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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3db379a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51267 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51267) diff --git a/old/51267-h.zip b/old/51267-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a05de57..0000000 --- a/old/51267-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51267-h/51267-h.htm b/old/51267-h/51267-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index acebebd..0000000 --- a/old/51267-h/51267-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2183 +0,0 @@ -<!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=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of End As a Hero, by Keith Laumer. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of End as a Hero, by Keith Laumer - -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/license - - -Title: End as a Hero - -Author: Keith Laumer - -Release Date: February 22, 2016 [EBook #51267] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK END AS A HERO *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="394" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>END AS A HERO</h1> - -<p>By KEITH LAUMER</p> - -<p>Illustrated by SCHELLING</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Science Fiction June 1963.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">Granthan's mission was the most vital of the war.<br /> -It would mean instant victory—but for whom?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">I</p> - - -<p>In the dream I was swimming in a river of white fire and the dream went -on and on. And then I was awake—and the fire was still there, fiercely -burning at me.</p> - -<p>I tried to move to get away from the flames, and then the real pain -hit me. I tried to go back to sleep and the relative comfort of the -river of fire, but it was no go. For better or worse, I was alive and -conscious.</p> - -<p>I opened my eyes and took a look around. I was on the floor next to -an unpadded acceleration couch—the kind the Terrestrial Space Arm -installs in seldom-used lifeboats. There were three more couches, but -no one in them. I tried to sit up. It wasn't easy but, by applying a -lot more will-power than should be required of a sick man, I made it. -I took a look at my left arm. Baked. The hand was only medium rare, -but the forearm was black, with deep red showing at the bottom of the -cracks where the crisped upper layers had burst....</p> - -<p>There was a first-aid cabinet across the compartment from me. I -tried my right leg, felt broken bone-ends grate with a sensation -that transcended pain. I heaved with the other leg, scrabbled with -the charred arm. The crawl to the cabinet dwarfed Hillary's trek -up Everest, but I reached it after a couple of years, and found the -microswitch on the floor that activated the thing, and then I was -fading out again....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I came out of it clear-headed but weak. My right leg was numb, but -reasonably comfortable, clamped tight in a walking brace. I put up -a hand and felt a shaved skull, with sutures. It must have been a -fracture. The left arm—well, it was still there, wrapped to the -shoulder and held out stiffly by a power truss that would keep the scar -tissue from pulling up and crippling me. The steady pressure as the -truss contracted wasn't anything to do a sense-tape on for replaying at -leisure moments, but at least the cabinet hadn't amputated. I wasn't -complaining.</p> - -<p>As far as I knew, I was the first recorded survivor of contact with the -Gool—if I survived.</p> - -<p>I was still a long way from home, and I hadn't yet checked on the -condition of the lifeboat. I glanced toward the entry port. It was -dogged shut. I could see black marks where my burned hand had been at -work.</p> - -<p>I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition—with -a broken leg and third-degree burns, plus a fractured skull—I -shouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the trip -from <i>Belshazzar's</i> CCC to the boat; and how had I managed to dog that -port shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. But -running on a broken femur, handling heavy levers with charred fingers -and thinking with a cracked head were overdoing it. Still, I was -here—and it was time to get a call through to TSA headquarters.</p> - -<p>I flipped the switch and gave the emergency call-letters Col. Ausar -Kayle of Aerospace Intelligence had assigned to me a few weeks before. -It was almost five minutes before the "acknowledge" came through from -the Ganymede relay station, another ten minutes before Kayle's face -swam into view. Even through the blur of the screen I could see the -haggard look.</p> - -<p>"Granthan!" he burst out. "Where are the others? What happened out -there?" I turned him down to a mutter.</p> - -<p>"Hold on," I said. "I'll tell you. Recorders going?" I didn't wait for -an answer—not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on:</p> - -<p>"<i>Belshazzar</i> was sabotaged. So was <i>Gilgamesh</i>—I think. I got out. I -lost a little skin, but the aid cabinet has the case in hand. Tell the -Med people the drinks are on me."</p> - -<p>I finished talking and flopped back, waiting for Kayle's reply. On the -screen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostile -as a swing-shift ward nurse. It would be half an hour before I would -get his reaction to my report. I dozed off—and awoke with a start. -Kayle was talking.</p> - -<p>"—your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role in -the disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived?"</p> - -<p>"How the hell do I know?" I yelled—or croaked. But Kayle's voice was -droning on:</p> - -<p>"... you Psychodynamics people have been telling me the Gool may -have some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make it -possible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You've -told me yourself that you blacked out during the attack—and came to on -the lifeboat, with no recollection of how you got there.</p> - -<p>"This is war, Granthan. War against a vicious enemy who strike without -warning and without mercy. You were sent out to investigate the -possibility of—what's that term you use?—hyper-cortical invasion. You -know better than most the risk I'd be running if you were allowed to -pass the patrol line.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't accept -the risk."</p> - -<p>"What do I do now?" I stormed. "Go into orbit and eat pills and hope -you think of something? I need a doctor!"</p> - -<p>Presently Kayle replied. "Yes," he said. "You'll have to enter a -parking orbit. Perhaps there will be developments soon which will make -it possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation." He didn't meet my -eye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish of -knowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him; he was doing -what he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along and -pretend—right up until the warheads struck—that I didn't know I'd -been condemned to death.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">II</p> - -<p>I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. I -was alone and injured, aboard a lifeboat that would be the focus of a -converging flight of missiles as soon as I approached within battery -range of Earth. I had gotten clear of the Gool, but I wouldn't survive -my next meeting with my own kind. They couldn't take the chance that I -was acting under Gool orders.</p> - -<p>I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan, -psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeks -earlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they were -mine, all mine....</p> - -<p>But how could I be sure of that?</p> - -<p>Maybe there was something in Kayle's suspicion. If the Gool were as -skillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications of -their tampering—not at a conscious level.</p> - -<p>But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reacting -like any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But I -wasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of the -mind—and I had been prepared for just such an attack.</p> - -<p>Now was the time to make use of that training. It had given me one -resource. I could unlock the memories of my subconscious—and see again -what had happened.</p> - -<p>I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated on -the trigger word that would key an auto-hypnotic sequence....</p> - -<p>Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of a -first-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the misty -surface into a dreamworld of vague phantasmagoric figures milling in -their limbo of sub-conceptualization. I penetrated deeper, broke -through into the vividly hallucinatory third level, where images of -mirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The immense orderly confusion of the basic memory level lay before -me. Abstracted from it, aloof and observant, the monitoring -personality-fraction scanned the pattern, searching the polydimensional -continuum for evidence of an alien intrusion.</p> - -<p>And found it.</p> - -<p>As the eye instantaneously detects a flicker of motion amid an infinity -of static detail, so my inner eye perceived the subtle traces of the -probing Gool mind, like a whispered touch deftly rearranging my buried -motivations.</p> - -<p>I focused selectively, tuned to the recorded gestalt.</p> - -<p>"<i>It is a contact, Effulgent One!</i>"</p> - -<p>"<i>Softly, now! Nurture the spark well. It but trembles at the -threshold....</i>"</p> - -<p>"<i>It is elusive, Master! It wriggles like a gorm-worm in the eating -trough!</i>"</p> - -<p>A part of my mind watched as the memory unreeled. I listened to the -voices—yet not voices, merely the shape of concepts, indescribably -intricate. I saw how the decoy pseudo-personality which I had -concretized for the purpose in a hundred training sessions had fought -against the intruding stimuli—then yielded under the relentless thrust -of the alien probe. I watched as the Gool operator took over the motor -centers, caused me to crawl through the choking smoke of the devastated -control compartment toward the escape hatch. Fire leaped up, blocking -the way. I went on, felt ghostly flames whipping at me—and then the -hatch was open and I pulled myself through, forcing the broken leg. -My blackened hand fumbled at the locking wheel. Then the blast as -the lifeboat leaped clear of the disintegrating dreadnought—and the -world-ending impact as I fell.</p> - -<p>At a level far below the conscious, the embattled pseudo-personality -lashed out again—fighting the invader.</p> - -<p>"<i>Almost it eluded me then, Effulgent Lord. Link with this lowly one!</i>"</p> - -<p>"<i>Impossible! Do you forget all my teachings? Cling, though you expend -the last filament of your life-force!</i>"</p> - -<p>Free from all distraction, at a level where comprehension and retention -are instantaneous and total, my monitoring basic personality fraction -followed the skillful Gool mind as it engraved its commands deep in -my subconscious. Then the touch withdrew, erasing the scars of its -passage, to leave me unaware of its tampering—at a conscious level.</p> - -<p>Watching the Gool mind, I learned.</p> - -<p>The insinuating probe—a concept regarding which psychodynamicists had -theorized—was no more than a pattern in emptiness....</p> - -<p>But a pattern which I could duplicate, now that I had seen what had -been done to me.</p> - -<p>Hesitantly, I felt for the immaterial fabric of the continuum, warping -and manipulating it, copying the Gool probe. Like planes of paper-thin -crystal, the polyfinite aspects of reality shifted into focus, aligning -themselves.</p> - -<p>Abruptly, a channel lay open. As easily as I would stretch out my hand -to pluck a moth from a night-flower, I reached across the unimaginable -void—and sensed a pit blacker than the bottom floor of hell, and a -glistening dark shape.</p> - -<p>There was a soundless shriek. "<i>Effulgence! It reached out—touched -me!</i>"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Using the technique I had grasped from the Gool itself, I struck, -stifling the outcry, invaded the fetid blackness and grappled the -obscene gelatinous immensity of the Gool spy as it spasmed in a frenzy -of xenophobia—a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well.</p> - -<p>I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering. -Not pausing to rest, I followed up, probed along my channel of contact, -tracing patterns, scanning the flaccid Gool mind....</p> - -<p>I saw a world of yellow seas lapping at endless shores of mud. There -was a fuming pit, where liquid sulphur bubbled up from some inner -source, filling an immense natural basin. The Gool clustered at its -rim, feeding, each monstrous shape heaving against its neighbors for a -more favorable position.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="349" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>I probed farther, saw the great cables of living nervous tissue that -linked each eating organ with the brain-mass far underground. I traced -the passages through which tendrils ran out to immense caverns where -smaller creatures labored over strange devices. These, my host's memory -told me, were the young of the Gool. Here they built the fleets that -would transport the spawn to the new worlds the Prime Overlord had -discovered, worlds where food was free for the taking. Not sulphur -alone, but potassium, calcium, iron and all the metals—riches -beyond belief in endless profusion. No longer would the Gool tribe -cluster—those who remained of a once-great race—at a single feeding -trough. They would spread out across a galaxy—and beyond.</p> - -<p>But not if I could help it.</p> - -<p>The Gool had evolved a plan—but they'd had a stroke of bad luck.</p> - -<p>In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, among -the fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough, -perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send a -man back to Earth under Gool compulsion, to carry out complex sabotage.</p> - -<p>Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutter -of the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick a -psychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had opened -the fortress door to an unseen spy. Now that I was there, I would see -what I could steal.</p> - -<p>A timeless time passed. I wandered among patterns of white light and -white sound, plumbed the deepest recesses of hidden Gool thoughts, -fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of the -concepts of an alien mind.</p> - -<p>I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern within -pattern; the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine.</p> - -<p>I followed through its logic-sequence; and, like a bomb-burst, its -meaning exploded in my mind.</p> - -<p>From the vile nest deep under the dark surface of the Gool world in -its lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret of -their kind.</p> - -<p>Matter across space.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"You've got to listen to me, Kayle," I shouted. "I know you think I'm -a Gool robot. But what I have is too big to let you blow it up without -a fight. Matter transmission! You know what that can mean to us. The -concept is too complex to try to describe in words. You'll have to take -my word for it. I can build it, though, using standard components, plus -an infinite-area antenna and a moebius-wound coil—and a few other -things...."</p> - -<p>I harangued Kayle for a while, and then sweated out his answer. I was -getting close now. If he couldn't see the beauty of my proposal, my -screens would start to register the radiation of warheads any time now.</p> - -<p>Kayle came back—and his answer boiled down to "no."</p> - -<p>I tried to reason with him. I reminded him how I had readied myself -for the trip with sessions on the encephaloscope, setting up the -cross-networks of conditioned defensive responses, the shunt circuits -to the decoy pseudo-personality, leaving my volitional ego free. I -talked about subliminal hypnotics and the resilience quotient of the -ego-complex.</p> - -<p>I might have saved my breath.</p> - -<p>"I don't understand that psychodynamics jargon, Granthan," he snapped. -"It smacks of mysticism. But I understand what the Gool have done to -you well enough. I'm sorry."</p> - -<p>I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkind -thoughts about Colonel Ausar Kayle. Then I settled down to solve the -problem at hand.</p> - -<p>I keyed the chart file, flashed pages from the standard index on the -reference screen, checking radar coverages, beacon ranges, monitor -stations, controller fields. It looked as though a radar-negative boat -the size of mine might possibly get through the defensive net with a -daring pilot, and as a condemned spy, I could afford to be daring.</p> - -<p>And I had a few ideas.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">III</p> - -<p>The shrilling of the proximity alarm blasted through the silence. For a -wild moment I thought Kayle had beaten me to the punch; then I realized -it was the routine DEW line patrol contact.</p> - -<p>"Z four-oh-two, I am reading your IFF. Decelerate at 1.8 gee -preparatory to picking up approach orbit...."</p> - -<p>The screen went on droning out instructions. I fed them into the -autopilot, at the same time running over my approach plan. The scout -was moving in closer. I licked dry lips. It was time to try.</p> - -<p>I closed my eyes, reached out—as the Gool mind had reached out to -me—and felt the touch of a Signals Officer's mind, forty thousand -miles distant, aboard the patrol vessel. There was a brief flurry of -struggle; then I dictated my instructions. The Signals Officer punched -keys, spoke into his microphone:</p> - -<p>"As you were, Z four-oh-two. Continue on present course. At Oh-nineteen -seconds, pick up planetary for re-entry and let-down."</p> - -<p>I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught his -belated puzzlement as I broke contact. But I was clear of the DEW line -now, rapidly approaching atmosphere.