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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..e70822b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65902 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65902) diff --git a/old/65902-0.txt b/old/65902-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5864f21..0000000 --- a/old/65902-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1570 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tomorrow the World!, by Geoff St. Reynard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Tomorrow the World! - -Author: Geoff St. Reynard - -Release Date: July 23, 2021 [eBook #65902] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMORROW THE WORLD! *** - - - - - TOMORROW THE WORLD! - - By Geoff St. Reynard - - Can the past affect the future? What if - you remembered to the dawn of time when you - hated man and decided to destroy him--today! - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - September 1952 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -It was like a cave, a great vaulted cave which echoed back my first -hesitant movements on the slab and tossed them from wall to wall until -the darkness about me was all one vast rustling. I felt my skin prickle -into gooseflesh. In that moment of waking I was oddly frightened. I had -no memory of location. I might have been in a subterranean grotto, with -enormous stalagmites of supergrotesque shape rising all about me in -the thick gloom. - -I sat up. The slab was cold beneath me. Directly in front of it towered -a thing like a nightmare skeleton of stone. - -It was just that: the fossil of a duckbilled dinosaur. I had gone to -sleep on a marble bench in the palaeontology room of the museum. - -I laughed. The panic that had touched me was gone, and I felt ashamed -of myself. Not for falling asleep, because I had been very tired; but -ashamed of the fear. - -Lord knew how long I had slept. It was black night without and within, -and no sound save that of my own movements came to me. The museum must -have been closed for hours. The guards had missed me on my bench behind -the dinosaur. I stood and shook myself and smoothed the rumpled suit, -and began to grope my way between exhibits toward the entrance hall. I -left the reptilian skeletons behind--not without a certain relief, for -they were awesome sleepers to pass among--and was striding down a dim -pathway between glass cases when I heard the footsteps. - -A watchman was coming toward me. I could see the reflection of his -flashlight. I halted indecisively, growled at myself, and went on. I -had a perfectly valid excuse for being there. They could hardly do -anything to me. - -The guard was big, about my size, and his flash jumped in his hand when -he saw me. Then he hurried forward. I grinned into the glare. - -"Sorry to scare you--" - -"What the hell you doing here, bud?" - -I did not like him in the least. "I fell asleep in the bone room. Just -woke up." - -"That's what they say, bud, that's what they say." He was breathing in -my face. I do not care for secondhand hamburg with onions. "Who are -you?" - -"Bill Cuff, I write for the adventure mags, maybe you've seen my yarns." - -"No, I ain't. How come you fell asleep, bud?" - -"Cuff," I said, "Bill Cuff. I was knocked out. I mean I was tired. Been -working nights on a piece that doesn't want to jell." - -"That's what they say, bud." I was getting good and sick of that line. -Three times was more than enough. He didn't think so. "That's what they -say. Fell asleep, huh? In a room full o' jewelry that'd bring a nice -price even if you melted it down. Relics. We got a brooch over there -that Napoleon gave to Catherine of Aragon. Make a nice haul by itself." - -"I dare say, especially as she died some centuries before he was born. -A unique bit of trinketry indeed." I disliked this guard more with -each word. "You knucklehead," I said, "I told you I fell asleep. I was -looking for a watchman just now." - -"That's what they say. You come on with me. We got to see a cop, bud." - -"For the love of--I can identify myself. Here's my driver's license." - -"Stole, probably. We've had sneak-thieves in here before. You come on -with me, bud." - -I counted ten. "Cuff, Bill Cuff." His stupidity, his dark stolid bulk -behind the persistent flashlight were angering me. "All right, lets see -a cop." - -He gripped my arm. "I don't like to be touched and handled." I said. I -knocked his hand off. "Here, here," he yelped, "don't get tough or I'll -have to rough you up a little." - -He clutched my arm again. A scarlet curtain of rage shut down over my -senses. I reached out and took his throat between my hands, dragged -him to my chest, tightened my fingers and pressed and twisted till -his flashlight dropped to the stone floor and went out with a pitiful -tinkle. There in the unbroken dark of the deserted museum I held him -until he was dead, until his head was turned over his shoulder and his -popping eyes stared sightlessly down his backbone. Then I threw him -into a case of snuff boxes, and went on to the entrance and let myself -out and walked away down the moonlit street. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -For a long while I walked alone with my cold rage. It was, well, -most curious is a mild way to describe it. I had never been a man of -violence and fury. Only in my adventure yarns had I spread gore and -destruction abroad. I thought back over my twenty-eight years of life. -I didn't believe I had ever even hit anyone before tonight. Yet I had -taken enormous pleasure in the wanton brutality. Even after my anger -had died, I felt no regret whatever for the murder of the guard. He had -been a stupid _man_. - -I found myself wondering about that after I had said it half-aloud. I -didn't know why I had put the emphasis on _man_. You might have thought -I was a woman. - -Going aimlessly up one street and down another, now staring ahead -and now gazing up at the full moon riding in its field of India-ink -sky, I eventually saw that I was near the museum again. Some obscure -curiosity took me past its doors. Just as I passed them, craning my -neck foolishly as though I could see through their oak and bronze, half -a dozen men burst out into the street. Automatically I speeded my pace. -Then they yelled, and were after me. I ran. - -What smirking fate had pushed me back to the damned place? From my -position on the sidewalk, my attitude of looking intently at the doors, -my haste thereafter, they had leaped to the thought that I had just -emerged from the museum. I thought of fingerprints, of all kinds of -clues I might have left behind. I ran like a spooked steer. - -Reason left me. I caught the last wisp of a fleeting amazement: could -this murderous, panicky creature be Bill Cuff, hitherto a sane and -sober pulp writer? - -I turned a corner, vaulted over a hedge and flung myself prone behind -it. The pursuers--museum guards, for evidently the police had not -arrived--pounded by, yelling to each other. When they had gone I darted -over to the building that shadowed this plot of earth, kicked in a -window, knocked away shards of glass from the frame and let myself down -into the basement of the museum. Swiftly I blundered my way between -work-benches and unfinished exhibits until I had found the door. Down -a long black hall I padded, snorting through my nose and peering back -frequently. Like a beast, said a tiny voice in the depths of my brain; -like a stalked beast. - -I found a door, steps that led upward. I passed the first floor and -then the second. My shins were barked, my nose bled from a smack -against an unseen wall. I licked the blood off my lips. The stairs -ended and I was on the third floor. Here the moon slanted its cool -rays into the windows, unhampered by nearby buildings. I could see -quite well. My feet seemed to know where they were going. I passed -through the hall of mammals, glancing aside at the dusty elephants, -the two giraffes in their great cage of glass, the family of sea lions -frozen forever in attitudes of stuffy majesty. My leather heels tapped -loudly in the thick silence. I bent and took off my shoes, stuffing -them into the pockets of my coat. Then I came to the central well, and -leaning over the balcony I looked down at the hall of dinosaurs. Their -bizarre frames were jagged splotches of black in a lesser blackness. -Then the lights went up on their floor, and as I, two stories above, -drew back my head with an involuntary snarl, guards hurried across -the floor between the fossils, calling back and forth. I heard them -say something about the broken window. I had trapped myself. I did -not consider that important. Something in me knew I was heading for -sanctuary. - -I thrust my head over the railing again, like a fox on a cliff -regarding a pack of hounds at fault. Chance made one of the hounds peer -upward. There was a loud shout from below as the guard saw me. - -Dashing along the passage between rail and wall, I entered the art -gallery, traversed it, and came to the geology hall. Here was a replica -of a Pennsylvania cavern, through which visitors could wander to -gawk at stalactites and artificial springs and plaster-and-plastic -underworld creatures--dead-white salamanders, strange little blind -bugs, crawling unnamed worms stuck to the synthetic rock with hidden -adhesives. I dived through the mouth of this weird exhibit, bruising -myself heedlessly; rounded heaps of faked stone, scraped skin off my -knuckles as I fended off obstacles that seemed to hurl themselves -at me in the murk, at last came to the back of the cave and turned -and squatted there on my hams, fingertips trailing against the cool -hardness of the sham rock floor. - -The moon was dropping; now it looked in a window opposite the cave, -finding its way between the icicle forms of stalactites, just grazing -my dark blue suit here and there. I bent my head and stared at the -ivory huntress of the skies. Her full round belly was gravid with -portent. I felt that all sorts of shattering events were shaping within -her, that something alien and terrible and withal glorious was about to -be born. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -I could hear no sounds of pursuit as yet. I thought back over the -past half hour. I still experienced no shred of remorse. The man had -deserved to die. He had laid hands on me without provocation. He had -been stupid. He had been a _man_. - -Again that odd emphasis stirred a wonder in my mind, which vanished -before I could grip it. I looked about me at what I could discern of -the artificial cavern. I felt at home here. Then my memory played me -a trick. I thought I had been in this place before, with others of my -kind (my kind? what the hell?), and we had squatted thus and hearkened -to the hunting cries of great carnivores and of--I grasped too quickly -and too consciously for the rest of the thought and it was gone. But I -could have sworn that I was going to remember the blood-roaring of a -band of men. - -What the hell, indeed! Had my wild adventure tales got under my skin -and turned me lunatic? - -That idea lasted for about a breath and a half. I knew I was cold sane. -So, coldly and sanely, I groped in my memory for whatever experience I -had turned up a fragment of. It was dim but it was certainly there, a -scene painted in faded oils on dark canvas. I was in a cave with others -of my kind, hulking broad-chested shapes in the gloom, and outside rose -the howling of our pursuers. I felt the hair bristle on my neck and -my forehead creased with rage. Then the lights went on in the geology -hall, dispelling the picture. - -I curled myself down behind the biggest of the stalagmites. I was -wholly in shadow. I lay perfectly still, and my heart slowed its beat -so that the blood hissed more quietly in my ears and I could hear with -wonderful clarity. Guards spoke nearby. They were searching for me, -checking methodically through every cranny of the hall. I flexed my -fingers. A silent chuckle shook me. - -One came cautiously to the entrance of the cave and bent and stared -futilely. I saw him glance around for his companions, then advance -slowly into the place. When he was nearly above me I rose as swiftly as -a panther. He had no time to drag in breath for a yell. I clamped his -mouth tight with one hand, broke his neck with the other. It was done -beautifully. In that moment I found pride in my perfect coordination, -in my excellence as a killing machine as deadly as a king cobra. I laid -him down in shadow. I traded my coat for his uniform jacket, which was -too snug in the shoulders but fitted well enough otherwise. I put on my -shoes and his visored cap and walked out of the cave. I went along the -aisle, face averted from the other guards, and found a stair well and -slipped into it. - -Up went the hue and cry before I was halfway down! - -I leaped to the second floor entrance, feeling their eyes already on my -back as I passed through it, and went loping for the nearest window, a -tall square of moontouched glittering. I hurled the thing open, swung -onto the sill, and launched myself into space without even looking at -the ground. It rushed up at me. As naturally as a cat might have done -it, I landed on toes and fingers. Then I was running. - -No shouts broke out behind me. They had not seen my leap. I shed the -jacket and cap as I ran. Then I remembered my coat, lying across the -dead guard. No identification there--until they had time to check -dry-cleaner's marks. I had an hour or two at least. - -I headed for my hotel, a dingy, half-respectable pile on the edge of -the downtown district. An hour to pack, and I would be on my way. There -was something, or someone, calling to me from a great distance. I did -not know what it was nor where. - -My instincts would carry me to it. I wasted no time in wondering. I let -my mind slip out of gear, put my whole energy into my traveling. - -When I had run far enough, I found an owl cab and let it carry me the -rest of the distance. It seemed oddly alien to me to trust to anything -but my own powerful legs; but I forced myself to sit back and let the -civilized habits of Bill Cuff take the upper hand. _I_ would rest for a -little while. