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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..b00ab13 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67362 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67362) diff --git a/old/67362-0.txt b/old/67362-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4c9a72d..0000000 --- a/old/67362-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,799 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Glow Worm, by Harlan Ellison - -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: Glow Worm - -Author: Harlan Ellison - -Illustrator: WILIMCZYK - -Release Date: February 8, 2022 [eBook #67362] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOW WORM *** - - - - - - Glow Worm - - By HARLAN ELLISON - - Illustrated by WILIMCZYK - - _He was the last man on Earth, all - right. But--was he still a man?_ - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Infinity Science Fiction, February 1956. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -When the sun sank behind the blasted horizon, its glare blotted out -by the twisted wreckage rising obscenely against the hills, Seligman -continued to glow. - -He shone with a steady off-green aura that surrounded his body, -radiated from the tips of his hair, crawled from his skin, and lit his -way in the darkest night. It had been with him for two years now. - -Though Seligman had never been a melodramatic man, he had more than -once rolled the phrase through his mind, letting it fall from his lips: -"I'm a freak." - -Which was not entirely true. There was no longer anyone he might have -termed "normal" for his comparison. Not only were there no more men, -there was no more life of any kind. The silence was broken only by the -searching wind, picking its way cautiously between the slow-rusting -girders of a dead past. - -Even as he said, "Freak!" his mind washed the word with two waves, -almost as one: vindictiveness and a resignation inextricably bound in -self-pity, hopelessness and hatred. - -"_They_ were at fault!" he screamed at the tortured piles of masonry in -his path. - -Across the viewer of his mind, thoughts twisted nimbly, knowing the -route, having traversed it often before. - -Man had reached for the stars, finding them within his reach were he -willing to give up his ancestral home. - -Those who had wanted space more than one planet had gone, out past the -Edge, into the wilderness of no return. It would take years to get -There, and the Journey Back was an unthinkable one. Time had set its -seal upon them: Go, if you must, but don't look behind you. - -So they had gone. They had left the steam of Venus, the grit-wind of -Mars, the ice of Pluto, the sun-bake of Mercury. There had been no -Earthmen left in the system of Sol. Except, of course, on Earth--which -had been left to madmen. - -And _they_ had been too busy throwing things at each other to worry -about the stars. - -The men who knew no other answer stayed and fought. They were the ones -who fathered the Attilas, the Genghis Khans, the Hitlers. They were -the ones who pushed the buttons and launched the missiles that chased -each other across the skies, fell like downed birds, exploded, blasted, -cratered, chewed-out and carved-out the face of the planet. They were -also the little men who had failed to resist, even as they had failed -to look up at the night sky. - -They were the ones who had destroyed the Earth. - -Now no one was left. No man. Just Seligman. And he glowed. - -"_They_ were at fault!" he screamed again, and the sound was a lost -thing in the night. - - * * * * * - -His mind carried him back through the years to the days near the end -of what had to be the Last War, because there would be no one left to -fight another. He was carried back again to the sterile white rooms -where the searching instruments, the prying needles, the clucking -scientists, all labored over him and his group. - -They were to be a last-ditch throwaway. They were the indestructible -men: a new breed of soldier, able to live through the searing heat of -the bombs; to walk unaffected through the purgatory hail of radiation, -to assault where ordinary men would have collapsed long before. - -Seligman picked his way over the rubble, his aura casting the faintest -phosphorescence over the ruptured metal and plastic shreds. He paused -momentarily, eyeing the blasted remnants of a fence, to which clung a -sign, held to the twined metal by one rusting bolt: - - NEWARK SPACEPORT - ENTRANCE BY - AUTHORIZATION ONLY - -Shards of metal scrap moved under his bare feet, their razored edges -rasping against the flesh, yet causing no break in the skin. Another -product of the sterile white rooms and the strangely-hued fluids -injected into his body? - -Twenty-three young men, routine volunteers, as fit as the era of war -could produce, had been moved to the solitary block building in Salt -Lake City. It was a