</p> - -<p>"Z four-oh-two," the speaker crackled. "This is planetary control. I am -picking you up on channel forty-three, for re-entry and let-down."</p> - -<p>There was a long pause. Then:</p> - -<p>"Z four-oh-two, countermand DEW Line clearance! Repeat, clearance -countermanded! Emergency course change to standard hyperbolic code -ninety-eight. Do not attempt re-entry. Repeat: do not attempt re-entry!"</p> - -<p>It hadn't taken Kayle long to see that I'd gotten past the outer line -of defense. A few more minutes' grace would have helped. I'd play it -dumb, and hope for a little luck.</p> - -<p>"Planetary, Z four-oh-two here. Say, I'm afraid I missed part of that, -fellows. I'm a little banged up—I guess I switched frequencies on you. -What was that after 'pick up channel forty-three'...?"</p> - -<p>"Four-oh-two, sheer off there! You're not cleared for re-entry!"</p> - -<p>"Hey, you birds are mixed up," I protested. "I'm cleared all the way. I -checked in with DEW—"</p> - -<p>It was time to disappear. I blanked off all transmission, hit the -controls, following my evasive pattern. And again I reached out—</p> - -<p>A radar man at a site in the Pacific, fifteen thousand miles away, rose -from his chair, crossed the darkened room and threw a switch. The radar -screens blanked off....</p> - -<p>For an hour I rode the long orbit down, fending off attack after -attack. Then I was clear, skimming the surface of the ocean a few miles -southeast of Key West. The boat hit hard. I felt the floor rise up, -over, buffeting me against the restraining harness.</p> - -<p>I hauled at the release lever, felt a long moment of giddy -disorientation as the escape capsule separated from the sinking -lifeboat deep under the surface. Then my escape capsule was bobbing on -the water.</p> - -<p>I would have to risk calling Kayle now—but by voluntarily giving my -position away, I should convince him I was still on our side—and I was -badly in need of a pick-up. I flipped the sending key.</p> - -<p>"This is Z four-oh-two," I said. "I have an urgent report for Colonel -Kayle of Aerospace Intelligence."</p> - -<p>Kayle's face appeared. "Don't fight it, Granthan," he croaked. "You -penetrated the planetary defenses—God knows how. I—"</p> - -<p>"Later," I snapped. "How about calling off your dogs now? And send -somebody out here to pick me up, before I add sea-sickness to my other -complaints."</p> - -<p>"We have you pinpointed," Kayle cut in. "It's no use fighting it, -Granthan."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I felt cold sweat pop out on my forehead. "You've got to listen, -Kayle," I shouted. "I suppose you've got missiles on the way already. -Call them back! I have information that can win the war—"</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, Granthan," Kayle said. "It's too late—even if I could -take the chance you were right."</p> - -<p>A different face appeared on the screen.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Granthan, I am General Titus. On behalf of your country, and -in the name of the President—who has been apprised of this tragic -situation—it is my privilege to inform you that you will be awarded -the Congressional Medal of Honor—posthumously—for your heroic effort. -Although you failed, and have in fact been forced, against your will, -to carry out the schemes of the inhuman enemy, this in no way detracts -from your gallant attempt. Mr. Granthan, I salute you."</p> - -<p>The general's arm went up in a rigid gesture.</p> - -<p>"Stow that, you pompous idiot!" I barked. "I'm no spy!"</p> - -<p>Kayle was back, blanking out the startled face of the general.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, Granthan. Try to understand...."</p> - -<p>I flipped the switch, sat gripping the couch, my stomach rising with -each heave of the floating escape capsule. I had perhaps five minutes. -The missiles would be from Canaveral.</p> - -<p>I closed my eyes, forced myself to relax, reached out....</p> - -<p>I sensed the distant shore, the hot buzz of human minds at work in the -cities. I followed the coastline, found the Missile Base, flicked -through the cluster of minds.</p> - -<p>"—<i>missile on course; do right, baby. That's it, right in the slot.</i>"</p> - -<p>I fingered my way through the man's mind and found the control centers. -He turned stiffly from the plotting board, tottered to a panel to slam -his hand against the destruct button.</p> - -<p>Men fell on him, dragged him back. "—<i>fool, why did you blow it?</i>"</p> - -<p>I dropped the contact, found another, who leaped to the panel, -detonated the remainder of the flight of six missiles. Then I withdrew. -I would have a few minutes' stay of execution now.</p> - -<p>I was ten miles from shore. The capsule had its own power plant. I -started it up, switched on the external viewer. I saw dark sea, the -glint of star-light on the choppy surface, in the distance a glow on -the horizon that would be Key West. I plugged the course into the -pilot, then leaned back and felt outward with my mind for the next -attacker.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">IV</p> - -<p>It was dark in the trainyard. I moved along the tracks in a stumbling -walk. Just a few more minutes, I was telling myself. <i>A few more -minutes and you can lie down ... rest....</i></p> - -<p>The shadowed bulk of a box car loomed up, its open door a blacker -square. I leaned against the sill, breathing hard, then reached inside -for a grip with my good hand.</p> - -<p>Gravel scrunched nearby. The beam of a flashlight lanced out, slipped -along the weathered car, caught me. There was a startled exclamation. -I ducked back, closed my eyes, felt out for his mind. There was a -confused murmur of thought, a random intrusion of impressions from the -city all around. It was hard, too hard. I had to sleep—</p> - -<p>I heard the snick of a revolver being cocked, and dropped flat as a -gout of flame stabbed toward me, the imperative Bam! echoing between -the cars. I caught the clear thought:</p> - -<p>"God-awful looking, shaved head, arm stuck out; him all right—"</p> - -<p>I reached out to his mind and struck at random. The light fell, went -out, and I heard the unconscious body slam to the ground like a poled -steer.</p> - -<p>It was easy—if I could only stay awake.</p> - -<p>I gritted my teeth, pulled myself into the car, crawled to a dark -corner behind a crate and slumped down. I tried to evoke a personality -fraction to set as a guard, a part of my mind to stay awake and warn -me of danger. It was too much trouble. I relaxed and let it all slide -down into darkness.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The car swayed, click-clack, click-clack. I opened my eyes, saw yellow -sunlight in a bar across the litter on the floor. The power truss -creaked, pulling at my arm. My broken leg was throbbing its indignation -at the treatment it had received—walking brace and all—and the burned -arm was yelling aloud for more of that nice dope that had been keeping -it from realizing how bad it was. All things considered, I felt like a -badly embalmed mummy—except that I was hungry. I had been a fool not -to fill my pockets when I left the escape capsule in the shallows off -Key Largo, but things had been happening too fast.</p> - -<p>I had barely made it to the fishing boat, whose owner I had coerced -into rendezvousing with me before shells started dropping around us. If -the gunners on the cruiser ten miles away had had any luck, they would -have finished me—and the hapless fisherman—right then. We rode out a -couple of near misses, before I put the cruiser's gunnery crew off the -air.</p> - -<p>At a fishing camp on the beach, I found a car—with driver. He dropped -me at the railyard, and drove off under the impression he was in town -for groceries. He'd never believe he'd seen me.</p> - -<p>Now I'd had my sleep. I had to start getting ready for the next act of -the farce.</p> - -<p>I pressed the release on the power truss, gingerly unclamped it, then -rigged a sling from a strip of shirt tail. I tied the arm to my side as -inconspicuously as possible. I didn't disturb the bandages.</p> - -<p>I needed new clothes—or at least different ones—and something to -cover my shaved skull. I couldn't stay hidden forever. The yard cop had -recognized me at a glance.</p> - -<p>I lay back, waiting for the train to slow for a town. I wasn't unduly -worried—at the moment. The watchman probably hadn't convinced anyone -he'd actually seen me. Maybe he hadn't been too sure himself.</p> - -<p>The click-clack slowed and the train shuddered to a stop. I crept to -the door, peered through the crack. There were sunny fields, a few low -buildings in the distance, the corner of a platform. I closed my eyes -and let my awareness stretch out.</p> - -<p>"—<i>lousy job. What's the use? Little witch in the lunch room ... up in -the hills, squirrel hunting, bottle of whiskey....</i>"</p> - -<p>I settled into control gently, trying not to alarm the man. I saw -through his eyes the dusty box car, the rust on the tracks, the -listless weeds growing among cinders, and the weathered boards of -the platform. I turned him, and saw the dingy glass of the telegraph -window, a sagging screen door with a chipped enameled cola sign.</p> - -<p>I walked the man to the door, and through it. Behind a linoleum-topped -counter, a coarse-skinned teen-age girl with heavy breasts and wet -patches under her arms looked up without interest as the door banged.</p> - -<p>My host went on to the counter, gestured toward the waxed-paper-wrapped -sandwiches under a glass cover. "I'll take 'em all. And candy bars, and -cigarettes. And give me a big glass of water."</p> - -<p>"Better git out there and look after yer train," the girl said -carelessly. "When'd you git so all-fired hungry all of a sudden?"</p> - -<p>"Put it in a bag. Quick."</p> - -<p>"Look who's getting bossy—"</p> - -<p>My host rounded the counter, picked up a used paper bag, began stuffing -food in it. The girl stared at him, then pushed him back. "You git back -around that counter!"</p> - -<p>She filled the bag, took a pencil from behind her ear.</p> - -<p>"That'll be one eighty-five. Cash."</p> - -<p>My host took two dog-eared bills from his shirt pocket, dropped them -on the counter and waited while the girl filled a glass. He picked it -up and started out.</p> - -<p>"Hey! Where you goin' with my glass?"</p> - -<p>The trainman crossed the platform, headed for the boxcar. He slid the -loose door back a few inches against the slack latch, pushed the bag -inside, placed the glass of water beside it, then pulled off his grimy -railroader's cap and pushed it through the opening. He turned. The girl -watched from the platform. A rattle passed down the line and the train -started up with a lurch. The man walked back toward the girl. I heard -him say: "Friend o' mine in there—just passin' through."</p> - -<p>I was discovering that it wasn't necessary to hold tight control over -every move of a subject. Once given the impulse to act, he would -rationalize his behavior, fill in the details—and never know that the -original idea hadn't been his own.</p> - -<p>I drank the water first, ate a sandwich, then lit a cigarette and lay -back. So far so good. The crates in the car were marked "U. S. Naval -Aerospace Station, Bayou Le Cochon". With any luck I'd reach New -Orleans in another twelve hours. The first step of my plan included a -raid on the Delta National Labs; but that was tomorrow. That could -wait.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was a little before dawn when I crawled out of the car at a siding -in the swampy country a few miles out of New Orleans. I wasn't feeling -good, but I had a stake in staying on my feet. I still had a few miles -in me. I had my supplies—a few candy bars and some cigarettes—stuffed -in the pockets of the tattered issue coverall. Otherwise, I was -unencumbered. Unless you wanted to count the walking brace on my right -leg and the sling binding my arm.</p> - -<p>I picked my way across mushy ground to a pot-holed black-top road, -started limping toward a few car lights visible half a mile away. It -was already hot. The swamp air was like warmed-over subway fumes. -Through the drugs, I could feel my pulse throbbing in my various -wounds. I reached out and touched the driver's mind; he was thinking -about shrimps, a fish-hook wound on his left thumb and a girl with -black hair. "Want a lift?" he called.</p> - -<p>I thanked him and got in. He gave me a glance and I pinched off his -budding twinge of curiosity. It was almost an effort now not to follow -his thoughts. It was as though my mind, having learned the trick of -communications with others, instinctively reached out toward them.</p> - -<p>An hour later he dropped me on a street corner in a shabby marketing -district of the city and drove off. I hoped he made out all right with -the dark-haired girl. I spotted a used-clothing store and headed for it.</p> - -<p>Twenty minutes later I was back on the sidewalk, dressed in a -pinkish-gray suit that had been cut a long time ago by a Latin -tailor—maybe to settle a grudge. The shirt that went with it was -an unsuccessful violet. The black string tie lent a dubious air of -distinction. I'd swapped the railroader's cap for a tarnished beret. -The man who had supplied the outfit was still asleep. I figured -I'd done him a favor by taking it. I couldn't hope to pass for a -fisherman—I wasn't the type. Maybe I'd get by as a coffee-house -derelict.</p> - -<p>I walked past fly-covered fish stalls, racks of faded garments, grimy -vegetables in bins, enough paint-flaked wrought iron to cage a herd of -brontosauri, and fetched up at a cab stand. I picked a fat driver with -a wart.</p> - -<p>"How much to the Delta National Laboratories?"</p> - -<p>He rolled an eye toward me, shifted his toothpick.</p> - -<p>"What ya wanna go out there for? Nothing out there."</p> - -<p>"I'm a tourist," I said. "They told me before I left home not to miss -it."</p> - -<p>He grunted, reached back and opened the door. I got in. He flipped his -flag down, started up with a clash of gears and pulled out without -looking.</p> - -<p>"How far is it?" I asked him.</p> - -<p>"It ain't far. Mile, mile and a quarter."</p> - -<p>"Pretty big place, I guess."</p> - -<p>He didn't answer.</p> - -<p>We went through a warehousing district, swung left along the -waterfront, bumped over railroad tracks, and pulled up at a nine-foot -cyclone fence with a locked gate.</p> - -<p>"A buck ten," my driver said.</p> - -<p>I looked out at the fence, a barren field, a distant group of low -buildings. "What's this?"</p> - -<p>"This is the place you ast for. That'll be a buck ten, mister."</p> - -<p>I touched his mind, planted a couple of false impressions and withdrew. -He blinked, then started up, drove around the field, pulled up at an -open gate with a blue-uniformed guard. He looked back at me.</p> - -<p>"You want I should drive in, sir?"</p> - -<p>"I'll get out here."</p> - -<p>He jumped out, opened my door, helped me out with a hand under my good -elbow. "I'll get your change, sir," he said, reaching for his hip.</p> - -<p>"Keep it."</p> - -<p>"Thank YOU." He hesitated. "Maybe I oughta stick around. You know."</p> - -<p>"I'll be all right."</p> - -<p>"I hope so," he said. "A man like you—you and me—" he winked. "After -all, we ain't both wearing berets fer nothing."</p> - -<p>"True," I said. "Consider your tip doubled. Now drive away into the -sunrise and forget you ever saw me."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He got into the car, beaming, and left. I turned and sized up the Delta -Labs.</p> - -<p>There was nothing fancy about the place; it consisted of low brick and -steel buildings, mud, a fence and a guard who was looking at me.</p> - -<p>I sauntered over. "I'm from Iowa City," I said. "Now, the rest of the -group didn't come—said they'd rather rest one day. But I like to see -it all. After all, I paid—"</p> - -<p>"Just a minute," the guard said, holding up a palm. "You must be lost, -fella. This here ain't no tourist attraction. You can't come in here."</p> - -<p>"This is the cameo works?" I said anxiously.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. "Too bad you let your cab go. It's an hour yet till -the bus comes."</p> - -<p>A dun-painted staff car came into view, slowed and swung wide to turn -in. I fingered the driver's mind. The car swerved, braked to a halt. -A portly man in the back seat leaned forward, frowning. I touched him. -He relaxed. The driver leaned across and opened the door. I went around -and got in. The guard was watching, open-mouthed.</p> - -<p>I gave him a two-finger salute, and the car pulled through the gate.</p> - -<p>"Stop in front of the electronics section," I said. The car pulled up. -I got out, went up the steps and pushed through the double glass doors. -The car sat for a moment, then moved slowly off. The passenger would be -wondering why the driver had stopped—but the driver wouldn't remember.</p> - -<p>I was inside the building now; that was a start. I didn't like robbery -in broad daylight, but it was a lot easier this way. I wasn't equal to -climbing any walls or breaking down any locked doors—not until I'd had -a transfusion, a skin graft and about three months' vacation on a warm -beach somewhere.</p> - -<p>A man in a white smock emerged from a door. He started past me, spun—</p> - -<p>"I'm here about the garbage," I said. "Damn fools <i>will</i> put the cans -in with the edible. Are you the one called?"</p> - -<p>"How's that?"</p> - -<p>"I ain't got all the morning!" I shrilled. "You scientist fellers are -all alike. Which way is the watchamacallit—equipment lab?"</p> - -<p>"Right along there." He pointed. I didn't bother to thank him. It -wouldn't have been in character.</p> - -<p>A thin man with a brush mustache eyed me sharply as I pushed through -the door. I looked at him, nodding absently. "Carry on with your work," -I said. "The audit will be carried out in such a way as to disturb you -as little as possible. Just show me your voucher file, if you please."</p> - -<p>He sighed and waved toward a filing cabinet. I went to it and pulled a -drawer open, glancing about the room. Full shelves were visible through -an inner door.</p> - -<p>Twenty minutes later I left the building, carrying a sheet metal -carton containing the electronic components I needed to build a matter -transmitter—except for the parts I'd have to fabricate myself from raw -materials. The load was heavy—too heavy for me to carry very far. I -parked it at the door and waited until a pick-up truck came along.