in Seattle. The primitive psi waves of +humanity's hates, lusts, fears, and exultations must be unbearable +torture to a race long past such animal outbursts. That was--must +be--why they were moving so fast. For their own safety, emotion had to +be damped out of the human race. + +Matson had a faint conception of what the aliens must have suffered +when they first surveyed that crowd at International Airport. No +wonder they looked so strangely immobile at that first contact! The +raw emotion must have nearly killed them! He felt a reluctant stir of +admiration for their courage, for the dedicated bravery needed to face +that crowd and establish a beachhead of tranquility. Those first few +minutes must have had compressed in them the agonies of a lifetime! + +Matson grinned coldly. The aliens were not invulnerable. If Mankind +could be taught to fear and hate them, and if that emotion could be +focussed, they never again would try to take this world. It would be +sheer suicide. As long as Mankind kept its emotions it would be safe +from this sort of invasion. But the problem was to teach Mankind to +fear and hate. Shock would do it, but how could that shock be applied? + +The thought led inevitably to the only possible conclusion. The aliens +would have to be killed, and in such a manner as to make humanity fear +retaliation from the stars. Fear would unite men against a possible +invasion, and fear would force men to reach for the stars to forestall +retribution. + +Matson grinned thinly. Human nature couldn't have changed much these +past years. Even with master psychologists like the Aztlans operating +upon it, changes in emotional pattern would require generations. He +sighed, looked into the anxious face of Seth Winters, and returned to +the reality of the desert night. His course was set. He knew what he +had to do. + + * * * * * + +He laid the rifle across his knees and opened the little leather box +sewn to the side of the guncase. With precise, careful movements he +removed the silencer and fitted it to the threaded muzzle of the gun. +The bulky, blue excrescence changed the rifle from a thing of beauty +to one of murder. He looked at it distastefully, then shrugged and +stretched out on the mattress, easing the ugly muzzle through the hole +in the brickwork. It wouldn't be long now.... + +He glanced upward through the window above him at the Weather Bureau +instruments atop a nearby building. The metal cups of the anemometer +hung motionless against the metallic blue of the sky. No wind stirred +in the deep canyons of the city streets as the sun climbed in blazing +splendor above the towering buildings. He moved a trifle, shifting the +muzzle of the gun until it bore upon the sidewalks. The telescopic +sight picked out faces from the waiting crowd with a crystal clarity. +Everywhere was the same sheeplike placidity. He shuddered, the sights +jumping crazily from one face to another,--wondering if he had +misjudged his race, if he had really come too late, if he had +underestimated the powers of the Aztlans. + +Far down the avenue, an excited hum came to his ears, and the watching +crowd stirred. Faces lighted and Matson sighed. He was not wrong. +Emotion was only suppressed, not vanished. There was still time! + +The aliens were coming. Coming to cap the climax of their pioneer +work, to drive the first nail in humanity's coffin! For the first time +in history man's dream of the brotherhood of man was close to reality. + +And he was about to destroy it! The irony bit into Matson's soul, and +for a moment he hesitated, feeling the wave of tolerance and good will +rising from the street below. Did he have the right to destroy man's +dream? Did he dare tamper with the will of the world? Had he the right +to play God? + +The parade came slowly down the happy street, a kaleidoscope of color +and movement that approached and went past in successive waves and +masses. This was a gala day, this eve of world union! The insigne of +the UN was everywhere. The aliens had used the organization to further +their plans and it was now all-powerful. A solid bank of UN flags led +the van of delegates, smiling and swathed in formal dress, sitting +erect in their black official cars draped with the flags of native +lands that would soon be furled forever if the aliens had their way. + +And behind them came the Aztlans! + + +They rode together, standing on a pure white float, a bar of dazzling +white in a sea of color. All equal, their inhumanly beautiful faces +calm and remote, the Aztlans rode through the joyful crowd. There was +something inspiring about the sight and for a moment, Matson felt a +wave of revulsion sweep through him. + +He sighed and thumbed the safety to "off", pulled the cocking lever +and slid the first cartridge into the breech. He settled himself +drawing a breath of air into his lungs, letting a little dribble out +through slack lips, catching the remainder of the exhalation