cubed structure with no windows and only one door, -guarded night and day. If nothing else, they had security. No one knew -the intensive experimentation going on inside those steel-enforced -concrete walls, even the men upon whose bodies the experiments were -being performed. - -It was because of those experiments performed on him that Seligman was -here now, alone. Because of the myopic little men with their foreign -accents and their clippings of skin from his buttocks and shoulders, -the bacteriologists and the endocrine specialists, the epidermis men -and the blood-stream inspectors--because of all of them--he was here -now, when no one else had lived. - -Seligman rubbed his forehead at the base of the hairline. _Why_ had he -lived? Was it some strain of rare origin running through his body that -had allowed him to stand the effects of the bombs? Was it a combination -of the experiments performed on him--and only in a certain way on him, -for none of the other twenty-two had lived--_and_ the radiation? He -gave up, for the millionth time. Had he been a student of the ills of -man he might have ventured a guess, but it was too far afield for a -common foot-soldier. - -All that counted was that when he had awakened, pinned thighs, chest -and arms under the masonry of a building in Salt Lake City, he was -alive and could see. He could see, that is, till the tears clouded the -vision of his own sick green glow. - -It was life. But at times like this, with the flickering light of his -passage marked on the ash-littered remains of his culture, he wondered -if it was worth the agony. - - * * * * * - -He never really approached madness, for the shock of realizing he was -totally and finally alone, without a voice or a face or a touch in all -the world, overrode the smaller shock of his transformation. - -He lived. He was that fabled, joked-about Last Man On Earth. But it -wasn't a joke now. - -Nor had the months after the final dust of extinction settled -across the planet been a joke. Those months had labored past as he -searched the country, taking what little food was still sealed from -radiation--though why radiation should bother him he could not imagine; -habit more than anything--and disease, racing from one end of the -continent in search of but one other human to share his torment. - -But of course there had been no one. He was cut off like a withered arm -from the body that was his race. - -Not only was he alone, and with the double terror of an aura that never -dimmed, sending the word, "Freak!" pounding through his mind, but there -were other changes, equally terrifying. It had been in Philadelphia, -while grubbing inside a broken store window that he had discovered -another symptom of his change. - -The jagged glass pane had ripped the shirt through to his skin--but -had not damaged him. The flesh showed white momentarily, and then -even that faded. Seligman experimented cautiously, then recklessly, -and found that the radiations, or his treatments, or both, had indeed -changed him. He was completely impervious to harm of a minor sort: fire -in small amounts did not bother him, sharp edges could no more rip -his flesh than they could a piece of treated steel, work produced no -callouses; he was, in a limited sense of the word, invulnerable. - -The indestructible man had been created too late. Too late to bring -satisfaction to the myopic butchers who had puttered unceasingly about -his body. Perhaps had they managed to survive they might still not -comprehend what had occurred. It was too much like the product of a -wild coincidence. - -But that had not lessened his agony. Loneliness can be a powerful -thing, more consuming than hatred, more demanding than mother love, -more driving than ambition. It could, in fact, drive a man to the stars. - -Perhaps it had been a communal yearning within his glowing breast; -perhaps a sense of the dramatic or a last vestige of that unconscious -debt all men owe to their kind; perhaps it was simply an urge to -talk to someone. Seligman summed it up without soul-searching in the -philosophy, "I can't be any worse off than I am now, so why not?" - -It didn't matter really. Whatever the reason, he knew by the time his -search was over that he must seek men out, wherever in the stars they -might be, and tell them. He must be a messenger of death to his kin -beyond the Earth. They would mourn little, he knew, but still he had -to tell them. - -He would have to go after them and say, "Your fathers are gone. Your -home is no more. They played the last hand of that most dangerous of -games, and lost. The Earth is dead." - -He smiled a tight, grim smile as he thought: At least I won't have to -carry a lantern to them; they'll see me coming by my own glow. _Glow -little glow worm, glimmer, glimmer...._ - - * * * * * - -Seligman threaded his way through the tortured wreckage and crumpled -metalwork of what had been a towering structure