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -As I stuffed things into my big battered Gladstone I found myself -changing. - -A cryptic statement, that, and one which requires explanation; yet how -can I say just what it was like, this metamorphosis? At first I was the -same creature that had crouched behind the false stalagmite and slain -the guard, then had leaped from the second-story window to flee into -the night. This was a--I was about to say a wholly physical being. That -isn't true. There was brainwork of a sort behind its actions, but an -alien brainwork. Could you understand the thoughts of an ape? Could you -describe them if you did? - -At any rate, I slid away from this physical being, imperceptibly, -until Bill Cuff the prosaic pulpster seemed in the ascendant. Touching -familiar things: my typewriter, sport shirts, cigarette lighter, a -stack of manuscript--appeared to bring me back to what had all my life -been normality. - -Yet this creates the portrait of a sort of Jekyll-Hyde personality, an -extreme example of schizophrenia. I would not have you believe this for -a moment. I was not two souls warring in a single body, nor a lunatic -of any sort. - -No. I was not two people. I was a sleeper who had awakened in a manner -not explained, not understood, but acceptable at once as quite natural. -I found myself in a body which I had already been occupying for -twenty-eight years and two months and seven days. There was no other -personality in this body with me. The body was mine. The mind therein, -fully developed along its own lines, was my mind. - -The body and mind were mine, but the _I_--the older _I_--which had -wakened was of somewhat different stuff. It had taken the body and mind -(perhaps while I slept on the marble bench, perhaps during the brief -argument with the guard), merging with them and dominating them. Yet -the dual brain, the single body with new proclivities, were one, were -all Bill Cuff. They differed but they were one. - -I have said that before this night I had never even struck anyone. Yet -there had always been the possibility that I might; might strike and -slay, go berserk as I had now done. I had written many tales of brutal -violence. Without my knowledge, there had been the seeds of savagery -within me. They had flowered. - -I looked in the mirror. I saw a well-set-up young fellow, a little -broader than average for my six feet, heavy-boned, not much excess fat. -My face was broad too, with high cheekbones and a small mustache and -wide gray eyes, under an unruly thatch of thick black hair. I had a -rather unintellectual look for a writer; it had always annoyed me. But -I didn't look brutal. I had a sort of mild-mannered air, like a wider -Jimmy Stewart. - - * * * * * - -In all that night I never questioned anything for more than a second -or two until I came to pack my belongings. Then the lifelong habits -and prejudices came back to make me ask myself for an accounting. No -remorse, nor fear, nor any such weak emotions; simply curiosity at the -changes. - -What is it, I asked myself; reincarnation? - -That would explain many things, including the paradox of two -individuals in one--who were not two, had never been two, yet were -different. - -Postulate a gorilla, reborn in a man. His racial memories come to life -after a certain period of time. He is still a man, has the reasoning -ability of a man, is thoroughly Homo sapiens in everything, except -that suddenly he can swing through the trees and can think in a manner -strange to man--a furtive, sly, cunning, beastly way, if you like, but -a way that will help to preserve him even in the stone jungles of man. - -As I said this to myself, I caught at one phrase therein. _Swing -through the trees._ - -It was obvious that my physical powers had undergone a terrific -change. I did not remember my hands ever being so powerful before. -Never, certainly, had my reflexes been so flawless. Why, take but -one instance: my leap from the second floor of the museum. That leap -yesterday would more than likely have cost me two fractured ankles. - -Superstitiously I looked in the mirror again and felt my muscles. Had -they grown overnight, bulging out into the great biceps of whatever -primitive entity had emerged within me? So far as I could tell, they -were just my old muscles--not bad for a writer, because I swam a lot -and did calisthenics regularly, but surely no marvels as muscles go. -The change appeared to be in my use of them. Instinctively I could -employ them in the most effective way. What could that be but a racial -memory acting beneath the surface of the skin? - -Other implausible explanations of the business occurred to me as I -packed. I discarded them. Nothing seemed to fit except the abrupt -return of a personality from eons ago, some great brute out of my -lineage. That chimed with the curious recollection I had had in the -cave, and with the accent I had several times put upon the word _man_ -to describe my enemies. A gorilla? I laughed to myself. An intriguing -thought, indeed! I did not for a minute believe it. But what? - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -I caught the five A.M. train for another big city--never mind which. I -had about two hundred dollars in my wallet, a fair selection of clothes -and essentials in my Gladstone, and the portable typewriter in its -beat-up case. For a while I was well enough provided for. I settled -back in the reclining chair, watched the dawn come up beyond the -windows of the train, and listened with half an ear to the whispering -voice that was calling to me from the unknown. - -An hour passed. I was drowsing, comfortably, my eyes shut. Then in -an instant I was wide awake. Someone was watching me. I felt their -gaze through my eyelids. As though moving in my sleep I turned myself -around, opened my eyes the merest slit. It was the girl across -the aisle. I observed her carefully. She was a pretty blonde, and -yesterday's Bill Cuff would have been flattered to find her regarding -him. Not I! A steady regard was a menacing thing. - -I made sure she was alone. Then I opened my eyes wide and said, "Do I -know you?" It flustered her. She turned pink and said confusedly, "I--I -don't think so!" - -I had one of those singular picture-thoughts, that seemed to come and -go unbidden in my mind. I saw another female of this girl's race, whom -I had taken from her people. I had desired her deeply, and later had -trusted her more than I should. - -_She had betrayed me to her kin, and I had died._ - -For a moment I considered killing this woman. There were too many men -all about us; I should have to flee instead. I stood up, gathered my -Gladstone and typewriter, gave her a long hard look, and went forward -to the next coach. She must have been completely baffled. - -After a few minutes I grew restless. I was enclosed by the walls of -this conveyance, and vulnerable to attack. We came into a small -city. The train left it, moving slowly. I suppose it was waiting for -another train some distance ahead to be shunted off its track. I could -stand the confinement no longer. I put my machine under my left arm, -took the Gladstone in my left hand. (Always leave one hand free for -emergencies.) I went out to the platform between the cars. A conductor -was standing there counting tickets. - -"Shouldn't change cars with all that luggage, sir," he said. "Train -rocks a good deal and it's dangerous." - - * * * * * - -He took a step toward me. I put up my hand to tear out his throat and -realized that he was simply going to pass by. I pressed against the -wall. He went into the next car. I would have to watch myself. Needless -killing at this stage of my flight would only complicate matters. I -swung down to the last step, waited for a level stretch of cindery -earth, and dropped off. The train was going perhaps twenty-five miles -an hour. I lit as easily, as safely as a leopard bounding from a tree. -I began to think there was nothing I could not accomplish in the way of -strength and agility. - -I walked back into the small city. Instinctively I sought the lower -districts--not Skid Row, but the tenements and cheap hotels of the -poor. I took a room in one of the latter. I barricaded the door and put -up a makeshift burglar alarm on the window sill: a couple of glasses, -a water pitcher, other objects, all perched precariously on the edge so -that nothing could come in without knocking them off and rousing me. -Then I crawled into bed and slept for twelve hours. - -In the evening I had a meal and the papers sent up to me. I read them -while I chewed on leathery steak coated with half-congealed grease, and -tiny potatoes as appetizing as the boiled eyes of iguanas. - -The papers had it all. My name, life story, photos, even a list of -the magazines for which I had written. Brutal Slayings ... Writer -on Rampage ... Have You Seen This Man ... all the rest of the trite -screamers. - -Then I came to the local paper. It was thought I might be here. It was -thought that the man who acted so strangely on the west-bound train -that morning, and who vanished at a point several miles out of town, -might have been Cuff the Murderer. Descriptions tallied. Tentative -identification had been made from telephotos. My lip lifted in a silent -snarl. The hounds were baying close. - -I dressed and shaved off my mustache. I put on dark glasses and went -out to a bar. The liquor tasted like water from a goldfish bowl. I -walked the streets. About midnight a policeman gave me a second look, -then called questioningly. I waited until he came to me, and then with -savage glee I put him across my knee and broke his back. - -I went to the hotel and stored up some more sleep, like an animal, -preparing for the time when I should be fleeing or fighting around the -clock. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -It was some two hours before sunrise. I was dressing, packing -leisurely. There was a knock at the door. - -My light was on. I could not pretend to be asleep. "What is it?" - -"Police sir. We're checking for a wanted man. Will you open up, please?" - -I threw the last of my stuff into the Gladstone and shoved it under -the bed. Putting my ear to the panel of the door, I listened for their -breathing. There were two of them, and probably more within call, -checking other rooms where a single man was registered. I tipped the -shade of the lamp so that my face would be in shadow, and opened the -door. They walked in, one of them diffident, the other as insolent as a -thug, with his hand on his holstered revolver. - -The second would be the less dangerous, I thought; he would be faster -to draw that gun but more stupid in his reactions to a surprise than -the other, who looked the more intelligent. So as they entered, turning -to face me, I pushed the door shut with my heel and let the smart, shy -one have a quick jab on the angle of his jaw to quiet him for a time. -That left me the tough boy, and I looked forward to a good time with -him. - -He was fast on the draw. His gun was not buttoned down and it fairly -flew out to cover me. I am big and make a fine target. His eyes were -squinting at my chest where he expected to shoot me and he never saw my -foot come off the floor. The gun exploded out of his broken hand and -skidded across the room. - -He was full of guts. He came at me with his one good hand and his knees -and even his teeth. I did not want to be marked. I kept my face away -from him and let him hit me twice in the stomach. Then I caught his -wrist and flying-mared him over my shoulder. The crack of his skull -against the wall was a burst of sharp sweet music. I grinned wide. Then -I bent over the other policeman. I had hit him more scientifically than -I had known. He wouldn't get up any more. - -That made five. - -Five murders! Five killings, using no weapons, just my hands, for five -violent homicides! - - * * * * * - -I stood there in the center of that room, which I had made a gory -shambles, and for the first (and last) time remorse touched me. I was -Bill Cuff, law-abiding writer; if not exactly an altruistic dweller -by the side of the road and friend to man, at least I had always been -a normally decent guy who would go to a lot of trouble to keep from -hurting anybody. What had happened to me? - -A voice inside me said, _But you are only killing men._ - -_Men?_ But I'm a man, damn it all! - -No, you aren't. - -What am I, an orangutan? I asked myself with heavy sarcasm. - -No, not that. No more kin to ape than to man. - -An extraterrestrial, then, descendant of a flying saucer pilot? - -No, not that either. - -I put my face in my hands. Oh for the love of God, what am I then? What -am I? - -I knew I wasn't a man and I didn't know what I was. - -The thing that was me, that had lain dormant until twenty-six hours -before, and then had waked and taken over its rightful inheritance -which was my body and my mind, what _was_ it? - -I didn't know what it was. But I knew a few things about it. It had -once crouched in a cave with others of its breed, to listen to the -angry yelling of hunting men. It had once stolen a human she and -mated with her, and been killed by her treachery. It was master to an -incredible degree of its sense and muscular equipment, even of its -heart, which it could slew at will, and of its breathing, which it -could stop entirely for fantastic periods of time. - -It was rising in me now and it was I. Remorse died forever. Human -traits and sentiments died that I could no longer remember ever -harboring. I was I and though I did not yet know exactly what I was, I -knew it was no fit of madness that had taken possession of me, no devil -of the olden times to be driven out by exorcism, no second personality -to land me in an asylum; but the soul that had come down through untold -centuries hidden in my genes, traveling its recondite course through -blood and flesh and brain matter until it woke again to conscious life -in Bill Cuff in the early autumn of 1952. - -The pictures I had seen thus far were racial memory, remembrance of -a dawn world, and I knew there would be more of them. I would hold -patience in my hands and wait till time brought full recall. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -I pulled my Gladstone from below the bed, strapped and locked it. -Then for a moment I stared at my typewriter. It was doubtful that I -would ever use her again, and she'd make an extra burden which I could -scarcely afford to carry with me. I hated the thought of someone else's -fingers on her keys. I had loved that cranky, faithful old mill. I -opened her case and raising the machine above my head brought her face -down onto a bedpost. Two crashes were plenty. They'd never repair my -old girl now. I put her gently on the bed. - -"Sleep well, lady." I said, and was obscurely glad to find that my -metamorphosed self could still be whimsically sentimental. - -I brushed the water glasses off the window sill, threw up the sash and -climbed onto the fire escape, Gladstone in hand. I took off my felt hat -and skimmed it out and down; it fell in the middle of the alley where -anyone would be sure to see it. Then I climbed upward until I reached -the roof. They would suppose I had lost my hat while running away down -the alley. - -Leaving the fire escape, brushing its flaky rust from my palm, I -walked across the flat roof. The moon, very low in the gray-black sky, -showed me the age-battered forms of chimneys and ventilators, with a -shack-like structure looming foursquare among them: the entrance to the -hotel. I thought of waiting till the searchers hared off on my false -trail, then leaving by this obvious route. No good: my face and build -were becoming too well known. I looked about me, deciding what to do. - -And it seemed to me that I was not on the roof of a dingy third-rate -hotel in an American city, but somewhere entirely different. - -The cries of pursuers echoed in my brain. I was crouching amid tall -buttress-tops, gargoyled rainspouts, coned tower-peaks; ancient tiles -were slippery beneath my feet. I was scrambling round the roof of a -castle, or at least what seemed a massive and castle-like building. -Peering over the edge of the gutter, I could make out the sheen of -moon-silvered water lying far below, with tiny wind-ripples on its -surface. A moat? - -No weapons were in my hands. I was hunted by fierce enemies. Yet I -was not afraid. I was only hideously angry. I longed to get at them, -but there were too many. Just let them come three or four at a time, -armed however they wished, and I would meet them. But no, they must -needs draw their game in great packs of howling humanity. Humans! How I -loathed them! - -What was I? I was myself, Bill Cuff, some centuries before. My vision -was strangely two-fold. I could see the sooty hotel chimneys and could -realize where I stood, and at the same time I was again creeping round -among the gables and towers of the medieval castle. I could hear the -cries of my seekers. A word was repeated over and over until it stood -out from all the hubbub. - -_Vampire ... vampire ... vampire...._ - -I knew I was no such thing. The undead--a superstition. - -But they _thought_ me a vampire. I had slain and slain, brutally, -and--yes, and lapped up blood from torn throats, hot and bubbling -between my lips. Was I a vampire? Were my kind the origin of that -legend? - - * * * * * - -The race-recollection died away. I heard the shouts of my twentieth -century foeman, who had found the two dead policemen. I walked to the -edge of the roof and gauged the distance to the next building, which -was several feet lower than this one. There was a gap of no more than -ten feet. I threw the suitcase across. Men appeared eighty feet below, -running through the alley. I watched them, leaning fearlessly over the -low parapet. Like single-minded hounds, they never looked up. I laughed -and gathered myself and jumped across the yawning void, alighting -easily on the next roof. - -I was beginning to take a keen gratification in my agility. Even the -lifting of my Gladstone, the feel of sentient muscles gliding over one -another to apportion the work between them, gave me intense pleasure. -Thus must an animal feel when he moves about his small enterprises, -knowing his body will answer any call he cares to make upon it. - -I crossed this roof and leaped again and crossed a third, and found -myself overlooking a wide street. The sky was growing more gray than -black, and the lamps were beginning to take on the futile appearance -they have in the half-light of earliest dawn. I wanted to put plenty of -distance between me and this city that was too aware of me within it. -There was a rickety ladder leading down the side to a fire escape. I -descended it one-handed, jumped to the metal framework, trotted-down -to the street. Cars lined it, and the third I checked was unlocked. -There are ways to start a car without the key. I hummed peacefully -out of town. The sun found me driving along a broad straight highway -between fields of shocked grain, singing a tuneless song. There was -happiness in the song, and hatred; and I thought suddenly that I was -happy because of the hatred, which I had found again after many years -of ignorance and futility. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -I stopped on the crest of a knoll and got out of the car. Off to the -right lay the beginnings of a vast swampy tract of wilderness, green -and steaming in the early morning air. I had never known of it before, -had no idea of its name or nature, and yet I knew I had been heading -for it ever since I left the museum. Somewhere in its somber depths I -would find the voice that was calling to me. - -I looked back the way I had come. I could see for miles. There was -nothing moving on the road but I had the feeling that pursuit was on -its way; there was a prickling at the nape of my neck that could not be -denied. Getting into the car again, I ran it to the edge of the knoll -opposite to the marsh. Stepping out, dragging my Gladstone after me, I -put my shoulder to the car's side and shoved it over. It hurtled down -and crashed into a tree at the bottom. Far beyond it, still shrouded -in the morning mists, was a town. My followers might presume I had -made for it. A primitive stratagem, the car, like the hat in the -alley--primitive, but perhaps effective. - -It was wonderful in the swamp. A cool, damp efflux of greenness -emanated from the soggy earth, the watery pools and stretches of -quagmire, the moss-dripping trees and hummocks of sharp-speared coarse -grass. I hung my coat over my arm, swung along lithely, reveling in the -_green_ feel of things and in my own newfound brawn that made the heavy -Gladstone a feather in my hand. Unerringly my feet chose the swiftest, -safest path. I was a beast, with the simple pleasures of a beast, -hunted or not. And always before me sounded the strange and powerful -calling that drew me on and on, a far-wandering wolf returning to his -all-but-forgotten lair. - -I had been in the marshland for about half an hour when I heard the -dogs. So far away as to be little more than a whisper in the brain, -their baying chilled my happiness in an instant. Dogs were old -implacable enemies.... - -I was running through a fen. Miry bog sucked at my naked feet, -stale-smelling sweat covered me, my face was lashed by the thorned -branches of a legion of trees that sprang from the rich muck of the -morass. Hounds gave tongue in a continuous chorus of hate, seemingly -all about me. I ran and ran. Now I could hear the thick shouts of men, -in a language that was foreign to me, though it had almost as many -gutturals and slurrings as my own speech. - -I was of a very ancient race in these parts (wherever they were). My -people were classed as vermin, along with the dire wolf and the gray -ape and the last surviving remnants of the hyena tribe. Man hunted us -with his dogs, great vicious brutes with saber fangs. - - * * * * * - -I burst through a screen of hanging moss and fell into a spongy patch -of swamp. I struggled, miring myself worse than ever. Then the dogs -were upon me, screeching their delight. Men followed them and ringed -the quagmire. Great satisfaction was on their faces as the boldest of -the dogs leaped forward to gash my upthrown arm. - -"Haah," exulted their leader, and spat at me. "_Pict_...." - -I shook away the horrible and haunting remembrance. I heard the hounds -of the twentieth century, perhaps a little closer than before. - -So I had been a Pict! One of the aboriginal British men (or manlike -beings) who are supposed eventually to have bred and merged with Aryan -invaders and thereafter with the Scots. Was this the most ancient of -my racial memories--or were they recollections of former incarnations -of myself, my own individual soul? Whichever they were, and I knew they -were one or the other, was this the eldest of them? Or would my waxing -memory bring forth still earlier pictures? - -If the Picts were subhuman, or even utterly nonhuman, and their uncanny -blood had come through the incredible cycle of the centuries to rise -anew in my veins, wouldn't that explain my war with the genus homo? - -Surely it would! - -I dropped the suitcase for a moment, standing quiet to hear the dogs. -Then I smacked fist into palm and laughed, a grim snarling bark of -merriment. "Pict!" I said aloud. "Pict, by the gods!" - -And then, ages after the Picts, the strain had risen again and my -comrades and I had fought mankind in our bitter, blind, malignant -fashion--to be superstitiously regarded as evil spirits, the undead of -the vampire myth. - -And, come to think of it, we were probably the origin of the grisly -werewolf illusion, too. - -My chest swelled with a strange elated arrogance. This was the reason -I hated the humans, calling them _men_ in the accents of loathing. I -and my people were not of humanity; we were all those harried, despised -and feared creatures in human or nearhuman form, all who had fled down -the years and turned at bay and torn the throats from our would-be -butchers. Sometimes we must have mated with them, infusing our dark -strain into their pale stock. But blood ran in our veins and thoughts -coursed in our brains which were as alien to man as the blood and the -thoughts of tigers. But it is a proud if lonely thing to be a tiger.... - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -The hounds bayed on my trail, and the voice in my head called me -forward. I picked up the Gladstone and hastened on, following -an invisible path between oozing stretches of swamp under great -creeper-festooned oaks, never putting my feet on anything but firm -ground. I seemed closer to the earth than I had ever been. It spoke to -me, mystically, silently, and I knew where was footing and where was -treacherous bog. Even so a fox traverses new territory and never makes -a misstep. - -I don't know how long I walked through the marshland. My thoughts were -busy, my heart was light and at the same time full of my hereditary -wrath, and always my ears were cocked for the sound of the dogs. - -At last I realized that they were much closer. I was going fast, but -my route must have been deduced and short-cuts taken, on the chance -that the dogs could pick up my scent again. I began to run. The rank -hanging vegetation brushed my face, bringing a flash of that older -hunting scene to mind. - -Suddenly--and I use that well-worn word in its strongest sense, for -never was anything more startlingly sudden--there was a man in the path. - -I dropped the suitcase and sprang at him, reflexes acting without my -conscious volition. My surprise was overwhelming when he avoided my -leap with ease, and tripped me before I could turn. Then a number of -bodies hit me and pinned me to the mossy earth. With a roar I flung -them off, twisting and bounding to my feet. The first man stood near. I -feinted and as he dodged I changed the direction of my grasp and caught -him by one arm. Then he was above my head, held helpless by my right -hand. I faced the others--three of them, there were--and rasped, "One -move and he's dead." I wanted the respite of a second or two in which -to plan an attack. These were strong and tricky foemen. - -The man aloft wriggled. I was holding him by the back of the belt. I -gave him a warning shake. "Lie quiet, little man," I said, "or I'll -chuck you into the ooze." - -The three moved forward uncertainly. "Wait," he said to them, his voice -calm. Then he chuckled. I admired his nerve. "Big fellow," he said to -me, "how long since you ranged the fens and slew the upstart Man?" - -I set him on his feet. "I was right," I said. "The call wasn't in my -mind alone." - -He grinned at his friends. "Here is another who has the memory," said -he. - - * * * * * - -I stared at him. He was short, stocky, with a great shock of yellow -hair sleeked down with oil. His eyes were living gray jewels in a tan -face. His friends were nondescript, yet they held an odd resemblance to -one another: all were broad of chest and vital-looking, and--I liked -them. - -"You're a rugged one," said the leader. "How long since you came awake?" - -"About thirty-two hours." - -They exchanged doubting glances. "I mean the first token you had that -you were--different." - -"Thirty-two hours." - -"And you remember the fens? Are you sure?" - -"I remember that I was a Pict. I was called a vampire and likely a -werewolf. And I've had intimations that I go back even farther than -those fens." - -"My God," said yellow-hair half-aloud. "Thirty-two hours! Did you get a -swat on the skull, or was it natural?" - -"I think I just woke out of a sleep with it. It took a while to -percolate." - -"Kill anybody?" he asked casually. - -"Five men." - -"The primal anger, yes. Five! Then you're Bill Cuff, of course. We've -been hearing about you on the radio. Thought you might be one of the -Old Companions." - -"So that's what I am," I said. - -"A name, only a name. We like the useless trappings of fraternity as -well as Homo sapiens does." - -"How far back do we go?" - -"You'll know some day. Soon, if your progress thus far is a criterion. -Better to remember by yourself." He shook his head. "You're a -phenomenon. Do you know how long it took me to develop the memory? -Seventeen years. And I am second leader here." - -"Who's leader?" - -"You'll meet him." - -I clenched my hands, looked him up and down, and said. "Pict, wolf-man, -or whatever, I tell you this. I take orders badly and I acknowledge no -authority higher than myself." Anything less like the old Bill Cuff -would have been hard to imagine, and yet I knew these things about -myself and I spoke only the truth. - -"Ah," he said, his jewel-gray eyes lighting, "you're a Tartar, all -right. Goes with the swift progress, I suppose. We may have to tame you -a little." - -"Little man," I said gently, "you are welcome to try." - -He jerked a thumb at my Gladstone. "Got anything worthwhile in there?" - -"Just clothes and junk." - -"Well, that's something. It would be hard to outfit an ox like you from -our wardrobes. We don't generally run to height, you know." He said to -one of the others, "Take it to the house, Trutch." The man (or I should -say the reincarnated Pict) took it and disappeared down the trail. "Now -we'll throw off your hunters. Many of them?" - -"Hell, I don't know. Sounds like a lot of dogs." - -He scratched his cheek. "Reinforcements," he said, and whistled a -fluting call. Then he made a curious motion with his right hand. I knew -that motion as well as his followers did. We stepped quietly in among -the thick underbrush and, squatting down, waited. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -They came along the pathway, holding in the leashed dogs, for evidently -they did not trust to their own powers to keep up with free-running -beasts. There were eight or ten men, with as many hounds. These were -making a fearful racket. They nosed us and before they got abreast of -us were poking wildly aside from the safety of the tussocked path of -solid earth. The men yelled at each other and made the usual human -amount of unnecessary uproar. - -How I scorned and despised them! - -One carried a grotesque-looking apparatus on his back which I supposed -to be a kind of enlarged walkie-talkie. The germ of a plan grew. I -marked this fellow for my own. - -When they drew opposite I charged out of hiding with a savage bellow. -The dogs, not mankillers, were baffled for a moment, and the men were -taken wholly by surprise. I gripped the front of the walkie-talkie -operator's jacket and hit him in the belly; with the new adroitness -lent my muscles by race memory, the punch had the force of a giraffe's -kick. Ignoring the other men, I dragged him off to the side and laid -him on his face among the lush weeds. - -Others of the Old Companions were fighting with them now. None of us -had weapons--indeed, they would only have hampered us and blunted our -murder-lust. I heard the futile spat of a revolver over the barking -and yelling. Two men came at me, drawing their guns. I reached out, -laughing, and took them by the necks and smashed their heads together. -My hands and forearms were spattered with blood and brains. I let the -corpses fall and looked for other adversaries. - -They were all dead, even the dogs. Seven of my brothers watched me -expectantly, including the yellow-haired chief. I went over to the man -whom I had hit in the belly. - -"Can any of you work that instrument?" - -They shook their heads. So I took it off his back--it was held by -shoulder straps--and rolled him over. I splashed green-slimed water in -his face. After a while he blinked and gasped. - -"How does this thing work?" I asked. He looked at me, then at the -malevolent faces of the Old Companions. In a whispering croak he told -me how to manipulate the transmitter. - -"How many other parties are searching the swamp?" - -"One." - -"What's the leader's name?" - -His eyes flickered for a minute. "Bill Jones," he said weakly. I -doubled my fist and regarded his face. After a minute he said, "All -right. It's Sam D'Peero." - -"Where are they?" - -"Took another trail. Off west, I think." - -I killed him then. "Deep hole near here?" I asked yellow-hair. - -He grinned, shouldered a corpse and picked up a dead hound by its -collar. We followed him, myself dragging two men by the belts so as -not to get any bloodier than I was. We found a big reeking boghole and -threw them into it. Going back, we destroyed the signs of the battle. -Then I picked up the walkie-talkie, switched it on. - -"Sam!" I shouted, pitching my voice high and filling it with terror. -"Sam, can you hear me? Oh, my God, we're trapped! The dogs run us into -the swamp!" I waited a moment, heard someone say faintly and tinnily, -"Johnny, what's the matter?" - -"I--oh Lord, I'm sinking! I can't hold onto this branch much longer. -Sam, Sam! I think the Cuff guy came and fell into this hole. You can't -tell it ain't solid, and the dogs followed him and all the others--oh -Sam, help me!" - -"Explain, Johnny!" said the instrument. "What's wrong with the others?" - -"I tell you we fell in, Sam! We were all bunched and this stuff's like -quicksand. I'm--" I broke off, shrieked, gurgled horridly, and then -picked up the walkie-talkie and heaved it deep into the swamp. - -Yellow-hair laughed. "It might not put them off, but it'll confuse them -no end. If you're worried about them finding the house, don't. A cross -between a bloodhound and a private eye couldn't locate it. Come on." He -patted my arm. "Let's go home." - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -The house was old but well-kept, upreared in the heart of the great -green swampland. It was such a house as a troll might have built--a -troll with a Gothic imagination. Rambling, with a ramshackle look -despite its sturdiness, wood-turreted.... "One of our more exotic -head-quarters," said yellow-hair, whose name was Skagarach. "Don't know -what madman built it. We have them, HQs that is, all over the world; -but not many in so congenial a setting." - -"Are we truly all over the world, then?" - -"Most of it. Maybe not in deep Africa, nor in places like the South -Seas, but wherever there're big enough colonies of so-called white men, -we are there." There arose a faint barking, somewhere in the depths of -the house. Skagarach shook his head as I snarled. "No, they're ours. We -have dogs, of course. The friendship of the dog was not always limited -to man. He was our servant too. And will be again." - -"Who were we?" - -He returned a question. "Do you know why you came here?" - -"I was called. Something in my mind--" - -"Yes. We're telepathic to a degree." He grinned. "Don't let it go to -your head. It's a gift we share with the ants and the bees." We entered -the house and I found a spacious living room furnished with big leather -armchairs. "Have a drink," he said, pointing to a wall bar. "One -worthwhile invention of our friend Man." - -"No friend of mine," I said, and then, turning to him, "but why? Why -this two-day reversal of my feelings? Why has this thing happened to -me, Skagarach?" - -"So quickly ... I don't know why it happened so quickly. As for the -general _why_ of it, it's blood and bone and sinew and soul come down -to us from the beings we once were. It's a powerful strain--so powerful -that powerful is a weak word for it. I think it must be the strongest -blood-strain that ever ran in animal veins. One drop, I think, would -redden an ocean of milk." - -"Animal." I repeated. One of the Old Companions put a tall drink in my -hand and I nodded thanks. "I know this, but tell me again. We are _not_ -men, are we?" - - * * * * * - -He looked into my eyes with those uncanny gray jewel-orbs. "No, we -are not. At least not Homo sapiens pure and simple. I believe we -began this hybrid race by stealing and mating with human women--" -I recalled my long-ago death by treachery and agreed--"and then -possibly the offspring of those unions mated among men. Certainly -the Picts were not pure _us_. Then afterward the breed was watered -again when the Picts bred to outlanders. Men always hated us, but -women are strange creatures and--well, the unions must have been -many. A mere handful that's accounted for by thefts of women couldn't -have produced the mighty tide of anti-human passion which runs in us -after so many centuries. Many millions must have our taint in them, -though comparatively few have it so abundantly as you and I and these -Old Companions. Note that I say 'comparatively'. Actually there are -thousands of us who recognize our essential difference." - -"So now the old blood wakes in us," I said exultantly. "Why? After so -long, why now? Are we like locusts, our knowledge lying hidden for an -age and then bursting up in all of us at the same time?" - -"A quaint notion," said Skagarach. "No, we have always known, I think, -in all the periods of history. But we never banded together before, -never fought the ancient enemy as an army within its gates, as we are -doing and will do with increasing potency." - -"Why not?" - -"Think, Cuff, only think! You are born in 1700; at a certain age you -begin to know you are different. You hate the race of men. You have -racial memories of living in caves, of being harried by men. What do -you do? You never heard the name of--what we were and are. Science has -told you nothing of prehistory. So where do you end?" He shrugged. -"Bedlam. The lunatic dungeons. Fancy ladies come and giggle at you, the -murderous madman, through the bars. You pine for fresh air and freedom, -because freedom is even more precious to our race than to man. You die." - -"Oh," I said, catching his meaning. "It's only in the last century that -science has opened the door to the past, of course. Now we can realize -what we are, and work accordingly." - -"Yes, we can organize, can sheer off from the pack of humankind, and -strengthen our race by inbreeding. We have children here and in the -other HQs, born of two of us who remember what they are before they -can read and write. I said it was a powerful strain. Listen. I raise -dogs. Once I bred a wolf to a shepherd. Five generations later a -pup was born that was all wolf, every last ounce of him. Perfectly -untameable little brute. We have that same tenacious blood-line, but to -an almost incredible degree. In fact I think it is not so much blood -with us as a strain in the mind. In us it has carried down through the -uncountable years since prehistory. As that dog was no dog, but a true -wolf, so we are not men, but--what we are." He broke off and looked at -me appraisingly. "I have hopes for you," he said. "The tide runs high -in you, Cuff. We will win back the world some day, we who are not of -mankind. You should prove tremendously important to us." - -I said, "Skagarach, _who are we_?" - -"Hush," he said, "the Old Man is coming." - -"Old Man?" - -"The leader." - -I turned and saw the Old Man, and I knew what we were. I had one final -crashing burst of dawn memory, and I saw our beginnings and our whole -long story and why we would always have to fight men. All this I saw in -the Old Man's face. - -That face was like a great terrible mask. The cheeks were broad, -the brow low and ridged, the brain case enormous. The chin was -shallow, with a wide thick-lipped mouth; and the eyes were glittering -oblongs of gray mica-sprinkled flint. Gray hair covered the massive -forward-thrusting head thickly, and tufts of it boiled up from the -collar of the white shirt on the barrel-sized chest. - -Skagarach came up to me and saw my knowledge in my face. "Yes," he -said, "There is the true strain of our race; there is the result of -inbreeding over a number of generations. The true he of our people." - -I growled. "No truer than I, Skagarach. His are the features, but mine -is the memory and the dawn brain." - -He laughed. He seemed to find humor in everything. "I foresee strife," -he said quietly. "You're a headstrong beast, Cuff. Never mind! We -thrive on strife. Do you know now who and what we are?" - -"H. G. Wells called us the Grisly Folk." - -"Yes. Cuff. You have it. We are the Neanderthals." - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -Now you who read this: - -I declare war on you and _all_ your kind. - -I tell you plain that we will rise and slay you, that there will be no -quarter in this war which is to come to you. Forget your hostilities -between nation and nation--they have no importance compared with our -crusade. Put by your silly fears of invasion from other worlds--your -foe is here, has always been here, and is an enemy you cannot even -recognize. - -For we are banding against you and we can do that which will be the -all-important factor in the waging and winning of this war: we can know -each other, while you are blind. - -Lest you object that the Old Companions are madmen, that there is no -strain in mankind excepting that of man (and, if you are one of that -foolish breed who misreads Darwin, of monkey), let me also tell you -this: - -Most scientists agree that _Homo Neanderthalensis_ was no true man, -but a kind of animal in manlike form, with several improvements and -more specialized faculties than man. - -We know this, for the first thing we remember, the first thing our -children know, is that _we are not men_. - -So watch for us. - -Don't feel sheepish if you find yourself glancing back on the lonely -road. Don't be self-conscious if you draw away from the silent man who -sits next to you in the subway, he may not be a man at all. - -We are here all about you. Watch for us. - -We will win back the earth from you who crushed us so long ago. - -_Watch for us! The future is ours!_ - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMORROW THE WORLD! *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/65902-0.zip b/old/65902-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ce4f49f..0000000 --- a/old/65902-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/65902-h.zip b/old/65902-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index fd4431f..0000000 --- a/old/65902-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/65902-h/65902-h.htm b/old/65902-h/65902-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 3101564..0000000 --- a/old/65902-h/65902-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1746 +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 Tomorrow the World!, by Geoff St. Reynard. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3 { - 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;} - -/* 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; -} - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tomorrow the World!, by Geoff St. Reynard</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Tomorrow the World!</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Geoff St. Reynard</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 23, 2021 [eBook #65902]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMORROW THE WORLD! ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>TOMORROW THE WORLD!