</p> - -<p>It pulled over. The driver climbed out and came up the walk to me. "Are -you—uh...?" He scratched his head.</p> - -<p>"Right." I waved at my loot. "Put it in the back." He obliged. -Together we rolled toward the gate. The guard held up his hand, came -forward to check the truck. He looked surprised when he saw me.</p> - -<p>"Just who are you, fella?" he said.</p> - -<p>I didn't like tampering with people any more than I had to. It was a -lot like stealing from a blind man: easy, but nothing to feel proud of. -I gave him a light touch—just the suggestion that what I would say -would be full of deep meaning.</p> - -<p>"You know—the regular Wednesday shipment," I said darkly. "Keep it -quiet. We're all relying on you."</p> - -<p>"Sure thing," he said, stepping back. We gunned through the gate. I -glanced back to see him looking after the truck, thinking about the -Wednesday shipment on a Friday. He decided it was logical, nodded his -head and forgot the whole thing.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">V</p> - -<p>I'd been riding high for a couple of hours, enjoying the success of the -tricks I'd stolen from the Gool. Now I suddenly felt like something the -student morticians had been practicing on. I guided my driver through a -second-rate residential section, looking for an M.D. shingle on a front -lawn.</p> - -<p>The one I found didn't inspire much confidence—you could hardly see it -for the weeds—but I didn't want to make a big splash. I had to have an -assist from my driver to make it to the front door. He got me inside, -parked my box beside me and went off to finish his rounds, under the -impression that it had been a dull morning.</p> - -<p>The doctor was a seedy, seventyish G.P. with a gross tremor of the -hands that a good belt of Scotch would have helped. He looked at me -as though I'd interrupted something that was either more fun or paid -better than anything I was likely to come up with.</p> - -<p>"I need my dressing changed, Doc," I said. "And maybe a shot to keep me -going."</p> - -<p>"I'm not a dope peddler," he snapped. "You've got the wrong place."</p> - -<p>"Just a little medication—whatever's usual. It's a burn."</p> - -<p>"Who told you to come here?"</p> - -<p>I looked at him meaningfully. "The word gets around."</p> - -<p>He glared at me, gnashed his plates, then gestured toward a -black-varnished door. "Go right in there."</p> - -<p>He gaped at my arm when the bandages were off. I took a quick glance -and wished I hadn't.</p> - -<p>"How did you do this?"</p> - -<p>"Smoking in bed," I said. "Have you got ... something that...."</p> - -<p>He caught me before I hit the floor, got me into a chair. Then he had -that Scotch he'd been wanting, gave me a shot as an after-thought, and -looked at me narrowly.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you fell out of that same bed and broke your leg," he said.</p> - -<p>"Right. Hell of a dangerous bed."</p> - -<p>"I'll be right back." He turned to the door. "Don't go away. I'll -just ... get some gauze."</p> - -<p>"Better stay here, Doc. There's plenty of gauze right on that table."</p> - -<p>"See here—"</p> - -<p>"Skip it, doc. I know all about you."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"I said <i>all</i> about you."</p> - -<p>He set to work then; a guilty conscience is a tough argument to answer.</p> - -<p>He plastered my arm with something and rewrapped it, then looked the -leg over and made a couple of adjustments to the brace. He clucked over -the stitches in my scalp, dabbed something on them that hurt like hell, -then shoved an old-fashioned stickpin needle into my good arm.</p> - -<p>"That's all I can do for you," he said. He handed me a bottle of pills. -"Here are some tablets to take in an emergency. Now get out."</p> - -<p>"Call me a cab, Doc."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I listened while he called, then lit a cigarette and watched through -the curtains. The doc stood by, worrying his upper plate and eyeing me. -So far I hadn't had to tinker with his mind, but it would be a good -idea to check. I felt my way delicately.</p> - -<p>—<i>oh God, why did I ... long time ago ... Mary ever knew ... go to -Arizona, start again, too old....</i> I saw the nest of fears that gnawed -at him, the frustration and the faint flicker of hope but not quite -dead. I touched his mind, wiped away scars....</p> - -<p>"Here's your car," he said. He opened the door, looking at me. I -started past him.</p> - -<p>"Are you sure you're all right?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Sure, Pop. And don't worry. Everything's going to be okay."</p> - -<p>The driver put my boxes on the back seat. I got in beside him and told -him to take me to a men's clothing store. He waited while I changed my -hand-me-downs for an off-the-hook suit, new shirt and underwear and a -replacement beret. It was the only kind of hat that didn't hurt. My -issue shoes were still good, but I traded them in on a new pair, added -a light raincoat, and threw in a sturdy suitcase for good measure. The -clerk said something about money and I dropped an idea into his mind, -paused long enough to add a memory of a fabulous night with a redhead. -He hardly noticed me leaving.</p> - -<p>I tried not to feel like a shop-lifter. After all, it's not every day a -man gets a chance to swap drygoods for dreams.</p> - -<p>In the cab, I transferred my belongings to the new suitcase, then -told the driver to pull up at an anonymous-looking hotel. A four-star -admiral with frayed cuffs helped me inside with my luggage. The hackie -headed for the bay to get rid of the box under the impression I was a -heavy tipper.</p> - -<p>I had a meal in my room, a hot bath, and treated myself to a three hour -nap. I woke up feeling as though those student embalmers might graduate -after all.</p> - -<p>I thumbed through the phone book and dialed a number.</p> - -<p>"I want a Cadillac or Lincoln," I said. "A new one—not the one you -rent for funerals—and a driver who won't mind missing a couple nights' -sleep. And put a bed pillow and a blanket in the car."</p> - -<p>I went down to the coffee room then for a light meal. I had just -finished a cigarette when the car arrived—a dark blue heavyweight -with a high polish and a low silhouette.</p> - -<p>"We're going to Denver," I told the driver. "We'll make one stop -tomorrow—I have a little shopping to do. I figure about twenty hours. -Take a break every hundred miles, and hold it under seventy."</p> - -<p>He nodded. I got in the back and sank down in the smell of expensive -upholstery.</p> - -<p>"I'll cross town and pick up U.S. 84 at—"</p> - -<p>"I leave the details to you," I said. He pulled out into the traffic -and I got the pillow settled under me and closed my eyes. I'd need all -the rest I could get on this trip. I'd heard that compared with the -Denver Records Center, Fort Knox was a cinch. I'd find out for sure -when I got there.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The plan I had in mind wasn't the best I could have concocted under -more leisurely circumstances. But with every cop in the country under -orders to shoot me on sight, I had to move fast. My scheme had the -virtue of unlikeliness. Once I was safe in the Central Vault—supposed -to be the only H-bomb-proof structure ever built—I'd put through a -phone call to the outside, telling them to watch a certain spot; say -the big desk in the President's office. Then I'd assemble my matter -transmitter and drop some little item right in front of the assembled -big shots. They'd have to admit I had something. And this time they'd -have to start considering the possibility that I wasn't working for the -enemy.</p> - -<p>It had been a smooth trip, and I'd caught up on my sleep. Now it was -five A.M. and we were into the foothills, half an hour out of Denver. -I ran over my lines, planning the trickiest part of the job ahead—the -initial approach. I'd listened to a couple of news broadcasts. The FBI -was still promising an arrest within hours. I learned that I was lying -up, or maybe dead, in the vicinity of Key West, and that the situation -was under control. That was fine with me. Nobody would expect me to pop -up in Denver, still operating under my own power—and wearing a new -suit at that.</p> - -<p>The Records Center was north of the city, dug into mountainside. -I steered my chauffeur around the downtown section, out a street -lined with dark hamburger joints and unlit gas stations to where a -side road branched off. We pulled up. From here on, things might get -dangerous—if I was wrong about how easy it was all going to be. I -brushed across the driver's mind. He set the brake and got out.</p> - -<p>"Don't know how I came to run out of gas, Mr. Brown," he said -apologetically. "We just passed a station but it was closed. I guess -I'll just have to hike back into town. I sure am sorry; I never did -that before."</p> - -<p>I told him it was okay, watched as he strode off into the pre-dawn -gloom, then got into the front seat and started up. The gate of the -Reservation surrounding the Record Center was only a mile away now. I -drove slowly, feeling ahead for opposition. There didn't seem to be -any. Things were quiet as a poker player with a pat hand. My timing was -good.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I stopped in front of the gate, under a floodlight and the watchful eye -of an M.P. with a shiny black tommygun held at the ready. He didn't -seem surprised to see me. I rolled down the window as he came over to -the car.</p> - -<p>"I have an appointment inside, Corporal," I said. I touched his mind. -"The password is 'hot-point'."</p> - -<p>He nodded, stepped back, and motioned me in. I hesitated. This was -almost too easy. I reached out again....</p> - -<p>"<i>... middle of the night ... password ... nice car ... I wish....</i>"</p> - -<p>I pulled through the gate and headed for the big parking lot, picking -a spot in front of a ramp that led down to a tall steel door. There was -no one in sight. I got out, dragging my suitcase. It was heavier now, -with the wire and magnets I'd added. I crossed the drive, went up to -the doors. The silence was eerie.</p> - -<p>I swept the area, searching for minds, found nothing. The shielding, I -decided, blanked out everything.</p> - -<p>There was a personnel door set in the big panel, with a massive -combination lock. I leaned my head against the door and felt for the -mechanism, turning the dial right, left, right....</p> - -<p>The lock opened. I stepped inside, alert.</p> - -<p>Silence, darkness. I reached out, sensed walls, slabs of steel, -concrete, intricate mechanisms, tunnels deep in the ground....</p> - -<p>But no personnel. That was surprising—but I wouldn't waste time -questioning my good luck. I followed a corridor, opened another door, -massive as a vault, passed more halls, more doors. My footsteps made -muffled echoes. I passed a final door and came into the heart of the -Records Center.</p> - -<p>There were lights in the chamber around the grim, featureless periphery -of the Central Vault. I set the valise on the floor, sat on it and lit -a cigarette. So far, so good. The Records Center, I saw, had been -over-rated. Even without my special knowledge, a clever locksmith -could have come this far—or almost. But the Big Vault was another -matter. The great integrating lock that secured it would yield only to -a complex command from the computer set in the wall opposite the vault -door. I smoked my cigarette and, with eyes closed, studied the vault.</p> - -<p>I finished the cigarette, stepped on it, went to the console, began -pressing keys, tapping out the necessary formulations. Half an hour -later I finished. There was a whine from a servo motor; a crimson light -flashed. I turned and saw the valve cycle open, showing a bright-lit -tunnel within.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I dragged my bag inside, threw the lever that closed the entry behind -me. A green light went on. I walked along the narrow passage, lined -with gray metal shelves stacked with gray steel tape drums, descended -steps, came into a larger chamber fitted out with bunks, a tiny galley, -toilet facilities, shelves stocked with food. There was a radio, -a telephone and a second telephone, bright red. That would be the -hot-line to Washington. This was the sanctum sanctorum, where the last -survivors could wait out the final holocaust—indefinitely.</p> - -<p>I opened the door of a steel cabinet. Radiation suits, tools, -instruments. Another held bedding. I found a tape-player, tapes—even -a shelf of books. I found a first aid kit and gratefully gave myself a -hypo-spray jolt of neurite. My pains receded.</p> - -<p>I went on to the next room; there were wash tubs, a garbage disposal -unit, a drier. There was everything here I needed to keep me alive -and even comfortable until I could convince someone up above that I -shouldn't be shot on sight.</p> - -<p>A heavy door barred the way to the room beyond. I turned a wheel, swung -the door back, saw more walls lined with filing cabinets, a blank -facade of gray steel; and in the center of the room, alone on a squat -table—a yellow plastic case that any Sunday Supplement reader would -have recognized.</p> - -<p>It was a Master Tape, the Utter Top Secret Programming document that -would direct the terrestrial defense in case of a Gool invasion.</p> - -<p>It was almost shocking to see it lying there—unprotected except for -the flimsy case. The information it contained in micro-micro dot form -could put my world in the palm of the enemy's hand.</p> - -<p>The room with the tool kit would be the best place to work, I decided. -I brought the suitcase containing the electronic gear back from the -outer door where I'd left it, opened it and arranged its contents on -the table. According to the Gool these simple components were all I -needed. The trick was in knowing how to put them together.</p> - -<p>There was work ahead of me now. There were the coils to wind, the -intricate antenna arrays to lay out; but before I started, I'd take -time to call Kayle—or whoever I could get at the other end of the -hot-line. They'd be a little startled when I turned up at the heart of -the defenses they were trying to shield.</p> - -<p>I picked up the receiver and a voice spoke:</p> - -<p>"Well, Granthan. So you finally made it."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">VI</p> - -<p>"Here are your instructions," Kayle was saying. "Open the vault door. -Come out—stripped—and go to the center of the parking lot. Stand -there with your hands over your head. A single helicopter manned by a -volunteer will approach and drop a gas canister. It won't be lethal, I -promise you that. Once you're unconscious, I'll personally see to it -that you're transported to the Institute in safety. Every effort will -then be made to overcome the Gool conditioning. If we're successful, -you'll be awakened. If not...."</p> - -<p>He let the sentence hang. It didn't need to be finished. I understood -what he meant.</p> - -<p>I was listening. I was still not too worried. Here I was safe against -anything until the food ran out—and that wouldn't be for months.</p> - -<p>"You're bluffing, Kayle," I said. "You're trying to put the best face -on something that you can't control. If you'd—"</p> - -<p>"You were careless at Delta Labs, Granthan. There were too many people -with odd blanks in their memories and too many unusual occurrences, -all on the same day. You tipped your hand. Once we knew what we were -up against, it was simply a matter of following you at an adequate -distance. We have certain shielding materials, as you know. We tried -them all. There's a new one that's quite effective.</p> - -<p>"But as I was saying, we've kept you under constant surveillance. When -we saw which way you were heading, we just stayed out of sight and let -you trap yourself."</p> - -<p>"You're lying. Why would you want me here?"</p> - -<p>"That's very simple," Kayle said harshly. "It's the finest trap ever -built by man—and you're safely in it."</p> - -<p>"Safely is right. I have everything I need here. And that brings me to -my reason for being here—in case you're curious. I'm going to build -a matter transmitter. And to prove my good faith, I'll transmit the -Master Tape to you. I'll show you that I could have stolen the damned -thing if I'd wanted to."</p> - -<p>"Indeed? Tell me, Granthan, do you really think we'd be fools enough to -leave the Master Tape behind when we evacuated the area?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know about that—but it's here."</p> - -<p>"Sorry," Kayle said. "You're deluding yourself." His voice was suddenly -softer, some of the triumph gone from it. "Don't bother struggling, -Granthan. The finest brains in the country have combined to place you -where you are. You haven't a chance, except to do as I say. Make it -easy on yourself. I have no wish to extend your ordeal."</p> - -<p>"You can't touch me, Kayle. This vault is proof against a hell-bomb, -and it's stocked for a siege...."</p> - -<p>"That's right," Kayle said. His voice sounded tired. "It's proof -against a hell-bomb. But what if the hell-bomb's in the vault with -you?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I felt like a demolition man, working to defuse a block-buster, who's -suddenly heard a loud click! from the detonator. I dropped the phone, -stared around the room. I saw nothing that could be a bomb. I ran to -the next room, the one beyond. Nothing. I went back to the phone, -grabbed it up.</p> - -<p>"You ought to know better than to bluff now, Kayle!" I yelled. "I -wouldn't leave this spot now for half a dozen hypothetical hell-bombs!"</p> - -<p>"In the center room," Kayle said. "Lift the cover over the floor drain. -You'll find it there. You know what they look like. Don't tamper with -its mechanism; it's internally trapped. You'll have to take my word for -it we didn't bother installing a dummy."</p> - -<p>I dropped the phone, hurried to the spot Kayle had described. The bomb -casing was there—a dull gray ovoid, with a lifting eye set in the top. -It didn't look dangerous. It just lay quietly, waiting....