of shining-planed glass -and steel and plastic. Even though he knew he was alone, Seligman -turned and looked back over his shoulder, sensing he was being watched. -He had had that feeling many times, and he knew it for what it was. It -was Death, standing straddle-legged over the face of the land, casting -shadow and eternal silence upon it. The only light came from the lone -man stalking toward the rocket standing sentry like a pillar of January -ice in the center of the blast area. - -His fingers twitched as he thought of the two years' work that had -gone into erecting that shaft of beryllium. Innumerable painstaking -trips to and from the junk heaps of that field, pirating pieces from -other ships, liberating cases of parts from bombed-out storage sheds, -relentlessly forcing himself on, even when exhaustion cried its claim. - -Seligman had not been a scientist or a mechanic. But determination, -texts on rocket motors, and the original miracle of finding an only -partially-destroyed ship with its drive still intact had provided him -with a means to leave this place of death. - -It was one of the latest model ships; a _Smith_ class cruiser with -conning bubble set far back on the tapered nose, and the ugly black -depressions behind which the Bergsil cannons rested on movable tracks. - -He climbed the hull-ladder into the open inspection hatch, finding his -way easily, even without a torch. His fingers began running over the -complicated leads of the drive-components, checking and re-checking -what he already knew was sound and foolproof--or as foolproof as an -amateur could make them. - -Now that it was ready, and all that remained were these routine -check-tests and loading the food for the journey, he found himself more -terrified of leaving than of remaining alone till he died--and when -that might be with his stamina he had no idea. - -How would they receive a man as transformed as he? Would they not -instinctively fear, mistrust, despise him? _Am I stalling?_ The -question suddenly formed in his mind, causing his sure inspection to -falter. Had he been purposely putting the takeoff date further and -further ahead? Using the checks and other tasks as further attempts to -stall? His head began to ache with the turmoil of his thoughts. - -Then he shook himself in disgust. The tests were necessary, it was -stressed repeatedly in all of the texts lying about the floor of the -drive chamber. - -His hands shook, but that same impetus which had carried him for two -years forced him to complete the checkups. Just as dawn oozed up over -the outline of the tatters that had been New York, he finished his work -on the ship. - -Without pause, sensing he must race, not with time, but with the doubts -raging inside him, he climbed back down the ladder and began loading -food boxes. They were stacked neatly to one side of a hand-powered lift -he had restored. The hard rubber containers of concentrates and the -bulbs of carefully-sought-out liquids made an imposing and somewhat -perplexing sight. - -Food is the main problem, he told himself. If I should get past a point -of no return and find my food giving out, my chances would be nil. I'll -have to wait till I can find more stores of food. He estimated the time -needed for the search and realized it might be months, perhaps even -another year till he had accrued enough from the wasted stores within -any conceivable distance. - -In fact, finding a meal in the city, after he had carted box after box -of edibles out to the rocket, had become an increasingly more difficult -job. Further, he suddenly realized he had not eaten since the day -before. - -The day before? - -He had been so engrossed in the final touches of the ship he had -completely neglected to eat. Well, it had happened before, even before -the blast. With an effort he began to grope back, trying to remember -the last time he _had_ eaten. Then it became quite clear to him. It -leaped out and dissolved away all the delays he had been contriving. -_He had not eaten in three weeks._ - -Seligman had known it, of course. But it had been buried so deeply that -he only half-feared it. He had tried to deny the truth, for when that -last seemingly insurmountable problem was removed, there was nothing -but his own inadequacies to prevent his leaving. - -Now it came out, full-bloom. The treatments and radiation had done more -than make him merely impervious to mild perils. He no longer needed to -eat! He boggled at the concept for a moment, shaken by the realization -that he had not recognized the fact before. - -He had heard of anaerobic bacteria or yeasts that could derive their -energy from other sources, without the normal oxidation of foods. -Bringing the impossible to relatively homely terms made it easier for -him to accept. Maybe it was even possible to absorb energy directly. At -least he felt no slightest twinge of hunger, even after three weeks of -back-breaking work