</h1> - -<h2>By Geoff St. Reynard</h2> - -<p>Can the past affect the future? What if<br /> -you remembered to the dawn of time when you<br /> -hated man and decided to destroy him—today!</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -September 1952<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>It was like a cave, a great vaulted cave which echoed back my first -hesitant movements on the slab and tossed them from wall to wall until -the darkness about me was all one vast rustling. I felt my skin prickle -into gooseflesh. In that moment of waking I was oddly frightened. I had -no memory of location. I might have been in a subterranean grotto, with -enormous stalagmites of supergrotesque shape rising all about me in -the thick gloom.</p> - -<p>I sat up. The slab was cold beneath me. Directly in front of it towered -a thing like a nightmare skeleton of stone.</p> - -<p>It was just that: the fossil of a duckbilled dinosaur. I had gone to -sleep on a marble bench in the palaeontology room of the museum.</p> - -<p>I laughed. The panic that had touched me was gone, and I felt ashamed -of myself. Not for falling asleep, because I had been very tired; but -ashamed of the fear.</p> - -<p>Lord knew how long I had slept. It was black night without and within, -and no sound save that of my own movements came to me. The museum must -have been closed for hours. The guards had missed me on my bench behind -the dinosaur. I stood and shook myself and smoothed the rumpled suit, -and began to grope my way between exhibits toward the entrance hall. I -left the reptilian skeletons behind—not without a certain relief, for -they were awesome sleepers to pass among—and was striding down a dim -pathway between glass cases when I heard the footsteps.</p> - -<p>A watchman was coming toward me. I could see the reflection of his -flashlight. I halted indecisively, growled at myself, and went on. I -had a perfectly valid excuse for being there. They could hardly do -anything to me.</p> - -<p>The guard was big, about my size, and his flash jumped in his hand when -he saw me. Then he hurried forward. I grinned into the glare.</p> - -<p>"Sorry to scare you—"</p> - -<p>"What the hell you doing here, bud?"</p> - -<p>I did not like him in the least. "I fell asleep in the bone room. Just -woke up."</p> - -<p>"That's what they say, bud, that's what they say." He was breathing in -my face. I do not care for secondhand hamburg with onions. "Who are -you?"</p> - -<p>"Bill Cuff, I write for the adventure mags, maybe you've seen my yarns."</p> - -<p>"No, I ain't. How come you fell asleep, bud?"</p> - -<p>"Cuff," I said, "Bill Cuff. I was knocked out. I mean I was tired. Been -working nights on a piece that doesn't want to jell."</p> - -<p>"That's what they say, bud." I was getting good and sick of that line. -Three times was more than enough. He didn't think so. "That's what they -say. Fell asleep, huh? In a room full o' jewelry that'd bring a nice -price even if you melted it down. Relics. We got a brooch over there -that Napoleon gave to Catherine of Aragon. Make a nice haul by itself."</p> - -<p>"I dare say, especially as she died some centuries before he was born. -A unique bit of trinketry indeed." I disliked this guard more with -each word. "You knucklehead," I said, "I told you I fell asleep. I was -looking for a watchman just now."</p> - -<p>"That's what they say. You come on with me. We got to see a cop, bud."</p> - -<p>"For the love of—I can identify myself. Here's my driver's license."</p> - -<p>"Stole, probably. We've had sneak-thieves in here before. You come on -with me, bud."</p> - -<p>I counted ten. "Cuff, Bill Cuff." His stupidity, his dark stolid bulk -behind the persistent flashlight were angering me. "All right, lets see -a cop."</p> - -<p>He gripped my arm. "I don't like to be touched and handled." I said. I -knocked his hand off. "Here, here," he yelped, "don't get tough or I'll -have to rough you up a little."</p> - -<p>He clutched my arm again. A scarlet curtain of rage shut down over my -senses. I reached out and took his throat between my hands, dragged -him to my chest, tightened my fingers and pressed and twisted till -his flashlight dropped to the stone floor and went out with a pitiful -tinkle. There in the unbroken dark of the deserted museum I held him -until he was dead, until his head was turned over his shoulder and his -popping eyes stared sightlessly down his backbone. Then I threw him -into a case of snuff boxes, and went on to the entrance and let myself -out and walked away down the moonlit street.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> - - -<p>For a long while I walked alone with my cold rage. It was, well, -most curious is a mild way to describe it. I had never been a man of -violence and fury. Only in my adventure yarns had I spread gore and -destruction abroad. I thought back over my twenty-eight years of life. -I didn't believe I had ever even hit anyone before tonight. Yet I had -taken enormous pleasure in the wanton brutality. Even after my anger -had died, I felt no regret whatever for the murder of the guard. He had -been a stupid <i>man</i>.</p> - -<p>I found myself wondering about that after I had said it half-aloud. I -didn't know why I had put the emphasis on <i>man</i>. You might have thought -I was a woman.</p> - -<p>Going aimlessly up one street and down another, now staring ahead -and now gazing up at the full moon riding in its field of India-ink -sky, I eventually saw that I was near the museum again. Some obscure -curiosity took me past its doors. Just as I passed them, craning my -neck foolishly as though I could see through their oak and bronze, half -a dozen men burst out into the street. Automatically I speeded my pace. -Then they yelled, and were after me. I ran.</p> - -<p>What smirking fate had pushed me back to the damned place? From my -position on the sidewalk, my attitude of looking intently at the doors, -my haste thereafter, they had leaped to the thought that I had just -emerged from the museum. I thought of fingerprints, of all kinds of -clues I might have left behind. I ran like a spooked steer.</p> - -<p>Reason left me. I caught the last wisp of a fleeting amazement: could -this murderous, panicky creature be Bill Cuff, hitherto a sane and -sober pulp writer?</p> - -<p>I turned a corner, vaulted over a hedge and flung myself prone behind -it. The pursuers—museum guards, for evidently the police had not -arrived—pounded by, yelling to each other. When they had gone I darted -over to the building that shadowed this plot of earth, kicked in a -window, knocked away shards of glass from the frame and let myself down -into the basement of the museum. Swiftly I blundered my way between -work-benches and unfinished exhibits until I had found the door. Down -a long black hall I padded, snorting through my nose and peering back -frequently. Like a beast, said a tiny voice in the depths of my brain; -like a stalked beast.</p> - -<p>I found a door, steps that led upward. I passed the first floor and -then the second. My shins were barked, my nose bled from a smack -against an unseen wall. I licked the blood off my lips. The stairs -ended and I was on the third floor. Here the moon slanted its cool -rays into the windows, unhampered by nearby buildings. I could see -quite well. My feet seemed to know where they were going. I passed -through the hall of mammals, glancing aside at the dusty elephants, -the two giraffes in their great cage of glass, the family of sea lions -frozen forever in attitudes of stuffy majesty. My leather heels tapped -loudly in the thick silence. I bent and took off my shoes, stuffing -them into the pockets of my coat. Then I came to the central well, and -leaning over the balcony I looked down at the hall of dinosaurs. Their -bizarre frames were jagged splotches of black in a lesser blackness. -Then the lights went up on their floor, and as I, two stories above, -drew back my head with an involuntary snarl, guards hurried across -the floor between the fossils, calling back and forth. I heard them -say something about the broken window. I had trapped myself. I did -not consider that important. Something in me knew I was heading for -sanctuary.</p> - -<p>I thrust my head over the railing again, like a fox on a cliff -regarding a pack of hounds at fault. Chance made one of the hounds peer -upward. There was a loud shout from below as the guard saw me.</p> - -<p>Dashing along the passage between rail and wall, I entered the art -gallery, traversed it, and came to the geology hall. Here was a replica -of a Pennsylvania cavern, through which visitors could wander to -gawk at stalactites and artificial springs and plaster-and-plastic -underworld creatures—dead-white salamanders, strange little blind -bugs, crawling unnamed worms stuck to the synthetic rock with hidden -adhesives. I dived through the mouth of this weird exhibit, bruising -myself heedlessly; rounded heaps of faked stone, scraped skin off my -knuckles as I fended off obstacles that seemed to hurl themselves -at me in the murk, at last came to the back of the cave and turned -and squatted there on my hams, fingertips trailing against the cool -hardness of the sham rock floor.</p> - -<p>The moon was dropping; now it looked in a window opposite the cave, -finding its way between the icicle forms of stalactites, just grazing -my dark blue suit here and there. I bent my head and stared at the -ivory huntress of the skies. Her full round belly was gravid with -portent. I felt that all sorts of shattering events were shaping within -her, that something alien and terrible and withal glorious was about to -be born.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> - - -<p>I could hear no sounds of pursuit as yet. I thought back over the -past half hour. I still experienced no shred of remorse. The man had -deserved to die. He had laid hands on me without provocation. He had -been stupid. He had been a <i>man</i>.</p> - -<p>Again that odd emphasis stirred a wonder in my mind, which vanished -before I could grip it. I looked about me at what I could discern of -the artificial cavern. I felt at home here. Then my memory played me -a trick. I thought I had been in this place before, with others of my -kind (my kind? what the hell?), and we had squatted thus and hearkened -to the hunting cries of great carnivores and of—I grasped too quickly -and too consciously for the rest of the thought and it was gone. But I -could have sworn that I was going to remember the blood-roaring of a -band of men.</p> - -<p>What the hell, indeed! Had my wild adventure tales got under my skin -and turned me lunatic?</p> - -<p>That idea lasted for about a breath and a half. I knew I was cold sane. -So, coldly and sanely, I groped in my memory for whatever experience I -had turned up a fragment of. It was dim but it was certainly there, a -scene painted in faded oils on dark canvas. I was in a cave with others -of my kind, hulking broad-chested shapes in the gloom, and outside rose -the howling of our pursuers. I felt the hair bristle on my neck and -my forehead creased with rage. Then the lights went on in the geology -hall, dispelling the picture.</p> - -<p>I curled myself down behind the biggest of the stalagmites. I was -wholly in shadow. I lay perfectly still, and my heart slowed its beat -so that the blood hissed more quietly in my ears and I could hear with -wonderful clarity. Guards spoke nearby. They were searching for me, -checking methodically through every cranny of the hall. I flexed my -fingers. A silent chuckle shook me.</p> - -<p>One came cautiously to the entrance of the cave and bent and stared -futilely. I saw him glance around for his companions, then advance -slowly into the place. When he was nearly above me I rose as swiftly as -a panther. He had no time to drag in breath for a yell. I clamped his -mouth tight with one hand, broke his neck with the other. It was done -beautifully. In that moment I found pride in my perfect coordination, -in my excellence as a killing machine as deadly as a king cobra. I laid -him down in shadow. I traded my coat for his uniform jacket, which was -too snug in the shoulders but fitted well enough otherwise. I put on my -shoes and his visored cap and walked out of the cave. I went along the -aisle, face averted from the other guards, and found a stair well and -slipped into it.</p> - -<p>Up went the hue and cry before I was halfway down!</p> - -<p>I leaped to the second floor entrance, feeling their eyes already on my -back as I passed through it, and went loping for the nearest window, a -tall square of moontouched glittering. I hurled the thing open, swung -onto the sill, and launched myself into space without even looking at -the ground. It rushed up at me. As naturally as a cat might have done -it, I landed on toes and fingers. Then I was running.</p> - -<p>No shouts broke out behind me. They had not seen my leap. I shed the -jacket and cap as I ran. Then I remembered my coat, lying across the -dead guard. No identification there—until they had time to check -dry-cleaner's marks. I had an hour or two at least.</p> - -<p>I headed for my hotel, a dingy, half-respectable pile on the edge of -the downtown district. An hour to pack, and I would be on my way. There -was something, or someone, calling to me from a great distance. I did -not know what it was nor where.</p> - -<p>My instincts would carry me to it. I wasted no time in wondering. I let -my mind slip out of gear, put my whole energy into my traveling.</p> - -<p>When I had run far enough, I found an owl cab and let it carry me the -rest of the distance. It seemed oddly alien to me to trust to anything -but my own powerful legs; but I forced myself to sit back and let the -civilized habits of Bill Cuff take the upper hand. <i>I</i> would rest for a -little while.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> - - -<p>As I stuffed things into my big battered Gladstone I found myself -changing.</p> - -<p>A cryptic statement, that, and one which requires explanation; yet how -can I say just what it was like, this metamorphosis? At first I was the -same creature that had crouched behind the false stalagmite and slain -the guard, then had leaped from the second-story window to flee into -the night. This was a—I was about to say a wholly physical being. That -isn't true. There was brainwork of a sort behind its actions, but an -alien brainwork. Could you understand the thoughts of an ape? Could you -describe them if you did?