</p> - -<p>Back at the telephone, I had trouble finding my voice. "How long?" I -croaked.</p> - -<p>"It was triggered when you entered the vault," Kayle said. "There's a -time mechanism. It's irreversible; you can't force anyone to cancel it. -And it's no use your hiding in the outer passages.</p> - -<p>"The whole center will be destroyed in the blast. Even it can't stand -against a bomb buried in its heart. But we'll gladly sacrifice the -center to eliminate you."</p> - -<p>"How long!"</p> - -<p>"I suggest you come out quickly, so that a crew can enter the vault to -disarm the bomb."</p> - -<p>"<i>How long!</i>"</p> - -<p>"When you're ready to emerge, call me." The line went dead.</p> - -<p>I put the phone back in its cradle carefully, like a rare and valuable -egg.</p> - -<p>I tried to think. I'd been charging full speed ahead ever since I -had decided on my scheme of action while I was still riding the surf -off the Florida coast, and I'd stuck to it. Now it had hatched in my -face—and the thing that had crawled out wasn't the downy little chick -of success. It had teeth and claws and was eyeing me like a basilisk....</p> - -<p>But I still had unplayed aces—if there was time.</p> - -<p>I had meant to use the matter transmitter to stage a dramatic proof -that I wasn't the tool of the enemy. The demonstration would be more -dramatic than I'd planned. The bomb would fit the machine as easily as -the tape. The wheels would be surprised when their firecracker went -off—right on schedule—in the middle of the Mojave Desert.</p> - -<p>I set to work, my heart pounding. If I could bring this off—if I had -time—if the transmitter worked as advertised....</p> - -<p>The stolen knowledge flowed smoothly, effortlessly. It was as though -I had been assembling matter transmitters for years, knew every step -by heart. First the moebius windings; yard after yard of heavy copper -around a core of carbon; then the power supply, the first and second -stage amplimitters....</p> - -<p>How long? In the sump in the next room, the bomb lay quietly ticking. -How long...?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The main assembly was ready now. I laid out cables, tying my apparatus -in to the atomic power-source buried under the vault. The demand, -for one short instant, would tax even those mighty engines. I fixed -hooks at the proper points in the room, wove soft aluminum wire in the -correct pattern. I was almost finished now. How long? I made the last -connections, cleared away the litter. The matter transmitter stood on -the table, complete. At any instant, the bomb would reduce it—and the -secret of its construction—to incandescent gas—unless I transmitted -the bomb out of range first. I turned toward the laundry room—and the -telephone rang.</p> - -<p>I hesitated, then crossed the room and snatched it up.</p> - -<p>"Listen to me," Kayle said grimly. "Give me straight, fast answers. You -said the Master Tape was there, in the vault with you. Now tell me: -What does it look like?"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"The ... ah ... dummy tape. What is its appearance?"</p> - -<p>"It's a roughly square plastic container, bright yellow, about a foot -thick. What about it?"</p> - -<p>Kayle's voice sounded strained. "I've made inquiries. No one here seems -to know the exact present location of the Master Tape. Each department -says that they were under the impression that another handled the -matter. I'm unable to learn who, precisely, removed the Tape from the -vault. Now you say there is a yellow plastic container—"</p> - -<p>"I know what the Master Tape looks like," I said. "This is either it or -a hell of a good copy."</p> - -<p>"Granthan," Kayle said. There was a note of desperation in his voice -now. "There have been some blunders made. I knew you were under the -influence of the Gool. It didn't occur to me that I might be too. -Why did I make it possible for you to successfully penetrate to the -Central Vault? There were a hundred simpler ways in which I could have -dealt with the problem. We're in trouble, Granthan, serious trouble. -The tape you have there is genuine. We've all played into the enemy's -hands."</p> - -<p>"You're wasting valuable time, Kayle," I snapped. "When does the bomb -go up?"</p> - -<p>"Granthan, there's little time left. Bring the Master Tape and leave -the vault—"</p> - -<p>"No dice, Kayle. I'm staying until I finish the transmitter, then—"</p> - -<p>"Granthan! If there's anything to your mad idea of such a machine, -destroy it! Quickly! Don't you see the Gool would only have given you -the secret in order to enable you to steal the tape!"</p> - -<p>I cut him off. In the sudden silence, I heard a distant sound—or had I -sensed a thought? I strained outward....</p> - -<p>"<i>... volunteered ... damn fool ... thing on my head is heavy ... -better work....</i></p> - -<p>"<i>... now ... okay ... valve, gas ... kills in a split second ... then -get out....</i>"</p> - -<p>I stabbed out, pushed through the obscuring veil of masonry, sensed a -man in the computer room, dressed in gray coveralls, a grotesque shield -over his head and shoulders. He reached for a red-painted valve—</p> - -<p>I struck at his mind, felt him stagger back, fall. I fumbled in his -brain, stimulated the sleep center. He sank deep into unconsciousness. -I leaned against the table, weak with the reaction. Kayle had almost -tricked me that time.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I reached out again, swept the area with desperate urgency. Far away, I -sensed the hazy clutter of many minds, out of range. There was nothing -more. The poisonous gas had been the only threat—except the bomb -itself. But I had to move fast, before my time ran out, to transmit the -bomb to a desert area....</p> - -<p>I paused, stood frozen in mid-move. A desert. What desert?</p> - -<p>The transmitter operated in accordance with as rigid a set of laws as -did the planets swinging in their orbits; strange laws, but laws of -nature none the less. No receiver was required. The destination of the -mass under transmission was determined by the operator, holding in his -mind the five-dimensional conceptualization of the target, guiding the -action of the machine.</p> - -<p>And I had no target.</p> - -<p>I could no more direct the bomb to a desert without a five-fold grasp -of its multi-ordinal spatial, temporal, and entropic co-ordinates than -I could fire a rifle at a target in the dark.</p> - -<p>I was like a man with a grenade in his hand, pin pulled—and locked in -a cell.</p> - -<p>I swept the exocosm again, desperately. And caught a thin, live line. I -traced it; it cut through the mountain, dived deep underground, crossed -the boundless plain....</p> - -<p>Never branching, it bored on, turning upward now—and ending.</p> - -<p>I rested, gathering strength, then probed, straining....</p> - -<p>There was a room, men. I recognized Kayle, gray-faced, haggard. A tall -man in braided blue stood near him. Others stood silently by, tension -on every face. Maps covered the wall behind them.</p> - -<p>I was looking into the War Room at the Pentagon in Washington. The -line I had traced was the telephonic hot-line, the top-security link -between the Record Center and the command level. It was a heavy cable, -well protected and always open. It would free me from the trap. With -Gool-tutored skill I scanned the room, memorized its co-ordinates. Then -I withdrew.</p> - -<p>Like a swimmer coming up from a long dive, I fought my way back to the -level of immediate awareness. I sagged into a chair, blinking at the -drab walls, the complexity of the transmitter. I must move fast now, -place the bomb in the transmitter's field, direct it at the target. -With an effort I got to my feet, went to the sump, lifted the cover. I -grasped the lifting eye, strained—and the bomb came up, out onto the -floor. I dragged it to the transmitter....</p> - -<p>And only then realized what I'd been about to do.</p> - -<p>My target.</p> - -<p>The War Room—the nerve-center of Earth's defenses. And I had been -ready to dump the hell bomb there. In my frenzy to be rid of it I would -have played into the hands of the Gool.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">VII</p> - -<p>I went to the phone.</p> - -<p>"Kayle! I guess you've got a recorder on the line. I'll give you the -details of the transmitter circuits. It's complicated, but fifteen -minutes ought to—"</p> - -<p>"No time," Kayle cut in. "I'm sorry about everything, Granthan. If -you've finished the machine, it's a tragedy for humanity—if it works. -I can only ask you to try—when the Gool command comes—not to give -them what they want. I'll tell you, now, Granthan. The bomb blows in—" -there was a pause—"two minutes and twenty-one seconds. Try to hold -them off. If you can stand against them for that long at least—"</p> - -<p>I slammed the phone down, cold sweat popping out across my face. Two -minutes ... too late for anything. The men in the War Room would never -know how close I had come to beating the Gool—and them.</p> - -<p>But I could still save the Master Tape. I wrestled the yellow plastic -case that housed the tape onto the table, into the machine.</p> - -<p>And the world vanished in a blaze of darkness, a clamor of silence.</p> - -<p><i>NOW, MASTERS! NOW! LINK UP! LINK UP!</i></p> - -<p>Like a bad dream coming back in daylight, I felt the obscene presence -of massed Gool minds, attenuated by distance but terrible in their -power, probing, thrusting. I fought back, struggling against paralysis, -trying to gather my strength, use what I had learned....</p> - -<p><i>SEE, MASTERS, HOW IT WOULD ELUDE US. BLANK IT OFF, TOGETHER NOW....</i></p> - -<p>The paths closed before me. My mind writhed, twisted, darted here and -there—and met only the impenetrable shield of the Gool defenses.</p> - -<p><i>IT TIRES, MASTERS. WORK SWIFTLY NOW. LET US IMPRESS ON THE SUBJECT THE -CO-ORDINATES OF THE BRAIN PIT.</i> The conceptualization drifted into my -mind. <i>HERE, MAN. TRANSMIT THE TAPE HERE!</i></p> - -<p>As from a distance, the monitor personality fraction watched the -struggle. Kayle had been right. The Gool had waited—and now their -moment had come. Even my last impulse of defiance—to place the tape -in the machine—had been at the Gool command. They had looked into -my mind. They understand psychology as no human analyst ever could; -and they had led me in the most effective way possible, by letting -me believe I was the master. They had made use of my human ingenuity -to carry out their wishes—and Kayle had made it easy for them by -evacuating a twenty-mile radius around me, leaving the field clear for -the Gool.</p> - -<p><i>HERE</i>—The Gool voice rang like a bell in my mind: <i>TRANSMIT THE TAPE -HERE!</i></p> - -<p>Even as I fought against the impulse to comply, I felt my arm twitch -toward the machine.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="343" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><i>THROW THE SWITCH!</i> the voice thundered.</p> - -<p>I struggled, willed my arm to stay at my side. Only a minute longer, I -thought. Only a minute more, and the bomb would save me....</p> - -<p><i>LINK UP, MASTERS!</i></p> - -<p><i>I WILL NOT LINK. YOU PLOT TO FEED AT MY EXPENSE.</i></p> - -<p><i>NO! BY THE MOTHER WORM, I PLEDGE MY GROOVE AT THE EATING TROUGH. FOR -US THE MAN WILL GUT THE GREAT VAULT OF HIS NEST WORLD!</i></p> - -<p><i>ALREADY YOU BLOAT AT OUR EXPENSE!</i></p> - -<p><i>FOOL!! WOULD YOU BICKER NOW? LINK UP!</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Gool raged—and I grasped for an elusive thought and held it. The -bomb, only a few feet away. The waiting machine. And the Gool had given -me the co-ordinates of their cavern....</p> - -<p>With infinite sluggishness, I moved.</p> - -<p><i>LINK UP, MASTERS: THEN ALL WILL FEED....</i></p> - -<p><i>IT IS A TRICK. I WILL NOT LINK.</i></p> - -<p>I found the bomb, fumbled for a grip.</p> - -<p><i>DISASTER, MASTERS! NOW IS THE PRIZE LOST TO US, UNLESS YOU JOIN WITH -ME!</i></p> - -<p>My breath choked off in my throat; a hideous pain coiled outward from -my chest. But it was unimportant. Only the bomb mattered. I tottered, -groping. There was the table; the transmitter....</p> - -<p>I lifted the bomb, felt the half-healed skin of my burned arm crackle -as I strained....</p> - -<p>I thrust the case containing the Master Tape out of the field of the -transmitter, then pushed, half-rolled the bomb into position. I groped -for the switch, found it. I tried to draw breath, felt only a surge of -agony. Blackness was closing in....</p> - -<p>The co-ordinates....</p> - -<p>From the whirling fog of pain and darkness, I brought the target -concept of the Gool cavern into view, clarified it, held it....</p> - -<p><i>MASTERS! HOLD THE MAN! DISASTER!</i></p> - -<p>Then I felt the Gool, their suspicions yielding to the panic in the -mind of the Prime Overlord, link their power against me. I stood -paralyzed, felt my identity dissolving like water pouring from a -smashed pot. I tried to remember—but it was too faint, too far away.</p> - -<p>Then from somewhere a voice seemed to cut in, the calm voice of an -emergency reserve personality fraction. "You are under attack. Activate -the reserve plan. Level Five. Use Level Five. Act now. Use Level -Five...."</p> - -<p>Through the miasma of Gool pressure, I felt the hairs stiffen on the -back of my neck. All around me the Gool voices raged, a swelling -symphony of discord. But they were nothing. Level Five....</p> - -<p>There was no turning back. The compulsions were there, acting even as I -drew in a breath to howl my terror—</p> - -<p>Level Five. Down past the shapes of dreams, the intense faces of -hallucination; Level Three; Level Four and the silent ranked -memories.... And deeper still—</p> - -<p>Into a region of looming gibbering horror, of shadowy moving shapes of -evil, of dreaded presences that lurked at the edge of vision....</p> - -<p>Down amid the clamor of voiceless fears, the mounting hungers, the -reaching claws of all that man had feared since the first tailless -primate screamed out his terror in a tree-top: the fear of falling, the -fear of heights.</p> - -<p>Down to Level Five. Nightmare level.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I groped outward, found the plane of contact—and hurled the weight of -man's ancient fears at the waiting Gool—and in their black confining -caves deep in the rock of a far world, they felt the roaring tide of -fear—fear of the dark, and of living burial. The horrors in man's -secret mind confronted the horrors of the Gool Brain Pit. And I felt -them break, retreat in blind panic from me—</p> - -<p>All but one. The Prime Overlord reeled back with the rest, but his was -a mind of terrible power. I sensed for a moment his bloated immense -form, the seething gnawing hungers, insatiable, never to be appeased. -Then he rallied—but he was alone now.</p> - -<p><i>LINK UP, MASTERS! THE PRIZE IS LOST. KILL THE MAN! KILL THE MAN!</i></p> - -<p>I felt a knife at my heart. It fluttered—and stopped. And in that -instant, I broke past his control, threw the switch. There was the -sharp crack of imploding air. Then I was floating down, ever down, and -all sensation was far away.</p> - -<p><i>MASTERS! KILL TH</i></p> - -<p>The pain cut off in an instant of profound silence and utter dark.</p> - -<p>Then sound roared in my ears, and I felt the harsh grate of the floor -against my face as I fell, and then I knew nothing more.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"I hope," General Titus was saying, "that you'll accept the decoration -now, Mr. Granthan. It will be the first time in history that a civilian -has been accorded this honor—and you deserve it."</p> - -<p>I was lying in a clean white bed, propped up by big soft pillows, with -a couple of good-looking nurses hovering a few feet away. I was in a -mood to tolerate even Titus.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, General," I said. "I suggest you give the medal to the -volunteer who came in to gas me. He knew what he was going up against; -I didn't."</p> - -<p>"It's over, now, Granthan," Kayle said. He attempted to beam, settled -for a frosty smile. "You surely understand—"</p> - -<p>"Understanding," I said. "That's all we need to turn this planet—and -a lot of other ones—into the kind of worlds the human mind needs to -expand into."</p> - -<p>"You're tired, Granthan," Kayle said. "You get some rest. In a few -weeks you'll be back on the job, as good as new."</p> - -<p>"That's where the key is," I said. "In our minds; there's so much -there, and we haven't even scratched the surface. To the mind nothing -is impossible. Matter is an illusion, space and time are just -convenient fictions—"</p> - -<p>"I'll leave the medal here, Mr. Granthan. When you feel equal to it, -we'll make the official presentation. Television...."</p> - -<p>He faded off as I closed my eyes and thought about things that had been -clamoring for attention ever since I'd met the Gool, but hadn't had -time to explore. My arm....</p> - -<p>I felt my way along it—from inside—tracing the area of damage, -watching as the bodily defenses worked away, toiling to renew, replace. -It was a slow, mindless process. But if I helped a little....</p> - -<p>It was easy. The pattern was there. I felt the tissues renew -themselves, the skin regenerate.</p> - -<p>The bone was more difficult. I searched out the necessary minerals, -diverted blood; the broken ends knit....</p> - -<p>The nurse was bending over me, a bowl of soup in her hand.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"You've been asleep for a long time, sir," she said, smiling. "How -about some nice chicken broth now?"</p> - -<p>I ate the soup and asked for more. A doctor came and peeled back my -bandages, did a double-take, and rushed away. I looked. The skin was -new and pink, like a baby's—but it was all there. I flexed my right -leg; there was no twinge of pain.</p> - -<p>I listened for a while as the doctors gabbled, clucked, probed and made -pronouncements. Then I closed my eyes again. I thought about the matter -transmitter. The government was sitting on it, of course. A military -secret of the greatest importance, Titus called it. Maybe someday the -public would hear about it; in the meantime—</p> - -<p>"How about letting me out of here?" I said suddenly. A pop-eyed doctor -with a fringe of gray hair blinked at me, went back to fingering my -arm. Kayle hove into view.