with +closed glottis. The sights wavered and steadied upon the head of the +center alien, framing the pale noble face with its aureole of golden +hair. The luminous eyes were dull and introspective as the alien tried +to withdraw from the emotions of the crowd. There was no awareness of +danger on the alien's face. At 600 yards he was beyond their esper +range and he was further covered by the feelings of the crowd. The +sights lowered to the broad chest and centered there as Matson's +spatulate fingers took up the slack in the trigger and squeezed softly +and steadily. + + +A coruscating glow bathed the bodies of three of the aliens as their +tall forms jerked to the smashing impact of the bullets! Their +metallic tunics melted and sloughed as inner fires ate away the +fragile garments that covered them! Flexible synthetic skin cracked +and curled in the infernal heat, revealing padding, wirelike tendons, +rope-like cords of flexible tubing and a metallic skeleton that melted +and dripped in white hot drops in the heat of atomic flame-- + +"Robots!" Matson gasped with sudden blinding realization. "I should +have known! No wonder they seemed inhuman. Their builders would never +dare expose themselves to the furies and conflicts of our emotionally +uncontrolled world!" + +One of the aliens crouched on the float, his four-fingered hands +pressed against a smoking hole in his metal tunic. The smoke thickened +and a yellowish ichor poured out bursting into flame on contact with +the air. The fifth alien, Ixtl, was untouched, standing with hands +widestretched in a gesture that at once held command and appeal. + +Matson reloaded quickly, but held his fire. The swarming crowd +surrounding the alien was too thick for a clear shot and Matson, with +sudden revulsion, was unwilling to risk further murder in a cause +already won. The tall, silver figure of the alien winced and +shuddered, his huge body shaking like a leaf in a storm! His builders +had never designed him to withstand the barrage of focussed emotion +that was sweeping from the crowd. Terror, shock, sympathy, hate, +loathing, grief, and disillusionment--the incredible gamut of human +feelings wrenched and tore at the Aztlan, shorting delicate circuits, +ripping the poised balance of his being as the violent discordant +blasts lanced through him with destroying energy! Ixtl's classic +features twisted in a spasm of inconceivable agony, a thin curl of +smoke drifted from his distorted tragic mask of a mouth as he +crumpled, a pitiful deflated figure against the whiteness of the +float. + +The cries of fear and horror changed their note as the aliens' true +nature dawned upon the crowd. Pride of flesh recoiled as the swarming +humans realized the facts. Revulsion at being led by machines swelled +into raw red rage. The mob madness spread as an ominous growl began +rising from the streets. + +A panicky policeman triggered it, firing his Aztlan-built shock tube +into the forefront of the mob. A dozen men fell, to be trampled by +their neighbors as a swarm of men and women poured over the struggling +officer and buried him from sight. Like wildfire, pent-up emotions +blazed out in a flame of fury. The parade vanished, sucked into the +maelstrom and torn apart. Fists flew, flesh tore, men and women +screamed in high bitter agony as the mob clawed and trampled in a +surging press of writhing forms that filled the street from one line +of buildings to the other. + +Half-mad with triumph, drunk with victory, shocked at the terrible +form that death had taken in coming to Ixtl, Matson raised his +clenched hands to the sky and screamed in a raw inhuman voice, a cry +in which all of man's violence and pride were blended! The spasm +passed as quickly as it came, and with its passing came exhaustion. +The job was done. The aliens were destroyed. Tomorrow would bring +reaction and with it would come fear. + +Tomorrow or the next day man would hammer out a true world union, +spurred by the thought of a retribution that would never come. Yet all +that didn't matter. The important thing--the only important thing--was +preserved. Mankind would have to unite for survival--or so men would +think--and he would never disillusion them. For this was man's world, +and men were again free to work out their own destiny for better or +for worse, without interference, and without help. The golden dream +was over. Man might fail, but if he did he would fail on his own +terms. And if he succeeded--Matson looked up grimly at the shining +sky.... + +Slowly he rose to his feet and descended to the raging street below. + +END + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Assassin, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASSASSIN *** + +***** This file should be named 32237.txt or 32237.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/2/3/32237/ + +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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