</p> - -<p>At any rate, I slid away from this physical being, imperceptibly, -until Bill Cuff the prosaic pulpster seemed in the ascendant. Touching -familiar things: my typewriter, sport shirts, cigarette lighter, a -stack of manuscript—appeared to bring me back to what had all my life -been normality.</p> - -<p>Yet this creates the portrait of a sort of Jekyll-Hyde personality, an -extreme example of schizophrenia. I would not have you believe this for -a moment. I was not two souls warring in a single body, nor a lunatic -of any sort.</p> - -<p>No. I was not two people. I was a sleeper who had awakened in a manner -not explained, not understood, but acceptable at once as quite natural. -I found myself in a body which I had already been occupying for -twenty-eight years and two months and seven days. There was no other -personality in this body with me. The body was mine. The mind therein, -fully developed along its own lines, was my mind.</p> - -<p>The body and mind were mine, but the <i>I</i>—the older <i>I</i>—which had -wakened was of somewhat different stuff. It had taken the body and mind -(perhaps while I slept on the marble bench, perhaps during the brief -argument with the guard), merging with them and dominating them. Yet -the dual brain, the single body with new proclivities, were one, were -all Bill Cuff. They differed but they were one.</p> - -<p>I have said that before this night I had never even struck anyone. Yet -there had always been the possibility that I might; might strike and -slay, go berserk as I had now done. I had written many tales of brutal -violence. Without my knowledge, there had been the seeds of savagery -within me. They had flowered.</p> - -<p>I looked in the mirror. I saw a well-set-up young fellow, a little -broader than average for my six feet, heavy-boned, not much excess fat. -My face was broad too, with high cheekbones and a small mustache and -wide gray eyes, under an unruly thatch of thick black hair. I had a -rather unintellectual look for a writer; it had always annoyed me. But -I didn't look brutal. I had a sort of mild-mannered air, like a wider -Jimmy Stewart.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In all that night I never questioned anything for more than a second -or two until I came to pack my belongings. Then the lifelong habits -and prejudices came back to make me ask myself for an accounting. No -remorse, nor fear, nor any such weak emotions; simply curiosity at the -changes.</p> - -<p>What is it, I asked myself; reincarnation?</p> - -<p>That would explain many things, including the paradox of two -individuals in one—who were not two, had never been two, yet were -different.</p> - -<p>Postulate a gorilla, reborn in a man. His racial memories come to life -after a certain period of time. He is still a man, has the reasoning -ability of a man, is thoroughly Homo sapiens in everything, except -that suddenly he can swing through the trees and can think in a manner -strange to man—a furtive, sly, cunning, beastly way, if you like, but -a way that will help to preserve him even in the stone jungles of man.</p> - -<p>As I said this to myself, I caught at one phrase therein. <i>Swing -through the trees.</i></p> - -<p>It was obvious that my physical powers had undergone a terrific -change. I did not remember my hands ever being so powerful before. -Never, certainly, had my reflexes been so flawless. Why, take but -one instance: my leap from the second floor of the museum. That leap -yesterday would more than likely have cost me two fractured ankles.</p> - -<p>Superstitiously I looked in the mirror again and felt my muscles. Had -they grown overnight, bulging out into the great biceps of whatever -primitive entity had emerged within me? So far as I could tell, they -were just my old muscles—not bad for a writer, because I swam a lot -and did calisthenics regularly, but surely no marvels as muscles go. -The change appeared to be in my use of them. Instinctively I could -employ them in the most effective way. What could that be but a racial -memory acting beneath the surface of the skin?</p> - -<p>Other implausible explanations of the business occurred to me as I -packed. I discarded them. Nothing seemed to fit except the abrupt -return of a personality from eons ago, some great brute out of my -lineage. That chimed with the curious recollection I had had in the -cave, and with the accent I had several times put upon the word <i>man</i> -to describe my enemies. A gorilla? I laughed to myself. An intriguing -thought, indeed! I did not for a minute believe it. But what?</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> - - -<p>I caught the five A.M. train for another big city—never mind which. I -had about two hundred dollars in my wallet, a fair selection of clothes -and essentials in my Gladstone, and the portable typewriter in its -beat-up case. For a while I was well enough provided for. I settled -back in the reclining chair, watched the dawn come up beyond the -windows of the train, and listened with half an ear to the whispering -voice that was calling to me from the unknown.</p> - -<p>An hour passed. I was drowsing, comfortably, my eyes shut. Then in -an instant I was wide awake. Someone was watching me. I felt their -gaze through my eyelids. As though moving in my sleep I turned myself -around, opened my eyes the merest slit. It was the girl across -the aisle. I observed her carefully. She was a pretty blonde, and -yesterday's Bill Cuff would have been flattered to find her regarding -him. Not I! A steady regard was a menacing thing.</p> - -<p>I made sure she was alone. Then I opened my eyes wide and said, "Do I -know you?" It flustered her. She turned pink and said confusedly, "I—I -don't think so!"</p> - -<p>I had one of those singular picture-thoughts, that seemed to come and -go unbidden in my mind. I saw another female of this girl's race, whom -I had taken from her people. I had desired her deeply, and later had -trusted her more than I should.</p> - -<p><i>She had betrayed me to her kin, and I had died.</i></p> - -<p>For a moment I considered killing this woman. There were too many men -all about us; I should have to flee instead. I stood up, gathered my -Gladstone and typewriter, gave her a long hard look, and went forward -to the next coach. She must have been completely baffled.</p> - -<p>After a few minutes I grew restless. I was enclosed by the walls of -this conveyance, and vulnerable to attack. We came into a small -city. The train left it, moving slowly. I suppose it was waiting for -another train some distance ahead to be shunted off its track. I could -stand the confinement no longer. I put my machine under my left arm, -took the Gladstone in my left hand. (Always leave one hand free for -emergencies.) I went out to the platform between the cars. A conductor -was standing there counting tickets.</p> - -<p>"Shouldn't change cars with all that luggage, sir," he said. "Train -rocks a good deal and it's dangerous."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He took a step toward me. I put up my hand to tear out his throat and -realized that he was simply going to pass by. I pressed against the -wall. He went into the next car. I would have to watch myself. Needless -killing at this stage of my flight would only complicate matters. I -swung down to the last step, waited for a level stretch of cindery -earth, and dropped off. The train was going perhaps twenty-five miles -an hour. I lit as easily, as safely as a leopard bounding from a tree. -I began to think there was nothing I could not accomplish in the way of -strength and agility.</p> - -<p>I walked back into the small city. Instinctively I sought the lower -districts—not Skid Row, but the tenements and cheap hotels of the -poor. I took a room in one of the latter. I barricaded the door and put -up a makeshift burglar alarm on the window sill: a couple of glasses, -a water pitcher, other objects, all perched precariously on the edge so -that nothing could come in without knocking them off and rousing me. -Then I crawled into bed and slept for twelve hours.</p> - -<p>In the evening I had a meal and the papers sent up to me. I read them -while I chewed on leathery steak coated with half-congealed grease, and -tiny potatoes as appetizing as the boiled eyes of iguanas.</p> - -<p>The papers had it all. My name, life story, photos, even a list of -the magazines for which I had written. Brutal Slayings ... Writer -on Rampage ... Have You Seen This Man ... all the rest of the trite -screamers.</p> - -<p>Then I came to the local paper. It was thought I might be here. It was -thought that the man who acted so strangely on the west-bound train -that morning, and who vanished at a point several miles out of town, -might have been Cuff the Murderer. Descriptions tallied. Tentative -identification had been made from telephotos. My lip lifted in a silent -snarl. The hounds were baying close.</p> - -<p>I dressed and shaved off my mustache. I put on dark glasses and went -out to a bar. The liquor tasted like water from a goldfish bowl. I -walked the streets. About midnight a policeman gave me a second look, -then called questioningly. I waited until he came to me, and then with -savage glee I put him across my knee and broke his back.</p> - -<p>I went to the hotel and stored up some more sleep, like an animal, -preparing for the time when I should be fleeing or fighting around the -clock.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> - - -<p>It was some two hours before sunrise. I was dressing, packing -leisurely. There was a knock at the door.</p> - -<p>My light was on. I could not pretend to be asleep. "What is it?"</p> - -<p>"Police sir. We're checking for a wanted man. Will you open up, please?"</p> - -<p>I threw the last of my stuff into the Gladstone and shoved it under -the bed. Putting my ear to the panel of the door, I listened for their -breathing. There were two of them, and probably more within call, -checking other rooms where a single man was registered. I tipped the -shade of the lamp so that my face would be in shadow, and opened the -door. They walked in, one of them diffident, the other as insolent as a -thug, with his hand on his holstered revolver.</p> - -<p>The second would be the less dangerous, I thought; he would be faster -to draw that gun but more stupid in his reactions to a surprise than -the other, who looked the more intelligent. So as they entered, turning -to face me, I pushed the door shut with my heel and let the smart, shy -one have a quick jab on the angle of his jaw to quiet him for a time. -That left me the tough boy, and I looked forward to a good time with -him.</p> - -<p>He was fast on the draw. His gun was not buttoned down and it fairly -flew out to cover me. I am big and make a fine target. His eyes were -squinting at my chest where he expected to shoot me and he never saw my -foot come off the floor. The gun exploded out of his broken hand and -skidded across the room.</p> - -<p>He was full of guts. He came at me with his one good hand and his knees -and even his teeth. I did not want to be marked. I kept my face away -from him and let him hit me twice in the stomach. Then I caught his -wrist and flying-mared him over my shoulder. The crack of his skull -against the wall was a burst of sharp sweet music. I grinned wide. Then -I bent over the other policeman. I had hit him more scientifically than -I had known. He wouldn't get up any more.</p> - -<p>That made five.</p> - -<p>Five murders! Five killings, using no weapons, just my hands, for five -violent homicides!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I stood there in the center of that room, which I had made a gory -shambles, and for the first (and last) time remorse touched me. I was -Bill Cuff, law-abiding writer; if not exactly an altruistic dweller -by the side of the road and friend to man, at least I had always been -a normally decent guy who would go to a lot of trouble to keep from -hurting anybody. What had happened to me?</p> - -<p>A voice inside me said, <i>But you are only killing men.</i></p> - -<p><i>Men?</i> But I'm a man, damn it all!</p> - -<p>No, you aren't.</p> - -<p>What am I, an orangutan? I asked myself with heavy sarcasm.</p> - -<p>No, not that. No more kin to ape than to man.</p> - -<p>An extraterrestrial, then, descendant of a flying saucer pilot?</p> - -<p>No, not that either.</p> - -<p>I put my face in my hands. Oh for the love of God, what am I then? What -am I?</p> - -<p>I knew I wasn't a man and I didn't know what I was.</p> - -<p>The thing that was me, that had lain dormant until twenty-six hours -before, and then had waked and taken over its rightful inheritance -which was my body and my mind, what <i>was</i> it?</p> - -<p>I didn't know what it was. But I knew a few things about it. It had -once crouched in a cave with others of its breed, to listen to the -angry yelling of hunting men. It had once stolen a human she and -mated with her, and been killed by her treachery. It was master to an -incredible degree of its sense and muscular equipment, even of its -heart, which it could slew at will, and of its breathing, which it -could stop entirely for fantastic periods of time.</p> - -<p>It was rising in me now and it was I. Remorse died forever. Human -traits and sentiments died that I could no longer remember ever -harboring. I was I and though I did not yet know exactly what I was, I -knew it was no fit of madness that had taken possession of me, no devil -of the olden times to be driven out by exorcism, no second personality -to land me in an asylum; but the soul that had come down through untold -centuries hidden in my genes, traveling its recondite course through -blood and flesh and brain matter until it woke again to conscious life -in Bill Cuff in the early autumn of 1952.</p> - -<p>The pictures I had seen thus far were racial memory, remembrance of -a dawn world, and I knew there would be more of them. I would hold -patience in my hands and wait till time brought full recall.