</p> - -<p>"I want out," I said. "I'm recovered, right? So now just give me my -clothes."</p> - -<p>"Now, now, just relax, Granthan. You know it's not as simple as that. -There are a lot of matters we must go over."</p> - -<p>"The war's over," I said. "You admitted that. I want out."</p> - -<p>"Sorry." Kayle shook his head. "That's out of the question."</p> - -<p>"Doc," I said. "Am I well?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. "Amazing case. You're as fit as you'll ever be; I've -never—"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid you'll have to resign yourself to being here for a while -longer, Granthan," Kayle said. "After all, we can't—"</p> - -<p>"Can't let the secret of matter transmission run around loose, hey? So -until you figure out the angles, I'm a prisoner, right?"</p> - -<p>"I'd hardly call it that, Granthan. Still...."</p> - -<p>I closed my eyes. The matter transmitter—a strange device. A field, -not distorting space, but accentuating certain characteristics of a -matter field in space-time, subtly shifting relationships....</p> - -<p>Just as the mind could compare unrelated data, draw from them new -concepts, new parallels....</p> - -<p>The circuits of the matter transmitter ... and the patterns of the -mind....</p> - -<p>The exocosm and the endocosm, like the skin and the orange, everywhere -in contact....</p> - -<p>Somewhere there was a beach of white sand, and dunes with graceful -sea-oats that leaned in a gentle wind. There was blue water to the -far horizon, and a blue sky, and nowhere were there any generals with -medals and television cameras, or flint-eyed bureaucrats with long -schemes....</p> - -<p>And with this gentle folding ... thus....</p> - -<p>And a pressure here ... so....</p> - -<p>I opened my eyes, raised myself on one elbow—and saw the sea. The sun -was hot on my body, but not too hot, and the sand was white as sugar. -Far away, a seagull tilted, circling.</p> - -<p>A wave rolled in, washed my foot in cool water.</p> - -<p>I lay on my back, and looked up at white clouds in a blue sky, and -smiled—then laughed aloud.</p> - -<p>Distantly the seagull's cry echoed my laughter.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of End as a Hero, by Keith Laumer - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK END AS A HERO *** - -***** This file should be named 51267-h.htm or 51267-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/2/6/51267/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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/license - - -Title: End as a Hero - -Author: Keith Laumer - -Release Date: February 22, 2016 [EBook #51267] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK END AS A HERO *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - END AS A HERO - - By KEITH LAUMER - - Illustrated by SCHELLING - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction June 1963. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - Granthan's mission was the most vital of the war. - It would mean instant victory--but for whom? - - -I - - -In the dream I was swimming in a river of white fire and the dream went -on and on. And then I was awake--and the fire was still there, fiercely -burning at me. - -I tried to move to get away from the flames, and then the real pain -hit me. I tried to go back to sleep and the relative comfort of the -river of fire, but it was no go. For better or worse, I was alive and -conscious. - -I opened my eyes and took a look around. I was on the floor next to -an unpadded acceleration couch--the kind the Terrestrial Space Arm -installs in seldom-used lifeboats. There were three more couches, but -no one in them. I tried to sit up. It wasn't easy but, by applying a -lot more will-power than should be required of a sick man, I made it. -I took a look at my left arm. Baked. The hand was only medium rare, -but the forearm was black, with deep red showing at the bottom of the -cracks where the crisped upper layers had burst.... - -There was a first-aid cabinet across the compartment from me. I -tried my right leg, felt broken bone-ends grate with a sensation -that transcended pain. I heaved with the other leg, scrabbled with -the charred arm. The crawl to the cabinet dwarfed Hillary's trek -up Everest, but I reached it after a couple of years, and found the -microswitch on the floor that activated the thing, and then I was -fading out again.... - - * * * * * - -I came out of it clear-headed but weak. My right leg was numb, but -reasonably comfortable, clamped tight in a walking brace. I put up -a hand and felt a shaved skull, with sutures. It must have been a -fracture. The left arm--well, it was still there, wrapped to the -shoulder and held out stiffly by a power truss that would keep the scar -tissue from pulling up and crippling me. The steady pressure as the -truss contracted wasn't anything to do a sense-tape on for replaying at -leisure moments, but at least the cabinet hadn't amputated. I wasn't -complaining. - -As far as I knew, I was the first recorded survivor of contact with the -Gool--if I survived. - -I was still a long way from home, and I hadn't yet checked on the -condition of the lifeboat. I glanced toward the entry port. It was -dogged shut. I could see black marks where my burned hand had been at -work. - -I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition--with -a broken leg and third-degree burns, plus a fractured skull--I -shouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the trip -from _Belshazzar's_ CCC to the boat; and how had I managed to dog that -port shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. But -running on a broken femur, handling heavy levers with charred fingers -and thinking with a cracked head were overdoing it. Still, I was -here--and it was time to get a call through to TSA headquarters. - -I flipped the switch and gave the emergency call-letters Col. Ausar -Kayle of Aerospace Intelligence had assigned to me a few weeks before. -It was almost five minutes before the "acknowledge" came through from -the Ganymede relay station, another ten minutes before Kayle's face -swam into view. Even through the blur of the screen I could see the -haggard look. - -"Granthan!" he burst out. "Where are the others? What happened out -there?" I turned him down to a mutter. - -"Hold on," I said. "I'll tell you. Recorders going?" I didn't wait for -an answer--not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on: - -"_Belshazzar_ was sabotaged. So was _Gilgamesh_--I think. I got out. I -lost a little skin, but the aid cabinet has the case in hand. Tell the -Med people the drinks are on me." - -I finished talking and flopped back, waiting for Kayle's reply. On the -screen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostile -as a swing-shift ward nurse. It would be half an hour before I would -get his reaction to my report. I dozed off--and awoke with a start. -Kayle was talking. - -"--your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role in -the disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived?" - -"How the hell do I know?" I yelled--or croaked. But Kayle's voice was -droning on: - -"... you Psychodynamics people have been telling me the Gool may -have some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make it -possible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You've -told me yourself that you blacked out during the attack--and came to on -the lifeboat, with no recollection of how you got there. - -"This is war, Granthan. War against a vicious enemy who strike without -warning and without mercy. You were sent out to investigate the -possibility of--what's that term you use?--hyper-cortical invasion. You -know better than most the risk I'd be running if you were allowed to -pass the patrol line. - -"I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't accept -the risk." - -"What do I do now?" I stormed. "Go into orbit and eat pills and hope -you think of something? I need a doctor!" - -Presently Kayle replied. "Yes," he said. "You'll have to enter a -parking orbit. Perhaps there will be developments soon which will make -it possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation." He didn't meet my -eye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish of -knowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him; he was doing -what he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along and -pretend--right up until the warheads struck--that I didn't know I'd -been condemned to death. - - -II - -I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. I -was alone and injured, aboard a lifeboat that would be the focus of a -converging flight of missiles as soon as I approached within battery -range of Earth. I had gotten clear of the Gool, but I wouldn't survive -my next meeting with my own kind. They couldn't take the chance that I -was acting under Gool orders. - -I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan, -psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeks -earlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they were -mine, all mine.... - -But how could I be sure of that? - -Maybe there was something in Kayle's suspicion. If the Gool were as -skillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications of -their tampering--not at a conscious level. - -But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reacting -like any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But I -wasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of the -mind--and I had been prepared for just such an attack. - -Now was the time to make use of that training. It had given me one -resource. I could unlock the memories of my subconscious--and see again -what had happened. - -I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated on -the trigger word that would key an auto-hypnotic sequence.... - -Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of a -first-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the misty -surface into a dreamworld of vague phantasmagoric figures milling in -their limbo of sub-conceptualization. I penetrated deeper, broke -through into the vividly hallucinatory third level, where images of -mirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper.... - - * * * * * - -The immense orderly confusion of the basic memory level lay before -me. Abstracted from it, aloof and observant, the monitoring -personality-fraction scanned the pattern, searching the polydimensional -continuum for evidence of an alien intrusion. - -And found it. - -As the eye instantaneously detects a flicker of motion amid an infinity -of static detail, so my inner eye perceived the subtle traces of the -probing Gool mind, like a whispered touch deftly rearranging my buried -motivations. - -I focused selectively, tuned to the recorded gestalt. - -"_It is a contact, Effulgent One!_" - -"_Softly, now! Nurture the spark well. It but trembles at the -threshold...._" - -"_It is elusive, Master! It wriggles like a gorm-worm in the eating -trough!_" - -A part of my mind watched as the memory unreeled. I listened to the -voices--yet not voices, merely the shape of concepts, indescribably -intricate. I saw how the decoy pseudo-personality which I had -concretized for the purpose in a hundred training sessions had fought -against the intruding stimuli--then yielded under the relentless thrust -of the alien probe. I watched as the Gool operator took over the motor -centers, caused me to crawl through the choking smoke of the devastated -control compartment toward the escape hatch. Fire leaped up, blocking -the way. I went on, felt ghostly flames whipping at me--and then the -hatch was open and I pulled myself through, forcing the broken leg. -My blackened hand fumbled at the locking wheel. Then the blast as -the lifeboat leaped clear of the disintegrating dreadnought--and the -world-ending impact as I fell. - -At a level far below the conscious, the embattled pseudo-personality -lashed out again--fighting the invader. - -"_Almost it eluded me then, Effulgent Lord. Link with this lowly one!_" - -"_Impossible! Do you forget all my teachings? Cling, though you expend -the last filament of your life-force!_" - -Free from all distraction, at a level where comprehension and retention -are instantaneous and total, my monitoring basic personality fraction -followed the skillful Gool mind as it engraved its commands deep in -my subconscious. Then the touch withdrew, erasing the scars of its -passage, to leave me unaware of its tampering--at a conscious level. - -Watching the Gool mind, I learned. - -The insinuating probe--a concept regarding which psychodynamicists had -theorized--was no more than a pattern in emptiness.... - -But a pattern which I could duplicate, now that I had seen what had -been done to me. - -Hesitantly, I felt for the immaterial fabric of the continuum, warping -and manipulating it, copying the Gool probe. Like planes of paper-thin -crystal, the polyfinite aspects of reality shifted into focus, aligning -themselves. - -Abruptly, a channel lay open. As easily as I would stretch out my hand -to pluck a moth from a night-flower, I reached across the unimaginable -void--and sensed a pit blacker than the bottom floor of hell, and a -glistening dark shape. - -There was a soundless shriek. "_Effulgence! It reached out--touched -me!_" - - * * * * * - -Using the technique I had grasped from the Gool itself, I struck, -stifling the outcry, invaded the fetid blackness and grappled the -obscene gelatinous immensity of the Gool spy as it spasmed in a frenzy -of xenophobia--a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well. - -I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering. -Not pausing to rest, I followed up, probed along my channel of contact, -tracing patterns, scanning the flaccid Gool mind.... - -I saw a world of yellow seas lapping at endless shores of mud. There -was a fuming pit, where liquid sulphur bubbled up from some inner -source, filling an immense natural basin. The Gool clustered at its -rim, feeding, each monstrous shape heaving against its neighbors for a -more favorable position. - -I probed farther, saw the great cables of living nervous tissue that -linked each eating organ with the brain-mass far underground. I traced -the passages through which tendrils ran out to immense caverns where -smaller creatures labored over strange devices. These, my host's memory -told me, were the young of the Gool. Here they built the fleets that -would transport the spawn to the new worlds the Prime Overlord had -discovered, worlds where food was free for the taking. Not sulphur -alone, but potassium, calcium, iron and all the metals--riches -beyond belief in endless profusion. No longer would the Gool tribe -cluster--those who remained of a once-great race--at a single feeding -trough. They would spread out across a galaxy--and beyond. - -But not if I could help it. - -The Gool had evolved a plan--but they'd had a stroke of bad luck. - -In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, among -the fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough, -perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send a -man back to Earth under Gool compulsion, to carry out complex sabotage. - -Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutter -of the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick a -psychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had opened -the fortress door to an unseen spy. Now that I was there, I would see -what I could steal. - -A timeless time passed. I wandered among patterns of white light and -white sound, plumbed the deepest recesses of hidden Gool thoughts, -fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of the -concepts of an alien mind. - -I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern within -pattern; the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine. - -I followed through its logic-sequence; and, like a bomb-burst, its -meaning exploded in my mind. - -From the vile nest deep under the dark surface of the Gool world in -its lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret of -their kind. - -Matter across space. - - * * * * * - -"You've got to listen to me, Kayle," I shouted. "I know you think I'm -a Gool robot. But what I have is too big to let you blow it up without -a fight. Matter transmission! You know what that can mean to us. The -concept is too complex to try to describe in words. You'll have to take -my word for it. I can build it, though, using standard components, plus -an infinite-area antenna and a moebius-wound coil--and a few other -things...." - -I harangued Kayle for a while, and then sweated out his answer. I was -getting close now. If he couldn't see the beauty of my proposal, my -screens would start to register the radiation of warheads any time now. - -Kayle came back--and his answer boiled down to "no." - -I tried to reason with him. I reminded him how I had readied myself -for the trip with sessions on the encephaloscope, setting up the -cross-networks of conditioned defensive responses, the shunt circuits -to the decoy pseudo-personality, leaving my volitional ego free. I -talked about subliminal hypnotics and the resilience quotient of the -ego-complex. - -I might have saved my breath. - -"I don't understand that psychodynamics jargon, Granthan," he snapped. -"It smacks of mysticism. But I understand what the Gool have done to -you well enough. I'm sorry." - -I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkind -thoughts about Colonel Ausar Kayle. Then I settled down to solve the -problem at hand. - -I keyed the chart file, flashed pages from the standard index on the -reference screen, checking radar coverages, beacon ranges, monitor -stations, controller fields. It looked as though a radar-negative boat -the size of mine might possibly get through the defensive net with a -daring pilot, and as a condemned spy, I could afford to be daring. - -And I had a few ideas. - - -III - -The shrilling of the proximity alarm blasted through the silence. For a -wild moment I thought Kayle had beaten me to the punch; then I realized -it was the routine DEW line patrol contact. - -"Z four-oh-two, I am reading your IFF. Decelerate at 1.8 gee -preparatory to picking up approach orbit...." - -The screen went on droning out instructions. I fed them into the -autopilot, at the same time running over my approach plan. The scout -was moving in closer. I licked dry lips. It was time to try. - -I closed my eyes, reached out--as the Gool mind had reached out to -me--and felt the touch of a Signals Officer's mind, forty thousand -miles distant, aboard the patrol vessel. There was a brief flurry of -struggle; then I dictated my instructions. The Signals Officer punched -keys, spoke into his microphone: - -"As you were, Z four-oh-two. Continue on present course. At Oh-nineteen -seconds, pick up planetary for re-entry and let-down." - -I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught his -belated puzzlement as I broke contact. But I was clear of the DEW line -now, rapidly approaching atmosphere. - -"Z four-oh-two," the speaker crackled. "This is planetary control. I am -picking you up on channel forty-three, for re-entry and let-down." - -There was a long pause. Then: - -"Z four-oh-two, countermand DEW Line clearance! Repeat, clearance -countermanded! Emergency course change to standard hyperbolic code -ninety-eight. Do not attempt re-entry. Repeat: do not attempt re-entry!" - -It hadn't taken Kayle long to see that I'd gotten past the outer line -of defense. A few more minutes' grace would have helped. I'd play it -dumb, and hope for a little luck. - -"Planetary, Z four-oh-two here. Say, I'm afraid I missed part of that, -fellows. I'm a little banged up--I guess I switched frequencies on you. -What was that after 'pick up channel forty-three'...?" - -"Four-oh-two, sheer off there! You're not cleared for re-entry!" - -"Hey, you birds are mixed up," I protested. "I'm cleared all the way. I -checked in with DEW--" - -It was time to disappear. I blanked off all transmission, hit the -controls, following my evasive pattern. And again I reached out-- - -A radar man at a site in the Pacific, fifteen thousand miles away, rose -from his chair, crossed the darkened room and threw a switch. The radar -screens blanked off.... - -For an hour I rode the long orbit down, fending off attack after -attack. Then I was clear, skimming the surface of the ocean a few miles -southeast of Key West. The boat hit hard. I felt the floor rise up, -over, buffeting me against the restraining harness. - -I hauled at the release lever, felt a long moment of giddy -disorientation as the escape capsule separated from the sinking -lifeboat deep under the surface. Then my escape capsule was bobbing on -the water. - -I would have to risk calling Kayle now--but by voluntarily giving my -position away, I should convince him I was still on our side--and I was -badly in need of a pick-up. I flipped the sending key. - -"This is Z four-oh-two," I said. "I have an urgent report for Colonel -Kayle of Aerospace Intelligence." - -Kayle's face appeared. "Don't fight it, Granthan," he croaked. "You -penetrated the planetary defenses--God knows how. I--" - -"Later," I snapped. "How about calling off your dogs now? And send -somebody out here to pick me up, before I add sea-sickness to my other -complaints." - -"We have you pinpointed," Kayle cut in. "It's no use fighting it, -Granthan." - - * * * * * - -I felt cold sweat pop out on my forehead. "You've got to listen, -Kayle," I shouted. "I suppose you've got missiles on the way already. -Call them back! I have information that can win the war--" - -"I'm sorry, Granthan," Kayle said. "It's too late--even if I could -take the chance you were right." - -A different face appeared on the screen. - -"Mr. Granthan, I am General Titus. On behalf of your country, and -in the name of the President--who has been apprised of this tragic -situation--it is my privilege to inform you that you will be awarded -the Congressional Medal of Honor--posthumously--for your heroic effort. -Although you failed, and have in fact been forced, against your will, -to carry out the schemes of the inhuman enemy, this in no way detracts -from your gallant attempt. Mr. Granthan, I salute you." - -The general's arm went up in a rigid gesture. - -"Stow that, you pompous idiot!" I barked. "I'm no spy!" - -Kayle was back, blanking out the startled face of the general. - -"Goodbye, Granthan. Try to understand...." - -I flipped the switch, sat gripping the couch, my stomach rising with -each heave of the floating escape capsule. I had perhaps five minutes. -The missiles would be from Canaveral. - -I closed my eyes, forced myself to relax, reached out.... - -I sensed the distant shore, the hot buzz of human minds at work in the -cities. I followed the coastline, found the Missile Base, flicked -through the cluster of minds. - -"--_missile on course; do right, baby. That's it, right in the slot._" - -I fingered my way through the man's mind and found the control centers. -He turned stiffly from the plotting board, tottered to a panel to slam -his hand against the destruct button. - -Men fell on him, dragged him back. "--_fool, why did you blow it?_" - -I dropped the contact, found another, who leaped to the panel, -detonated the remainder of the flight of six missiles. Then I withdrew. -I would have a few minutes' stay of execution now. - -I was ten miles from shore. The capsule had its own power plant. I -started it up, switched on the external viewer. I saw dark sea, the -glint of star-light on the choppy surface, in the distance a glow on -the horizon that would be Key West. I plugged the course into the -pilot, then leaned back and felt outward with my mind for the next -attacker. - - -IV - -It was dark in the trainyard. I moved along the tracks in a stumbling -walk. Just a few more minutes, I was telling myself. _A few more -minutes and you can lie down ... rest...._ - -The shadowed bulk of a box car loomed up, its open door a blacker -square. I leaned against the sill, breathing hard, then reached inside -for a grip with my good hand. - -Gravel scrunched nearby. The beam of a flashlight lanced out, slipped -along the weathered car, caught me. There was a startled exclamation. -I ducked back, closed my eyes, felt out for his mind. There was a -confused murmur of thought, a random intrusion of impressions from the -city all around. It was hard, too hard. I had to sleep-- - -I heard the snick of a revolver being cocked, and dropped flat as a -gout of flame stabbed toward me, the imperative Bam! echoing between -the cars. I caught the clear thought: - -"God-awful looking, shaved head, arm stuck out; him all right--" - -I reached out to his mind and struck at random. The light fell, went -out, and I heard the unconscious body slam to the ground like a poled -steer. - -It was easy--if I could only stay awake. - -I gritted my teeth, pulled myself into the car, crawled to a dark -corner behind a crate and slumped down. I tried to evoke a personality -fraction to set as a guard, a part of my mind to stay awake and warn -me of danger. It was too much trouble. I relaxed and let it all slide -down into darkness. - - * * * * * - -The car swayed, click-clack, click-clack. I opened my eyes, saw yellow -sunlight in a bar across the litter on the floor. The power truss -creaked, pulling at my arm. My broken leg was throbbing its indignation -at the treatment it had received--walking brace and all--and the burned -arm was yelling aloud for more of that nice dope that had been keeping -it from realizing how bad it was. All things considered, I felt like a -badly embalmed mummy--except that I was hungry. I had been a fool not -to fill my pockets when I left the escape capsule in the shallows off -Key Largo, but things had been happening too fast. - -I had barely made it to the fishing boat, whose owner I had coerced -into rendezvousing with me before shells started dropping around us. If -the gunners on the cruiser ten miles away had had any luck, they would -have finished me--and the hapless fisherman--right then. We rode out a -couple of near misses, before I put the cruiser's gunnery crew off the -air. - -At a fishing camp on the beach, I found a car--with driver. He dropped -me at the railyard, and drove off under the impression he was in town -for groceries. He'd never believe he'd seen me. - -Now I'd had my sleep. I had to start getting ready for the next act of -the farce. - -I pressed the release on the power truss, gingerly unclamped it, then -rigged a sling from a strip of shirt tail. I tied the arm to my side as -inconspicuously as possible. I didn't disturb the bandages. - -I needed new clothes--or at least different ones--and something to -cover my shaved skull. I couldn't stay hidden forever. The yard cop had -recognized me at a glance. - -I lay back, waiting for the train to slow for a town. I wasn't unduly -worried--at the moment. The watchman probably hadn't convinced anyone -he'd actually seen me. Maybe he hadn't been too sure himself. - -The click-clack slowed and the train shuddered to a stop. I crept to -the door, peered through the crack. There were sunny fields, a few low -buildings in the distance, the corner of a platform. I closed my eyes -and let my awareness stretch out. - -"--_lousy job. What's the use? Little witch in the lunch room ... up in -the hills, squirrel hunting, bottle of whiskey...._" - -I settled into control gently, trying not to alarm the man. I saw -through his eyes the dusty box car, the rust on the tracks, the -listless weeds growing among cinders, and the weathered boards of -the platform. I turned him, and saw the dingy glass of the telegraph -window, a sagging screen door with a chipped enameled cola sign. - -I walked the man to the door, and through it. Behind a linoleum-topped -counter, a coarse-skinned teen-age girl with heavy breasts and wet -patches under her arms looked up without interest as the door banged. - -My host went on to the counter, gestured toward the waxed-paper-wrapped -sandwiches under a glass cover. "I'll take 'em all. And candy bars, and -cigarettes. And give me a big glass of water." - -"Better git out there and look after yer train," the girl said -carelessly. "When'd you git so all-fired hungry all of a sudden?" - -"Put it in a bag. Quick." - -"Look who's getting bossy--" - -My host rounded the counter, picked up a used paper bag, began stuffing -food in it. The girl stared at him, then pushed him back. "You git back -around that counter!" - -She filled the bag, took a pencil from behind her ear. - -"That'll be one eighty-five. Cash." - -My host took two dog-eared bills from his shirt pocket, dropped them -on the counter and waited while the girl filled a glass. He picked it -up and started out. - -"Hey! Where you goin' with my glass?" - -The trainman crossed the platform, headed for the boxcar. He slid the -loose door back a few inches against the slack latch, pushed the bag -inside, placed the glass of water beside it, then pulled off his grimy -railroader's cap and pushed it through the opening. He turned. The girl -watched from the platform. A rattle passed down the line and the train -started up with a lurch. The man walked back toward the girl. I heard -him say: "Friend o' mine in there--just passin' through." - -I was discovering that it wasn't necessary to hold tight control over -every move of a subject. Once given the impulse to act, he would -rationalize his behavior, fill in the details--and never know that the -original idea hadn't been his own. - -I drank the water first, ate a sandwich, then lit a cigarette and lay -back. So far so good. The crates in the car were marked "U. S. Naval -Aerospace Station, Bayou Le Cochon". With any luck I'd reach New -Orleans in another twelve hours. The first step of my plan included a -raid on the Delta National Labs; but that was tomorrow. That could -wait. - - * * * * * - -It was a little before dawn when I crawled out of the car at a siding -in the swampy country a few miles out of New Orleans. I wasn't feeling -good, but I had a stake in staying on my feet. I still had a few miles -in me. I had my supplies--a few candy bars and some cigarettes--stuffed -in the pockets of the tattered issue coverall. Otherwise, I was -unencumbered. Unless you wanted to count the walking brace on my right -leg and the sling binding my arm. - -I picked my way across mushy ground to a pot-holed black-top road, -started limping toward a few car lights visible half a mile away. It -was already hot. The swamp air was like warmed-over subway fumes. -Through the drugs, I could feel my pulse throbbing in my various -wounds. I reached out and touched the driver's mind; he was thinking -about shrimps, a fish-hook wound on his left thumb and a girl with -black hair. "Want a lift?" he called. - -I thanked him and got in. He gave me a glance and I pinched off his -budding twinge of curiosity. It was almost an effort now not to follow -his thoughts. It was as though my mind, having learned the trick of -communications with others, instinctively reached out toward them. - -An hour later he dropped me on a street corner in a shabby marketing -district of the city and drove off. I hoped he made out all right with -the dark-haired girl. I spotted a used-clothing store and headed for it. - -Twenty minutes later I was back on the sidewalk, dressed in a -pinkish-gray suit that had been cut a long time ago by a Latin -tailor--maybe to settle a grudge. The shirt that went with it was -an unsuccessful violet. The black string tie lent a dubious air of -distinction. I'd swapped the railroader's cap for a tarnished beret. -The man who had supplied the outfit was still asleep. I figured -I'd done him a favor by taking it. I couldn't hope to pass for a -fisherman--I wasn't the type. Maybe I'd get by as a coffee-house -derelict. - -I walked past fly-covered fish stalls, racks of faded garments, grimy -vegetables in bins, enough paint-flaked wrought iron to cage a herd of -brontosauri, and fetched up at a cab stand. I picked a fat driver with -a wart. - -"How much to the Delta National Laboratories?" - -He rolled an eye toward me, shifted his toothpick. - -"What ya wanna go out there for? Nothing out there." - -"I'm a tourist," I said. "They told me before I left home not to miss -it." - -He grunted, reached back and opened the door. I got in. He flipped his -flag down, started up with a clash of gears and pulled out without -looking. - -"How far is it?" I asked him. - -"It ain't far. Mile, mile and a quarter." - -"Pretty big place, I guess." - -He didn't answer. - -We went through a warehousing district, swung left along the -waterfront, bumped over railroad tracks, and pulled up at a nine-foot -cyclone fence with a locked gate. - -"A buck ten," my driver said. - -I looked out at the fence, a barren field, a distant group of low -buildings. "What's this?" - -"This is the place you ast for. That'll be a buck ten, mister." - -I touched his mind, planted a couple of false impressions and withdrew. -He blinked, then started up, drove around the field, pulled up at an -open gate with a blue-uniformed guard. He looked back at me. - -"You want I should drive in, sir?" - -"I'll get out here." - -He jumped out, opened my door, helped me out with a hand under my good -elbow. "I'll get your change, sir," he said, reaching for his hip. - -"Keep it." - -"Thank YOU." He hesitated. "Maybe I oughta stick around. You know." - -"I'll be all right." - -"I hope so," he said. "A man like you--you and me--" he winked. "After -all, we ain't both wearing berets fer nothing." - -"True," I said. "Consider your tip doubled. Now drive away into the -sunrise and forget you ever saw me." - - * * * * * - -He got into the car, beaming, and left. I turned and sized up the Delta -Labs. - -There was nothing fancy about the place; it consisted of low brick and -steel buildings, mud, a fence and a guard who was looking at me. - -I sauntered over. "I'm from Iowa City," I said. "Now, the rest of the -group didn't come--said they'd rather rest one day. But I like to see -it all. After all, I paid--" - -"Just a minute," the guard said, holding up a palm. "You must be lost, -fella. This here ain't no tourist attraction. You can't come in here." - -"This is the cameo works?" I said anxiously. - -He shook his head. "Too bad you let your cab go. It's an hour yet till -the bus comes." - -A dun-painted staff car came into view, slowed and swung wide to turn -in. I fingered the driver's mind. The car swerved, braked to a halt. -A portly man in the back seat leaned forward, frowning. I touched him. -He relaxed. The driver leaned across and opened the door. I went around -and got in. The guard was watching, open-mouthed. - -I gave him a two-finger salute, and the car pulled through the gate. - -"Stop in front of the electronics section," I said. The car pulled up. -I got out, went up the steps and pushed through the double glass doors. -The car sat for a moment, then moved slowly off. The passenger would be -wondering why the driver had stopped--but the driver wouldn't remember. - -I was inside the building now; that was a start. I didn't like robbery -in broad daylight, but it was a lot easier this way. I wasn't equal to -climbing any walls or breaking down any locked doors--not until I'd had -a transfusion, a skin graft and about three months' vacation on a warm -beach somewhere. - -A man in a white smock emerged from a door. He started past me, spun-- - -"I'm here about the garbage," I said. "Damn fools _will_ put the cans -in with the edible. Are you the one called?" - -"How's that?" - -"I ain't got all the morning!" I shrilled. "You scientist fellers are -all alike. Which way is the watchamacallit--equipment lab?" - -"Right along there." He pointed. I didn't bother to thank him. It -wouldn't have been in character. - -A thin man with a brush mustache eyed me sharply as I pushed through -the door. I looked at him, nodding absently. "Carry on with your work," -I said. "The audit will be carried out in such a way as to disturb you -as little as possible. Just show me your voucher file, if you please." - -He sighed and waved toward a filing cabinet. I went to it and pulled a -drawer open, glancing about the room. Full shelves were visible through -an inner door. - -Twenty minutes later I left the building, carrying a sheet metal -carton containing the electronic components I needed to build a matter -transmitter--except for the parts I'd have to fabricate myself from raw -materials. The load was heavy--too heavy for me to carry very far. I -parked it at the door and waited until a pick-up truck came along. - -It pulled over. The driver climbed out and came up the walk to me. "Are -you--uh...?" He scratched his head. - -"Right." I waved at my loot. "Put it in the back." He obliged. -Together we rolled toward the gate. The guard held up his hand, came -forward to check the truck. He looked surprised when he saw me. - -"Just who are you, fella?" he said. - -I didn't like tampering with people any more than I had to. It was a -lot like stealing from a blind man: easy, but nothing to feel proud of. -I gave him a light touch--just the suggestion that what I would say -would be full of deep meaning. - -"You know--the regular Wednesday shipment," I said darkly. "Keep it -quiet. We're all relying on you." - -"Sure thing," he said, stepping back. We gunned through the gate. I -glanced back to see him looking after the truck, thinking about the -Wednesday shipment on a Friday. He decided it was logical, nodded his -head and forgot the whole thing. - - -V - -I'd been riding high for a couple of hours, enjoying the success of the -tricks I'd stolen from the Gool. Now I suddenly felt like something the -student morticians had been practicing on. I guided my driver through a -second-rate residential section, looking for an M.D. shingle on a front -lawn. - -The one I found didn't inspire much confidence--you could hardly see it -for the weeds--but I didn't want to make a big splash. I had to have an -assist from my driver to make it to the front door. He got me inside, -parked my box beside me and went off to finish his rounds, under the -impression that it had been a dull morning. - -The doctor was a seedy, seventyish G.P. with a gross tremor of the -hands that a good belt of Scotch would have helped. He looked at me -as though I'd interrupted something that was either more fun or paid -better than anything I was likely to come up with. - -"I need my dressing changed, Doc," I said. "And maybe a shot to keep me -going." - -"I'm not a dope peddler," he snapped. "You've got the wrong place." - -"Just a little medication--whatever's usual. It's a burn." - -"Who told you to come here?" - -I looked at him meaningfully. "The word gets around." - -He glared at me, gnashed his plates, then gestured toward a -black-varnished door. "Go right in there." - -He gaped at my arm when the bandages were off. I took a quick glance -and wished I hadn't. - -"How did you do this?" - -"Smoking in bed," I said. "Have you got ... something that...." - -He caught me before I hit the floor, got me into a chair. Then he had -that Scotch he'd been wanting, gave me a shot as an after-thought, and -looked at me narrowly. - -"I suppose you fell out of that same bed and broke your leg," he said. - -"Right. Hell of a dangerous bed." - -"I'll be right back." He turned to the door. "Don't go away. I'll -just ... get some gauze." - -"Better stay here, Doc. There's plenty of gauze right on that table." - -"See here--" - -"Skip it, doc. I know all about you." - -"What?" - -"I said _all_ about you." - -He set to work then; a guilty conscience is a tough argument to answer. - -He plastered my arm with something and rewrapped it, then looked the -leg over and made a couple of adjustments to the brace. He clucked over -the stitches in my scalp, dabbed something on them that hurt like hell, -then shoved an old-fashioned stickpin needle into my good arm. - -"That's all I can do for you," he said. He handed me a bottle of pills. -"Here are some tablets to take in an emergency. Now get out." - -"Call me a cab, Doc." - - * * * * * - -I listened while he called, then lit a cigarette and watched through -the curtains. The doc stood by, worrying his upper plate and eyeing me. -So far I hadn't had to tinker with his mind, but it would be a good -idea to check. I felt my way delicately. - ---_oh God, why did I ... long time ago ... Mary ever knew ... go to -Arizona, start again, too old...._ I saw the nest of fears that gnawed -at him, the frustration and the faint flicker of hope but not quite -dead. I touched his mind, wiped away scars.... - -"Here's your car," he said. He opened the door, looking at me. I -started past him. - -"Are you sure you're all right?" he said. - -"Sure, Pop. And don't worry. Everything's going to be okay." - -The driver put my boxes on the back seat. I got in beside him and told -him to take me to a men's clothing store. He waited while I changed my -hand-me-downs for an off-the-hook suit, new shirt and underwear and a -replacement beret. It was the only kind of hat that didn't hurt. My -issue shoes were still good, but I traded them in on a new pair, added -a light raincoat, and threw in a sturdy suitcase for good measure. The -clerk said something about money and I dropped an idea into his mind, -paused long enough to add a memory of a fabulous night with a redhead. -He hardly noticed me leaving. - -I tried not to feel like a shop-lifter. After all, it's not every day a -man gets a chance to swap drygoods for dreams. - -In the cab, I transferred my belongings to the new suitcase, then -told the driver to pull up at an anonymous-looking hotel. A four-star -admiral with frayed cuffs helped me inside with my luggage. The hackie -headed for the bay to get rid of the box under the impression I was a -heavy tipper. - -I had a meal in my room, a hot bath, and treated myself to a three hour -nap. I woke up feeling as though those student embalmers might graduate -after all. - -I thumbed through the phone book and dialed a number. - -"I want a Cadillac or Lincoln," I said. "A new one--not the one you -rent for funerals--and a driver who won't mind missing a couple nights' -sleep. And put a bed pillow and a blanket in the car." - -I went down to the coffee room then for a light meal. I had just -finished a cigarette when the car arrived--a dark blue heavyweight -with a high polish and a low silhouette. - -"We're going to Denver," I told the driver. "We'll make one stop -tomorrow--I have a little shopping to do. I figure about twenty hours. -Take a break every hundred miles, and hold it under seventy." - -He nodded. I got in the back and sank down in the smell of expensive -upholstery. - -"I'll cross town and pick up U.S. 84 at--" - -"I leave the details to you," I said. He pulled out into the traffic -and I got the pillow settled under me and closed my eyes. I'd need all -the rest I could get on this trip. I'd heard that compared with the -Denver Records Center, Fort Knox was a cinch. I'd find out for sure -when I got there. - - * * * * * - -The plan I had in mind wasn't the best I could have concocted under -more leisurely circumstances. But with every cop in the country under -orders to shoot me on sight, I had to move fast. My scheme had the -virtue of unlikeliness. Once I was safe in the Central Vault--supposed -to be the only H-bomb-proof structure ever built--I'd put through a -phone call to the outside, telling them to watch a certain spot; say -the big desk in the President's office. Then I'd assemble my matter -transmitter and drop some little item right in front of the assembled -big shots. They'd have to admit I had something. And this time they'd -have to start considering the possibility that I wasn't working for the -enemy. - -It had been a smooth trip, and I'd caught up on my sleep. Now it was -five A.M. and we were into the foothills, half an hour out of Denver. -I ran over my lines, planning the trickiest part of the job ahead--the -initial approach. I'd listened to a couple of news broadcasts. The FBI -was still promising an arrest within hours. I learned that I was lying -up, or maybe dead, in the vicinity of Key West, and that the situation -was under control. That was fine with me. Nobody would expect me to pop -up in Denver, still operating under my own power--and wearing a new -suit at that. - -The Records Center was north of the city, dug into mountainside. -I steered my chauffeur around the downtown section, out a street -lined with dark hamburger joints and unlit gas stations to where a -side road branched off. We pulled up. From here on, things might get -dangerous--if I was wrong about how easy it was all going to be. I -brushed across the driver's mind. He set the brake and got out. - -"Don't know how I came to run out of gas, Mr. Brown," he said -apologetically. "We just passed a station but it was closed. I guess -I'll just have to hike back into town. I sure am sorry; I never did -that before." - -I told him it was okay, watched as he strode off into the pre-dawn -gloom, then got into the front seat and started up. The gate of the -Reservation surrounding the Record Center was only a mile away now. I -drove slowly, feeling ahead for opposition. There didn't seem to be -any. Things were quiet as a poker player with a pat hand. My timing was -good. - - * * * * * - -I stopped in front of the gate, under a floodlight and the watchful eye -of an M.P. with a shiny black tommygun held at the ready. He didn't -seem surprised to see me. I rolled down the window as he came over to -the car. - -"I have an appointment inside, Corporal," I said. I touched his mind. -"The password is 'hot-point'." - -He nodded, stepped back, and motioned me in. I hesitated. This was -almost too easy. I reached out again.... - -"_... middle of the night ... password ... nice car ... I wish...._" - -I pulled through the gate and headed for the big parking lot, picking -a spot in front of a ramp that led down to a tall steel door. There was -no one in sight. I got out, dragging my suitcase. It was heavier now, -with the wire and magnets I'd added. I crossed the drive, went up to -the doors. The silence was eerie. - -I swept the area, searching for minds, found nothing. The shielding, I -decided, blanked out everything. - -There was a personnel door set in the big panel, with a massive -combination lock. I leaned my head against the door and felt for the -mechanism, turning the dial right, left, right.... - -The lock opened. I stepped inside, alert. - -Silence, darkness. I reached out, sensed walls, slabs of steel, -concrete, intricate mechanisms, tunnels deep in the ground.... - -But no personnel. That was surprising--but I wouldn't waste time -questioning my good luck. I followed a corridor, opened another door, -massive as a vault, passed more halls, more doors. My footsteps made -muffled echoes. I passed a final door and came into the heart of the -Records Center. - -There were lights in the chamber around the grim, featureless periphery -of the Central Vault. I set the valise on the floor, sat on it and lit -a cigarette. So far, so good. The Records Center, I saw, had been -over-rated. Even without my special knowledge, a clever locksmith -could have come this far--or almost. But the Big Vault was another -matter. The great integrating lock that secured it would yield only to -a complex command from the computer set in the wall opposite the vault -door. I smoked my cigarette and, with eyes closed, studied the vault. - -I finished the cigarette, stepped on it, went to the console, began -pressing keys, tapping out the necessary formulations. Half an hour -later I finished. There was a whine from a servo motor; a crimson light -flashed. I turned and saw the valve cycle open, showing a bright-lit -tunnel within. - - * * * * * - -I dragged my bag inside, threw the lever that closed the entry behind -me. A green light went on. I walked along the narrow passage, lined -with gray metal shelves stacked with gray steel tape drums, descended -steps, came into a larger chamber fitted out with bunks, a tiny galley, -toilet facilities, shelves stocked with food. There was a radio, -a telephone and a second telephone, bright red. That would be the -hot-line to Washington. This was the sanctum sanctorum, where the last -survivors could wait out the final holocaust--indefinitely. - -I opened the door of a steel cabinet. Radiation suits, tools, -instruments. Another held bedding. I found a tape-player, tapes--even -a shelf of books. I found a first aid kit and gratefully gave myself a -hypo-spray jolt of neurite. My pains receded. - -I went on to the next room; there were wash tubs, a garbage disposal -unit, a drier. There was everything here I needed to keep me alive -and even comfortable until I could convince someone up above that I -shouldn't be shot on sight. - -A heavy door barred the way to the room beyond. I turned a wheel, swung -the door back, saw more walls lined with filing cabinets, a blank -facade of gray steel; and in the center of the room, alone on a squat -table--a yellow plastic case that any Sunday Supplement reader would -have recognized. - -It was a Master Tape, the Utter Top Secret Programming document that -would direct the terrestrial defense in case of a Gool invasion. - -It was almost shocking to see it lying there--unprotected except for -the flimsy case. The information it contained in micro-micro dot form -could put my world in the palm of the enemy's hand. - -The room with the tool kit would be the best place to work, I decided. -I brought the suitcase containing the electronic gear back from the -outer door where I'd left it, opened it and arranged its contents on -the table. According to the Gool these simple components were all I -needed. The trick was in knowing how to put them together. - -There was work ahead of me now. There were the coils to wind, the -intricate antenna arrays to lay out; but before I started, I'd take -time to call Kayle--or whoever I could get at the other end of the -hot-line. They'd be a little startled when I turned up at the heart of -the defenses they were trying to shield. - -I picked up the receiver and a voice spoke: - -"Well, Granthan. So you finally made it." - - -VI - -"Here are your instructions," Kayle was saying. "Open the vault door. -Come out--stripped--and go to the center of the parking lot. Stand -there with your hands over your head. A single helicopter manned by a -volunteer will approach and drop a gas canister. It won't be lethal, I -promise you that. Once you're unconscious, I'll personally see to it -that you're transported to the Institute in safety. Every effort will -then be made to overcome the Gool conditioning. If we're successful, -you'll be awakened. If not...." - -He let the sentence hang. It didn't need to be finished. I understood -what he meant. - -I was listening. I was still not too worried. Here I was safe against -anything until the food ran out--and that wouldn't be for months. - -"You're bluffing, Kayle," I said. "You're trying to put the best face -on something that you can't control. If you'd--" - -"You were careless at Delta Labs, Granthan. There were too many people -with odd blanks in their memories and too many unusual occurrences, -all on the same day. You tipped your hand. Once we knew what we were -up against, it was simply a matter of following you at an adequate -distance. We have certain shielding materials, as you know. We tried -them all. There's a new one that's quite effective. - -"But as I was saying, we've kept you under constant surveillance. When -we saw which way you were heading, we just stayed out of sight and let -you trap yourself." - -"You're lying. Why would you want me here?" - -"That's very simple," Kayle said harshly. "It's the finest trap ever -built by man--and you're safely in it." - -"Safely is right. I have everything I need here. And that brings me to -my reason for being here--in case you're curious. I'm going to build -a matter transmitter. And to prove my good faith, I'll transmit the -Master Tape to you. I'll show you that I could have stolen the damned -thing if I'd wanted to." - -"Indeed? Tell me, Granthan, do you really think we'd be fools enough to -leave the Master Tape behind when we evacuated the area?" - -"I don't know about that--but it's here." - -"Sorry," Kayle said. "You're deluding yourself." His voice was suddenly -softer, some of the triumph gone from it. "Don't bother struggling, -Granthan. The finest brains in the country have combined to place you -where you are. You haven't a chance, except to do as I say. Make it -easy on yourself. I have no wish to extend your ordeal." - -"You can't touch me, Kayle. This vault is proof against a hell-bomb, -and it's stocked for a siege...." - -"That's right," Kayle said. His voice sounded tired. "It's proof -against a hell-bomb. But what if the hell-bomb's in the vault with -you?" - - * * * * * - -I felt like a demolition man, working to defuse a block-buster, who's -suddenly heard a loud click! from the detonator. I dropped the phone, -stared around the room. I saw nothing that could be a bomb. I ran to -the next room, the one beyond. Nothing. I went back to the phone, -grabbed it up. - -"You ought to know better than to bluff now, Kayle!" I yelled. "I -wouldn't leave this spot now for half a dozen hypothetical hell-bombs!" - -"In the center room," Kayle said. "Lift the cover over the floor drain. -You'll find it there. You know what they look like. Don't tamper with -its mechanism; it's internally trapped. You'll have to take my word for -it we didn't bother installing a dummy." - -I dropped the phone, hurried to the spot Kayle had described. The bomb -casing was there--a dull gray ovoid, with a lifting eye set in the top. -It didn't look dangerous. It just lay quietly, waiting.... - -Back at the telephone, I had trouble finding my voice. "How long?" I -croaked. - -"It was triggered when you entered the vault," Kayle said. "There's a -time mechanism. It's irreversible; you can't force anyone to cancel it. -And it's no use your hiding in the outer passages. - -"The whole center will be destroyed in the blast. Even it can't stand -against a bomb buried in its heart. But we'll gladly sacrifice the -center to eliminate you." - -"How long!" - -"I suggest you come out quickly, so that a crew can enter the vault to -disarm the bomb." - -"_How long!