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> - - -<p>I pulled my Gladstone from below the bed, strapped and locked it. -Then for a moment I stared at my typewriter. It was doubtful that I -would ever use her again, and she'd make an extra burden which I could -scarcely afford to carry with me. I hated the thought of someone else's -fingers on her keys. I had loved that cranky, faithful old mill. I -opened her case and raising the machine above my head brought her face -down onto a bedpost. Two crashes were plenty. They'd never repair my -old girl now. I put her gently on the bed.</p> - -<p>"Sleep well, lady." I said, and was obscurely glad to find that my -metamorphosed self could still be whimsically sentimental.</p> - -<p>I brushed the water glasses off the window sill, threw up the sash and -climbed onto the fire escape, Gladstone in hand. I took off my felt hat -and skimmed it out and down; it fell in the middle of the alley where -anyone would be sure to see it. Then I climbed upward until I reached -the roof. They would suppose I had lost my hat while running away down -the alley.</p> - -<p>Leaving the fire escape, brushing its flaky rust from my palm, I -walked across the flat roof. The moon, very low in the gray-black sky, -showed me the age-battered forms of chimneys and ventilators, with a -shack-like structure looming foursquare among them: the entrance to the -hotel. I thought of waiting till the searchers hared off on my false -trail, then leaving by this obvious route. No good: my face and build -were becoming too well known. I looked about me, deciding what to do.</p> - -<p>And it seemed to me that I was not on the roof of a dingy third-rate -hotel in an American city, but somewhere entirely different.</p> - -<p>The cries of pursuers echoed in my brain. I was crouching amid tall -buttress-tops, gargoyled rainspouts, coned tower-peaks; ancient tiles -were slippery beneath my feet. I was scrambling round the roof of a -castle, or at least what seemed a massive and castle-like building. -Peering over the edge of the gutter, I could make out the sheen of -moon-silvered water lying far below, with tiny wind-ripples on its -surface. A moat?</p> - -<p>No weapons were in my hands. I was hunted by fierce enemies. Yet I -was not afraid. I was only hideously angry. I longed to get at them, -but there were too many. Just let them come three or four at a time, -armed however they wished, and I would meet them. But no, they must -needs draw their game in great packs of howling humanity. Humans! How I -loathed them!</p> - -<p>What was I? I was myself, Bill Cuff, some centuries before. My vision -was strangely two-fold. I could see the sooty hotel chimneys and could -realize where I stood, and at the same time I was again creeping round -among the gables and towers of the medieval castle. I could hear the -cries of my seekers. A word was repeated over and over until it stood -out from all the hubbub.</p> - -<p><i>Vampire ... vampire ... vampire....</i></p> - -<p>I knew I was no such thing. The undead—a superstition.</p> - -<p>But they <i>thought</i> me a vampire. I had slain and slain, brutally, -and—yes, and lapped up blood from torn throats, hot and bubbling -between my lips. Was I a vampire? Were my kind the origin of that -legend?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The race-recollection died away. I heard the shouts of my twentieth -century foeman, who had found the two dead policemen. I walked to the -edge of the roof and gauged the distance to the next building, which -was several feet lower than this one. There was a gap of no more than -ten feet. I threw the suitcase across. Men appeared eighty feet below, -running through the alley. I watched them, leaning fearlessly over the -low parapet. Like single-minded hounds, they never looked up. I laughed -and gathered myself and jumped across the yawning void, alighting -easily on the next roof.</p> - -<p>I was beginning to take a keen gratification in my agility. Even the -lifting of my Gladstone, the feel of sentient muscles gliding over one -another to apportion the work between them, gave me intense pleasure. -Thus must an animal feel when he moves about his small enterprises, -knowing his body will answer any call he cares to make upon it.</p> - -<p>I crossed this roof and leaped again and crossed a third, and found -myself overlooking a wide street. The sky was growing more gray than -black, and the lamps were beginning to take on the futile appearance -they have in the half-light of earliest dawn. I wanted to put plenty of -distance between me and this city that was too aware of me within it. -There was a rickety ladder leading down the side to a fire escape. I -descended it one-handed, jumped to the metal framework, trotted-down -to the street. Cars lined it, and the third I checked was unlocked. -There are ways to start a car without the key. I hummed peacefully -out of town. The sun found me driving along a broad straight highway -between fields of shocked grain, singing a tuneless song. There was -happiness in the song, and hatred; and I thought suddenly that I was -happy because of the hatred, which I had found again after many years -of ignorance and futility.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> - - -<p>I stopped on the crest of a knoll and got out of the car. Off to the -right lay the beginnings of a vast swampy tract of wilderness, green -and steaming in the early morning air. I had never known of it before, -had no idea of its name or nature, and yet I knew I had been heading -for it ever since I left the museum. Somewhere in its somber depths I -would find the voice that was calling to me.</p> - -<p>I looked back the way I had come. I could see for miles. There was -nothing moving on the road but I had the feeling that pursuit was on -its way; there was a prickling at the nape of my neck that could not be -denied. Getting into the car again, I ran it to the edge of the knoll -opposite to the marsh. Stepping out, dragging my Gladstone after me, I -put my shoulder to the car's side and shoved it over. It hurtled down -and crashed into a tree at the bottom. Far beyond it, still shrouded -in the morning mists, was a town. My followers might presume I had -made for it. A primitive stratagem, the car, like the hat in the -alley—primitive, but perhaps effective.</p> - -<p>It was wonderful in the swamp. A cool, damp efflux of greenness -emanated from the soggy earth, the watery pools and stretches of -quagmire, the moss-dripping trees and hummocks of sharp-speared coarse -grass. I hung my coat over my arm, swung along lithely, reveling in the -<i>green</i> feel of things and in my own newfound brawn that made the heavy -Gladstone a feather in my hand. Unerringly my feet chose the swiftest, -safest path. I was a beast, with the simple pleasures of a beast, -hunted or not. And always before me sounded the strange and powerful -calling that drew me on and on, a far-wandering wolf returning to his -all-but-forgotten lair.</p> - -<p>I had been in the marshland for about half an hour when I heard the -dogs. So far away as to be little more than a whisper in the brain, -their baying chilled my happiness in an instant. Dogs were old -implacable enemies....</p> - -<p>I was running through a fen. Miry bog sucked at my naked feet, -stale-smelling sweat covered me, my face was lashed by the thorned -branches of a legion of trees that sprang from the rich muck of the -morass. Hounds gave tongue in a continuous chorus of hate, seemingly -all about me. I ran and ran. Now I could hear the thick shouts of men, -in a language that was foreign to me, though it had almost as many -gutturals and slurrings as my own speech.</p> - -<p>I was of a very ancient race in these parts (wherever they were). My -people were classed as vermin, along with the dire wolf and the gray -ape and the last surviving remnants of the hyena tribe. Man hunted us -with his dogs, great vicious brutes with saber fangs.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I burst through a screen of hanging moss and fell into a spongy patch -of swamp. I struggled, miring myself worse than ever. Then the dogs -were upon me, screeching their delight. Men followed them and ringed -the quagmire. Great satisfaction was on their faces as the boldest of -the dogs leaped forward to gash my upthrown arm.</p> - -<p>"Haah," exulted their leader, and spat at me. "<i>Pict</i>...."</p> - -<p>I shook away the horrible and haunting remembrance. I heard the hounds -of the twentieth century, perhaps a little closer than before.</p> - -<p>So I had been a Pict! One of the aboriginal British men (or manlike -beings) who are supposed eventually to have bred and merged with Aryan -invaders and thereafter with the Scots. Was this the most ancient of -my racial memories—or were they recollections of former incarnations -of myself, my own individual soul? Whichever they were, and I knew they -were one or the other, was this the eldest of them? Or would my waxing -memory bring forth still earlier pictures?</p> - -<p>If the Picts were subhuman, or even utterly nonhuman, and their uncanny -blood had come through the incredible cycle of the centuries to rise -anew in my veins, wouldn't that explain my war with the genus homo?</p> - -<p>Surely it would!</p> - -<p>I dropped the suitcase for a moment, standing quiet to hear the dogs. -Then I smacked fist into palm and laughed, a grim snarling bark of -merriment. "Pict!" I said aloud. "Pict, by the gods!"</p> - -<p>And then, ages after the Picts, the strain had risen again and my -comrades and I had fought mankind in our bitter, blind, malignant -fashion—to be superstitiously regarded as evil spirits, the undead of -the vampire myth.</p> - -<p>And, come to think of it, we were probably the origin of the grisly -werewolf illusion, too.</p> - -<p>My chest swelled with a strange elated arrogance. This was the reason -I hated the humans, calling them <i>men</i> in the accents of loathing. I -and my people were not of humanity; we were all those harried, despised -and feared creatures in human or nearhuman form, all who had fled down -the years and turned at bay and torn the throats from our would-be -butchers. Sometimes we must have mated with them, infusing our dark -strain into their pale stock. But blood ran in our veins and thoughts -coursed in our brains which were as alien to man as the blood and the -thoughts of tigers. But it is a proud if lonely thing to be a tiger....</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> - - -<p>The hounds bayed on my trail, and the voice in my head called me -forward. I picked up the Gladstone and hastened on, following -an invisible path between oozing stretches of swamp under great -creeper-festooned oaks, never putting my feet on anything but firm -ground. I seemed closer to the earth than I had ever been. It spoke to -me, mystically, silently, and I knew where was footing and where was -treacherous bog. Even so a fox traverses new territory and never makes -a misstep.</p> - -<p>I don't know how long I walked through the marshland. My thoughts were -busy, my heart was light and at the same time full of my hereditary -wrath, and always my ears were cocked for the sound of the dogs.</p> - -<p>At last I realized that they were much closer. I was going fast, but -my route must have been deduced and short-cuts taken, on the chance -that the dogs could pick up my scent again. I began to run. The rank -hanging vegetation brushed my face, bringing a flash of that older -hunting scene to mind.</p> - -<p>Suddenly—and I use that well-worn word in its strongest sense, for -never was anything more startlingly sudden—there was a man in the path.</p> - -<p>I dropped the suitcase and sprang at him, reflexes acting without my -conscious volition. My surprise was overwhelming when he avoided my -leap with ease, and tripped me before I could turn. Then a number of -bodies hit me and pinned me to the mossy earth. With a roar I flung -them off, twisting and bounding to my feet. The first man stood near. I -feinted and as he dodged I changed the direction of my grasp and caught -him by one arm. Then he was above my head, held helpless by my right -hand. I faced the others—three of them, there were—and rasped, "One -move and he's dead." I wanted the respite of a second or two in which -to plan an attack. These were strong and tricky foemen.</p> - -<p>The man aloft wriggled. I was holding him by the back of the belt. I -gave him a warning shake. "Lie quiet, little man," I said, "or I'll -chuck you into the ooze."</p> - -<p>The three moved forward uncertainly. "Wait," he said to them, his voice -calm. Then he chuckled. I admired his nerve. "Big fellow," he said to -me, "how long since you ranged the fens and slew the upstart Man?"</p> - -<p>I set him on his feet. "I was right," I said. "The call wasn't in my -mind alone."</p> - -<p>He grinned at his friends. "Here is another who has the memory," said -he.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I stared at him. He was short, stocky, with a great shock of yellow -hair sleeked down with oil. His eyes were living gray jewels in a tan -face. His friends were nondescript, yet they held an odd resemblance to -one another: all were broad of chest and vital-looking, and—I liked -them.</p> - -<p>"You're a rugged one," said the leader. "How long since you came awake?"</p> - -<p>"About thirty-two hours."</p> - -<p>They exchanged doubting glances. "I mean the first token you had that -you were—different."</p> - -<p>"Thirty-two hours."</p> - -<p>"And you remember the fens? Are you sure?"</p> - -<p>"I remember that I was a Pict. I was called a vampire and likely a -werewolf. And I've had intimations that I go back even farther than -those fens."</p> - -<p>"My God," said yellow-hair half-aloud. "Thirty-two hours! Did you get a -swat on the skull, or was it natural?"</p> - -<p>"I think I just woke out of a sleep with it. It took a while to -percolate."</p> - -<p>"Kill anybody?" he asked casually.</p> - -<p>"Five men."</p> - -<p>"The primal anger, yes. Five! Then you're Bill Cuff, of course. We've -been hearing about you on the radio. Thought you might be one of the -Old Companions."</p> - -<p>"So that's what I am," I said.</p> - -<p>"A name, only a name. We like the useless trappings of fraternity as -well as Homo sapiens does."</p> - -<p>"How far back do we go?"