_" - -"When you're ready to emerge, call me." The line went dead. - -I put the phone back in its cradle carefully, like a rare and valuable -egg. - -I tried to think. I'd been charging full speed ahead ever since I -had decided on my scheme of action while I was still riding the surf -off the Florida coast, and I'd stuck to it. Now it had hatched in my -face--and the thing that had crawled out wasn't the downy little chick -of success. It had teeth and claws and was eyeing me like a basilisk.... - -But I still had unplayed aces--if there was time. - -I had meant to use the matter transmitter to stage a dramatic proof -that I wasn't the tool of the enemy. The demonstration would be more -dramatic than I'd planned. The bomb would fit the machine as easily as -the tape. The wheels would be surprised when their firecracker went -off--right on schedule--in the middle of the Mojave Desert. - -I set to work, my heart pounding. If I could bring this off--if I had -time--if the transmitter worked as advertised.... - -The stolen knowledge flowed smoothly, effortlessly. It was as though -I had been assembling matter transmitters for years, knew every step -by heart. First the moebius windings; yard after yard of heavy copper -around a core of carbon; then the power supply, the first and second -stage amplimitters.... - -How long? In the sump in the next room, the bomb lay quietly ticking. -How long...? - - * * * * * - -The main assembly was ready now. I laid out cables, tying my apparatus -in to the atomic power-source buried under the vault. The demand, -for one short instant, would tax even those mighty engines. I fixed -hooks at the proper points in the room, wove soft aluminum wire in the -correct pattern. I was almost finished now. How long? I made the last -connections, cleared away the litter. The matter transmitter stood on -the table, complete. At any instant, the bomb would reduce it--and the -secret of its construction--to incandescent gas--unless I transmitted -the bomb out of range first. I turned toward the laundry room--and the -telephone rang. - -I hesitated, then crossed the room and snatched it up. - -"Listen to me," Kayle said grimly. "Give me straight, fast answers. You -said the Master Tape was there, in the vault with you. Now tell me: -What does it look like?" - -"What?" - -"The ... ah ... dummy tape. What is its appearance?" - -"It's a roughly square plastic container, bright yellow, about a foot -thick. What about it?" - -Kayle's voice sounded strained. "I've made inquiries. No one here seems -to know the exact present location of the Master Tape. Each department -says that they were under the impression that another handled the -matter. I'm unable to learn who, precisely, removed the Tape from the -vault. Now you say there is a yellow plastic container--" - -"I know what the Master Tape looks like," I said. "This is either it or -a hell of a good copy." - -"Granthan," Kayle said. There was a note of desperation in his voice -now. "There have been some blunders made. I knew you were under the -influence of the Gool. It didn't occur to me that I might be too. -Why did I make it possible for you to successfully penetrate to the -Central Vault? There were a hundred simpler ways in which I could have -dealt with the problem. We're in trouble, Granthan, serious trouble. -The tape you have there is genuine. We've all played into the enemy's -hands." - -"You're wasting valuable time, Kayle," I snapped. "When does the bomb -go up?" - -"Granthan, there's little time left. Bring the Master Tape and leave -the vault--" - -"No dice, Kayle. I'm staying until I finish the transmitter, then--" - -"Granthan! If there's anything to your mad idea of such a machine, -destroy it! Quickly! Don't you see the Gool would only have given you -the secret in order to enable you to steal the tape!" - -I cut him off. In the sudden silence, I heard a distant sound--or had I -sensed a thought? I strained outward.... - -"_... volunteered ... damn fool ... thing on my head is heavy ... -better work...._ - -"_... now ... okay ... valve, gas ... kills in a split second ... then -get out...._" - -I stabbed out, pushed through the obscuring veil of masonry, sensed a -man in the computer room, dressed in gray coveralls, a grotesque shield -over his head and shoulders. He reached for a red-painted valve-- - -I struck at his mind, felt him stagger back, fall. I fumbled in his -brain, stimulated the sleep center. He sank deep into unconsciousness. -I leaned against the table, weak with the reaction. Kayle had almost -tricked me that time. - - * * * * * - -I reached out again, swept the area with desperate urgency. Far away, I -sensed the hazy clutter of many minds, out of range. There was nothing -more. The poisonous gas had been the only threat--except the bomb -itself. But I had to move fast, before my time ran out, to transmit the -bomb to a desert area.... - -I paused, stood frozen in mid-move. A desert. What desert? - -The transmitter operated in accordance with as rigid a set of laws as -did the planets swinging in their orbits; strange laws, but laws of -nature none the less. No receiver was required. The destination of the -mass under transmission was determined by the operator, holding in his -mind the five-dimensional conceptualization of the target, guiding the -action of the machine. - -And I had no target. - -I could no more direct the bomb to a desert without a five-fold grasp -of its multi-ordinal spatial, temporal, and entropic co-ordinates than -I could fire a rifle at a target in the dark. - -I was like a man with a grenade in his hand, pin pulled--and locked in -a cell. - -I swept the exocosm again, desperately. And caught a thin, live line. I -traced it; it cut through the mountain, dived deep underground, crossed -the boundless plain.... - -Never branching, it bored on, turning upward now--and ending. - -I rested, gathering strength, then probed, straining.... - -There was a room, men. I recognized Kayle, gray-faced, haggard. A tall -man in braided blue stood near him. Others stood silently by, tension -on every face. Maps covered the wall behind them. - -I was looking into the War Room at the Pentagon in Washington. The -line I had traced was the telephonic hot-line, the top-security link -between the Record Center and the command level. It was a heavy cable, -well protected and always open. It would free me from the trap. With -Gool-tutored skill I scanned the room, memorized its co-ordinates. Then -I withdrew. - -Like a swimmer coming up from a long dive, I fought my way back to the -level of immediate awareness. I sagged into a chair, blinking at the -drab walls, the complexity of the transmitter. I must move fast now, -place the bomb in the transmitter's field, direct it at the target. -With an effort I got to my feet, went to the sump, lifted the cover. I -grasped the lifting eye, strained--and the bomb came up, out onto the -floor. I dragged it to the transmitter.... - -And only then realized what I'd been about to do. - -My target. - -The War Room--the nerve-center of Earth's defenses. And I had been -ready to dump the hell bomb there. In my frenzy to be rid of it I would -have played into the hands of the Gool. - - -VII - -I went to the phone. - -"Kayle! I guess you've got a recorder on the line. I'll give you the -details of the transmitter circuits. It's complicated, but fifteen -minutes ought to--" - -"No time," Kayle cut in. "I'm sorry about everything, Granthan. If -you've finished the machine, it's a tragedy for humanity--if it works. -I can only ask you to try--when the Gool command comes--not to give -them what they want. I'll tell you, now, Granthan. The bomb blows in--" -there was a pause--"two minutes and twenty-one seconds. Try to hold -them off. If you can stand against them for that long at least--" - -I slammed the phone down, cold sweat popping out across my face. Two -minutes ... too late for anything. The men in the War Room would never -know how close I had come to beating the Gool--and them. - -But I could still save the Master Tape. I wrestled the yellow plastic -case that housed the tape onto the table, into the machine. - -And the world vanished in a blaze of darkness, a clamor of silence. - -_NOW, MASTERS! NOW! LINK UP! LINK UP!_ - -Like a bad dream coming back in daylight, I felt the obscene presence -of massed Gool minds, attenuated by distance but terrible in their -power, probing, thrusting. I fought back, struggling against paralysis, -trying to gather my strength, use what I had learned.... - -_SEE, MASTERS, HOW IT WOULD ELUDE US. BLANK IT OFF, TOGETHER NOW...._ - -The paths closed before me. My mind writhed, twisted, darted here and -there--and met only the impenetrable shield of the Gool defenses. - -_IT TIRES, MASTERS. WORK SWIFTLY NOW. LET US IMPRESS ON THE SUBJECT THE -CO-ORDINATES OF THE BRAIN PIT._ The conceptualization drifted into my -mind. _HERE, MAN. TRANSMIT THE TAPE HERE!_ - -As from a distance, the monitor personality fraction watched the -struggle. Kayle had been right. The Gool had waited--and now their -moment had come. Even my last impulse of defiance--to place the tape -in the machine--had been at the Gool command. They had looked into -my mind. They understand psychology as no human analyst ever could; -and they had led me in the most effective way possible, by letting -me believe I was the master. They had made use of my human ingenuity -to carry out their wishes--and Kayle had made it easy for them by -evacuating a twenty-mile radius around me, leaving the field clear for -the Gool. - -_HERE_--The Gool voice rang like a bell in my mind: _TRANSMIT THE TAPE -HERE!_ - -Even as I fought against the impulse to comply, I felt my arm twitch -toward the machine. - -_THROW THE SWITCH!_ the voice thundered. - -I struggled, willed my arm to stay at my side. Only a minute longer, I -thought. Only a minute more, and the bomb would save me.... - -_LINK UP, MASTERS!_ - -_I WILL NOT LINK. YOU PLOT TO FEED AT MY EXPENSE._ - -_NO! BY THE MOTHER WORM, I PLEDGE MY GROOVE AT THE EATING TROUGH. FOR -US THE MAN WILL GUT THE GREAT VAULT OF HIS NEST WORLD!_ - -_ALREADY YOU BLOAT AT OUR EXPENSE!_ - -_FOOL!! WOULD YOU BICKER NOW? LINK UP!_ - - * * * * * - -The Gool raged--and I grasped for an elusive thought and held it. The -bomb, only a few feet away. The waiting machine. And the Gool had given -me the co-ordinates of their cavern.... - -With infinite sluggishness, I moved. - -_LINK UP, MASTERS: THEN ALL WILL FEED...._ - -_IT IS A TRICK. I WILL NOT LINK._ - -I found the bomb, fumbled for a grip. - -_DISASTER, MASTERS! NOW IS THE PRIZE LOST TO US, UNLESS YOU JOIN WITH -ME!_ - -My breath choked off in my throat; a hideous pain coiled outward from -my chest. But it was unimportant. Only the bomb mattered. I tottered, -groping. There was the table; the transmitter.... - -I lifted the bomb, felt the half-healed skin of my burned arm crackle -as I strained.... - -I thrust the case containing the Master Tape out of the field of the -transmitter, then pushed, half-rolled the bomb into position. I groped -for the switch, found it. I tried to draw breath, felt only a surge of -agony. Blackness was closing in.... - -The co-ordinates.... - -From the whirling fog of pain and darkness, I brought the target -concept of the Gool cavern into view, clarified it, held it.... - -_MASTERS! HOLD THE MAN! DISASTER!_ - -Then I felt the Gool, their suspicions yielding to the panic in the -mind of the Prime Overlord, link their power against me. I stood -paralyzed, felt my identity dissolving like water pouring from a -smashed pot. I tried to remember--but it was too faint, too far away. - -Then from somewhere a voice seemed to cut in, the calm voice of an -emergency reserve personality fraction. "You are under attack. Activate -the reserve plan. Level Five. Use Level Five. Act now. Use Level -Five...." - -Through the miasma of Gool pressure, I felt the hairs stiffen on the -back of my neck. All around me the Gool voices raged, a swelling -symphony of discord. But they were nothing. Level Five.... - -There was no turning back. The compulsions were there, acting even as I -drew in a breath to howl my terror-- - -Level Five. Down past the shapes of dreams, the intense faces of -hallucination; Level Three; Level Four and the silent ranked -memories.... And deeper still-- - -Into a region of looming gibbering horror, of shadowy moving shapes of -evil, of dreaded presences that lurked at the edge of vision.... - -Down amid the clamor of voiceless fears, the mounting hungers, the -reaching claws of all that man had feared since the first tailless -primate screamed out his terror in a tree-top: the fear of falling, the -fear of heights. - -Down to Level Five. Nightmare level. - - * * * * * - -I groped outward, found the plane of contact--and hurled the weight of -man's ancient fears at the waiting Gool--and in their black confining -caves deep in the rock of a far world, they felt the roaring tide of -fear--fear of the dark, and of living burial. The horrors in man's -secret mind confronted the horrors of the Gool Brain Pit. And I felt -them break, retreat in blind panic from me-- - -All but one. The Prime Overlord reeled back with the rest, but his was -a mind of terrible power. I sensed for a moment his bloated immense -form, the seething gnawing hungers, insatiable, never to be appeased. -Then he rallied--but he was alone now. - -_LINK UP, MASTERS! THE PRIZE IS LOST. KILL THE MAN! KILL THE MAN!_ - -I felt a knife at my heart. It fluttered--and stopped. And in that -instant, I broke past his control, threw the switch. There was the -sharp crack of imploding air. Then I was floating down, ever down, and -all sensation was far away. - -_MASTERS! KILL TH_ - -The pain cut off in an instant of profound silence and utter dark. - -Then sound roared in my ears, and I felt the harsh grate of the floor -against my face as I fell, and then I knew nothing more. - - * * * * * - -"I hope," General Titus was saying, "that you'll accept the decoration -now, Mr. Granthan. It will be the first time in history that a civilian -has been accorded this honor--and you deserve it." - -I was lying in a clean white bed, propped up by big soft pillows, with -a couple of good-looking nurses hovering a few feet away. I was in a -mood to tolerate even Titus. - -"Thanks, General," I said. "I suggest you give the medal to the -volunteer who came in to gas me. He knew what he was going up against; -I didn't." - -"It's over, now, Granthan," Kayle said. He attempted to beam, settled -for a frosty smile. "You surely understand--" - -"Understanding," I said. "That's all we need to turn this planet--and -a lot of other ones--into the kind of worlds the human mind needs to -expand into." - -"You're tired, Granthan," Kayle said. "You get some rest. In a few -weeks you'll be back on the job, as good as new." - -"That's where the key is," I said. "In our minds; there's so much -there, and we haven't even scratched the surface. To the mind nothing -is impossible. Matter is an illusion, space and time are just -convenient fictions--" - -"I'll leave the medal here, Mr. Granthan. When you feel equal to it, -we'll make the official presentation. Television...." - -He faded off as I closed my eyes and thought about things that had been -clamoring for attention ever since I'd met the Gool, but hadn't had -time to explore. My arm.... - -I felt my way along it--from inside--tracing the area of damage, -watching as the bodily defenses worked away, toiling to renew, replace. -It was a slow, mindless process. But if I helped a little.... - -It was easy. The pattern was there. I felt the tissues renew -themselves, the skin regenerate. - -The bone was more difficult. I searched out the necessary minerals, -diverted blood; the broken ends knit.... - -The nurse was bending over me, a bowl of soup in her hand. - - * * * * * - -"You've been asleep for a long time, sir," she said, smiling. "How -about some nice chicken broth now?" - -I ate the soup and asked for more. A doctor came and peeled back my -bandages, did a double-take, and rushed away. I looked. The skin was -new and pink, like a baby's--but it was all there. I flexed my right -leg; there was no twinge of pain. - -I listened for a while as the doctors gabbled, clucked, probed and made -pronouncements. Then I closed my eyes again. I thought about the matter -transmitter. The government was sitting on it, of course. A military -secret of the greatest importance, Titus called it. Maybe someday the -public would hear about it; in the meantime-- - -"How about letting me out of here?" I said suddenly. A pop-eyed doctor -with a fringe of gray hair blinked at me, went back to fingering my -arm. Kayle hove into view. - -"I want out," I said. "I'm recovered, right? So now just give me my -clothes." - -"Now, now, just relax, Granthan. You know it's not as simple as that. -There are a lot of matters we must go over." - -"The war's over," I said. "You admitted that. I want out." - -"Sorry." Kayle shook his head. "That's out of the question." - -"Doc," I said. "Am I well?" - -"Yes," he said. "Amazing case. You're as fit as you'll ever be; I've -never--" - -"I'm afraid you'll have to resign yourself to being here for a while -longer, Granthan," Kayle said. "After all, we can't--" - -"Can't let the secret of matter transmission run around loose, hey? So -until you figure out the angles, I'm a prisoner, right?" - -"I'd hardly call it that, Granthan. Still...." - -I closed my eyes. The matter transmitter--a strange device. A field, -not distorting space, but accentuating certain characteristics of a -matter field in space-time, subtly shifting relationships.... - -Just as the mind could compare unrelated data, draw from them new -concepts, new parallels.... - -The circuits of the matter transmitter ... and the patterns of the -mind.... - -The exocosm and the endocosm, like the skin and the orange, everywhere -in contact.... - -Somewhere there was a beach of white sand, and dunes with graceful -sea-oats that leaned in a gentle wind. There was blue water to the -far horizon, and a blue sky, and nowhere were there any generals with -medals and television cameras, or flint-eyed bureaucrats with long -schemes.... - -And with this gentle folding ... thus.... - -And a pressure here ... so.... - -I opened my eyes, raised myself on one elbow--and saw the sea. The sun -was hot on my body, but not too hot, and the sand was white as sugar. -Far away, a seagull tilted, circling. - -A wave rolled in, washed my foot in cool water. - -I lay on my back, and looked up at white clouds in a blue sky, and -smiled--then laughed aloud. - -Distantly the seagull's cry echoed my laughter. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of End as a Hero, by Keith Laumer - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK END AS A HERO *** - -***** This file should be named 51267.txt or 51267.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/2/6/51267/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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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