</p> - -<p>"You'll know some day. Soon, if your progress thus far is a criterion. -Better to remember by yourself." He shook his head. "You're a -phenomenon. Do you know how long it took me to develop the memory? -Seventeen years. And I am second leader here."</p> - -<p>"Who's leader?"</p> - -<p>"You'll meet him."</p> - -<p>I clenched my hands, looked him up and down, and said. "Pict, wolf-man, -or whatever, I tell you this. I take orders badly and I acknowledge no -authority higher than myself." Anything less like the old Bill Cuff -would have been hard to imagine, and yet I knew these things about -myself and I spoke only the truth.</p> - -<p>"Ah," he said, his jewel-gray eyes lighting, "you're a Tartar, all -right. Goes with the swift progress, I suppose. We may have to tame you -a little."</p> - -<p>"Little man," I said gently, "you are welcome to try."</p> - -<p>He jerked a thumb at my Gladstone. "Got anything worthwhile in there?"</p> - -<p>"Just clothes and junk."</p> - -<p>"Well, that's something. It would be hard to outfit an ox like you from -our wardrobes. We don't generally run to height, you know." He said to -one of the others, "Take it to the house, Trutch." The man (or I should -say the reincarnated Pict) took it and disappeared down the trail. "Now -we'll throw off your hunters. Many of them?"</p> - -<p>"Hell, I don't know. Sounds like a lot of dogs."</p> - -<p>He scratched his cheek. "Reinforcements," he said, and whistled a -fluting call. Then he made a curious motion with his right hand. I knew -that motion as well as his followers did. We stepped quietly in among -the thick underbrush and, squatting down, waited.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> - - -<p>They came along the pathway, holding in the leashed dogs, for evidently -they did not trust to their own powers to keep up with free-running -beasts. There were eight or ten men, with as many hounds. These were -making a fearful racket. They nosed us and before they got abreast of -us were poking wildly aside from the safety of the tussocked path of -solid earth. The men yelled at each other and made the usual human -amount of unnecessary uproar.</p> - -<p>How I scorned and despised them!</p> - -<p>One carried a grotesque-looking apparatus on his back which I supposed -to be a kind of enlarged walkie-talkie. The germ of a plan grew. I -marked this fellow for my own.</p> - -<p>When they drew opposite I charged out of hiding with a savage bellow. -The dogs, not mankillers, were baffled for a moment, and the men were -taken wholly by surprise. I gripped the front of the walkie-talkie -operator's jacket and hit him in the belly; with the new adroitness -lent my muscles by race memory, the punch had the force of a giraffe's -kick. Ignoring the other men, I dragged him off to the side and laid -him on his face among the lush weeds.</p> - -<p>Others of the Old Companions were fighting with them now. None of us -had weapons—indeed, they would only have hampered us and blunted our -murder-lust. I heard the futile spat of a revolver over the barking -and yelling. Two men came at me, drawing their guns. I reached out, -laughing, and took them by the necks and smashed their heads together. -My hands and forearms were spattered with blood and brains. I let the -corpses fall and looked for other adversaries.</p> - -<p>They were all dead, even the dogs. Seven of my brothers watched me -expectantly, including the yellow-haired chief. I went over to the man -whom I had hit in the belly.</p> - -<p>"Can any of you work that instrument?"</p> - -<p>They shook their heads. So I took it off his back—it was held by -shoulder straps—and rolled him over. I splashed green-slimed water in -his face. After a while he blinked and gasped.</p> - -<p>"How does this thing work?" I asked. He looked at me, then at the -malevolent faces of the Old Companions. In a whispering croak he told -me how to manipulate the transmitter.</p> - -<p>"How many other parties are searching the swamp?"</p> - -<p>"One."</p> - -<p>"What's the leader's name?"</p> - -<p>His eyes flickered for a minute. "Bill Jones," he said weakly. I -doubled my fist and regarded his face. After a minute he said, "All -right. It's Sam D'Peero."</p> - -<p>"Where are they?"</p> - -<p>"Took another trail. Off west, I think."</p> - -<p>I killed him then. "Deep hole near here?" I asked yellow-hair.</p> - -<p>He grinned, shouldered a corpse and picked up a dead hound by its -collar. We followed him, myself dragging two men by the belts so as -not to get any bloodier than I was. We found a big reeking boghole and -threw them into it. Going back, we destroyed the signs of the battle. -Then I picked up the walkie-talkie, switched it on.</p> - -<p>"Sam!" I shouted, pitching my voice high and filling it with terror. -"Sam, can you hear me? Oh, my God, we're trapped! The dogs run us into -the swamp!" I waited a moment, heard someone say faintly and tinnily, -"Johnny, what's the matter?"</p> - -<p>"I—oh Lord, I'm sinking! I can't hold onto this branch much longer. -Sam, Sam! I think the Cuff guy came and fell into this hole. You can't -tell it ain't solid, and the dogs followed him and all the others—oh -Sam, help me!"</p> - -<p>"Explain, Johnny!" said the instrument. "What's wrong with the others?"</p> - -<p>"I tell you we fell in, Sam! We were all bunched and this stuff's like -quicksand. I'm—" I broke off, shrieked, gurgled horridly, and then -picked up the walkie-talkie and heaved it deep into the swamp.</p> - -<p>Yellow-hair laughed. "It might not put them off, but it'll confuse them -no end. If you're worried about them finding the house, don't. A cross -between a bloodhound and a private eye couldn't locate it. Come on." He -patted my arm. "Let's go home."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> - - -<p>The house was old but well-kept, upreared in the heart of the great -green swampland. It was such a house as a troll might have built—a -troll with a Gothic imagination. Rambling, with a ramshackle look -despite its sturdiness, wood-turreted.... "One of our more exotic -head-quarters," said yellow-hair, whose name was Skagarach. "Don't know -what madman built it. We have them, HQs that is, all over the world; -but not many in so congenial a setting."</p> - -<p>"Are we truly all over the world, then?"</p> - -<p>"Most of it. Maybe not in deep Africa, nor in places like the South -Seas, but wherever there're big enough colonies of so-called white men, -we are there." There arose a faint barking, somewhere in the depths of -the house. Skagarach shook his head as I snarled. "No, they're ours. We -have dogs, of course. The friendship of the dog was not always limited -to man. He was our servant too. And will be again."</p> - -<p>"Who were we?"</p> - -<p>He returned a question. "Do you know why you came here?"</p> - -<p>"I was called. Something in my mind—"</p> - -<p>"Yes. We're telepathic to a degree." He grinned. "Don't let it go to -your head. It's a gift we share with the ants and the bees." We entered -the house and I found a spacious living room furnished with big leather -armchairs. "Have a drink," he said, pointing to a wall bar. "One -worthwhile invention of our friend Man."</p> - -<p>"No friend of mine," I said, and then, turning to him, "but why? Why -this two-day reversal of my feelings? Why has this thing happened to -me, Skagarach?"</p> - -<p>"So quickly ... I don't know why it happened so quickly. As for the -general <i>why</i> of it, it's blood and bone and sinew and soul come down -to us from the beings we once were. It's a powerful strain—so powerful -that powerful is a weak word for it. I think it must be the strongest -blood-strain that ever ran in animal veins. One drop, I think, would -redden an ocean of milk."</p> - -<p>"Animal." I repeated. One of the Old Companions put a tall drink in my -hand and I nodded thanks. "I know this, but tell me again. We are <i>not</i> -men, are we?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He looked into my eyes with those uncanny gray jewel-orbs. "No, we -are not. At least not Homo sapiens pure and simple. I believe we -began this hybrid race by stealing and mating with human women—" -I recalled my long-ago death by treachery and agreed—"and then -possibly the offspring of those unions mated among men. Certainly -the Picts were not pure <i>us</i>. Then afterward the breed was watered -again when the Picts bred to outlanders. Men always hated us, but -women are strange creatures and—well, the unions must have been -many. A mere handful that's accounted for by thefts of women couldn't -have produced the mighty tide of anti-human passion which runs in us -after so many centuries. Many millions must have our taint in them, -though comparatively few have it so abundantly as you and I and these -Old Companions. Note that I say 'comparatively'. Actually there are -thousands of us who recognize our essential difference."</p> - -<p>"So now the old blood wakes in us," I said exultantly. "Why? After so -long, why now? Are we like locusts, our knowledge lying hidden for an -age and then bursting up in all of us at the same time?"</p> - -<p>"A quaint notion," said Skagarach. "No, we have always known, I think, -in all the periods of history. But we never banded together before, -never fought the ancient enemy as an army within its gates, as we are -doing and will do with increasing potency."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Think, Cuff, only think! You are born in 1700; at a certain age you -begin to know you are different. You hate the race of men. You have -racial memories of living in caves, of being harried by men. What do -you do? You never heard the name of—what we were and are. Science has -told you nothing of prehistory. So where do you end?" He shrugged. -"Bedlam. The lunatic dungeons. Fancy ladies come and giggle at you, the -murderous madman, through the bars. You pine for fresh air and freedom, -because freedom is even more precious to our race than to man. You die."</p> - -<p>"Oh," I said, catching his meaning. "It's only in the last century that -science has opened the door to the past, of course. Now we can realize -what we are, and work accordingly."</p> - -<p>"Yes, we can organize, can sheer off from the pack of humankind, and -strengthen our race by inbreeding. We have children here and in the -other HQs, born of two of us who remember what they are before they -can read and write. I said it was a powerful strain. Listen. I raise -dogs. Once I bred a wolf to a shepherd. Five generations later a -pup was born that was all wolf, every last ounce of him. Perfectly -untameable little brute. We have that same tenacious blood-line, but to -an almost incredible degree. In fact I think it is not so much blood -with us as a strain in the mind. In us it has carried down through the -uncountable years since prehistory. As that dog was no dog, but a true -wolf, so we are not men, but—what we are." He broke off and looked at -me appraisingly. "I have hopes for you," he said. "The tide runs high -in you, Cuff. We will win back the world some day, we who are not of -mankind. You should prove tremendously important to us."</p> - -<p>I said, "Skagarach, <i>who are we</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Hush," he said, "the Old Man is coming."</p> - -<p>"Old Man?"</p> - -<p>"The leader."</p> - -<p>I turned and saw the Old Man, and I knew what we were. I had one final -crashing burst of dawn memory, and I saw our beginnings and our whole -long story and why we would always have to fight men. All this I saw in -the Old Man's face.</p> - -<p>That face was like a great terrible mask. The cheeks were broad, -the brow low and ridged, the brain case enormous. The chin was -shallow, with a wide thick-lipped mouth; and the eyes were glittering -oblongs of gray mica-sprinkled flint. Gray hair covered the massive -forward-thrusting head thickly, and tufts of it boiled up from the -collar of the white shirt on the barrel-sized chest.</p> - -<p>Skagarach came up to me and saw my knowledge in my face. "Yes," he -said, "There is the true strain of our race; there is the result of -inbreeding over a number of generations. The true he of our people."</p> - -<p>I growled. "No truer than I, Skagarach. His are the features, but mine -is the memory and the dawn brain."</p> - -<p>He laughed. He seemed to find humor in everything. "I foresee strife," -he said quietly. "You're a headstrong beast, Cuff. Never mind! We -thrive on strife. Do you know now who and what we are?"</p> - -<p>"H. G. Wells called us the Grisly Folk."</p> - -<p>"Yes. Cuff. You have it. We are the Neanderthals."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3> - - -<p>Now you who read this:</p> - -<p>I declare war on you and <i>all</i> your kind.</p> - -<p>I tell you plain that we will rise and slay you, that there will be no -quarter in this war which is to come to you. Forget your hostilities -between nation and nation—they have no importance compared with our -crusade. Put by your silly fears of invasion from other worlds—your -foe is here, has always been here, and is an enemy you cannot even -recognize.</p> - -<p>For we are banding against you and we can do that which will be the -all-important factor in the waging and winning of this war: we can know -each other, while you are blind.</p> - -<p>Lest you object that the Old Companions are madmen, that there is no -strain in mankind excepting that of man (and, if you are one of that -foolish breed who misreads Darwin, of monkey), let me also tell you -this:</p> - -<p>Most scientists agree that <i>Homo Neanderthalensis</i> was no true man, -but a kind of animal in manlike form, with several improvements and -more specialized faculties than man.</p> - -<p>We know this, for the first thing we remember, the first thing our -children know, is that <i>we are not men</i>.</p> - -<p>So watch for us.</p> - -<p>Don't feel sheepish if you find yourself glancing back on the lonely -road. Don't be self-conscious if you draw away from the silent man who -sits next to you in the subway, he may not be a man at all.</p> - -<p>We are here all about you. Watch for us.</p> - -<p>We will win back the earth from you who crushed us so long ago.</p> - -<p><i>Watch for us! The future is ours!</i></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMORROW THE WORLD! ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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