without eating. - -Probably he would have to take along a certain amount of proteins to -replenish the body tissue he expended. But as for the bulky boxes -of edibles dotting the space around the ship, most were no longer a -necessity. - -Now that he had faced up to the idea that he had been delaying through -fear of the trip itself, and that there was nothing left to stop his -leaving almost immediately, Seligman again found himself caught up in -the old drive. - -He was suddenly intent on getting the ship into the air and beyond. - - * * * * * - -Dusk mingled with the blotching of the sun before Seligman was ready. -It had not been stalling this time, however. The sorting and packing of -needed proteins took time. But now he was ready. There was nothing to -keep him on Earth. - -He took one last look around. It seemed the thing to do. Sentimentalism -was not one of Seligman's more outstanding traits, but he did it in -preparation for anyone who might ask him, "What did it look like--at -the end?" It was with a twinge of regret that he brought the fact to -mind; he had never really _looked_ at his sterile world in the two -years he had been preparing to leave it. One became accustomed to -living in a pile of rubble, and after a bit it no longer offered even -the feel of an environment. - -He climbed the ladder into the ship, carefully closing and dogging the -port behind him. The chair was ready, webbing flattened back against -the deep rubber pile of its seat and backrest. He slid into it and -swung the control box down on its ball-swivel to a position before his -face. - -He drew the top webbing across himself and snapped its triple-lock -clamps into place. Seligman sat in the ship he had not even bothered to -name, fingers groping for the actuator button on the arm of the chair, -glowing all the while, weirdly, in the half-light of the cabin. - -So this was to be the last picture he might carry with him to the -heavens: a bitter epitaph to a race misspent. No warning; it was too -late for such puny action. All was dead and haunted on the face of the -Earth. No blade of grass dared rise; no small life murmured in its -burrows and caves, in the oddly dusty skies, or for all he knew, to the -very bottom of the Cayman Trench. There was only silence. The silence -of a graveyard. - -He pushed the button. - -The ship began to rise, waveringly. There was a total lack of the -grandeur he remembered when the others had left. The ship sputtered and -coughed brokenly as it climbed on its imperfect drive. Tremors shook -the cabin and Seligman could feel something wrong, vibrating through -the chair and floor into his body. - -Its flames were not so bright or steady as those other take-offs, but -it continued to rise and gather speed. The hull began to glow as the -rocket lifted higher into the dust-filled sky. - -Acceleration pressed down on Seligman, though not as much as he -had expected. It was merely uncomfortable, not punishing. Then he -remembered that he was not of the same stamp as those who had preceded -him. - -His ship continued to pull itself up out of the Earth's atmosphere. The -hull oranged, then turned cherry, then straw-yellow, as the coolers -within its skin fought to counteract the blasting fury. - -Again and again Seligman could feel the _wrongness_ of the climb. -Something was going to give! - -As the bulkheads to his right began to strain and buckle, he knew what -it was. The ship had not been built or re-welded by trained experts, -working in teams with the latest equipment. He had been one lone -determined man, with only book experience to back him. Now his errors -were about to tell. - -The ship passed beyond the atmosphere, and Seligman stared in horror as -the plates cracked and shattered outwards. He tried to scream as the -air shrieked outwards, but it was already impossible. - -Then he fainted. - - * * * * * - -When the ship passed the moon, Seligman still sat, his body held in -place by the now-constricted webbing, facing the gaping squares and -sundered metal that had been the cabin wall. - -Abruptly, the engines cut off. As though it were a signal, Seligman's -eyes fluttered and opened wide. - -He stared at the wall, his reviving brain grasping the final truth. The -last vestige of humanity had been clawed from him. He no longer needed -air to live. - -His throat constricted, his belly knotted, and the blood that should -theoretically be boiling pounded thickly in his throat. His last -kinship with those he was searching was gone. If he had been a freak -before, what was he _now_? - -The turmoil fought itself out in him as the ship sped onward and he -faced what he had become, what he must do. - -He was more than a messenger, now. He was a shining symbol of the end -of all humanity on Earth, a symbol of the evil their kind had done. The -men out there would never treasure him, welcome him, or build proud -legends around him. But they could never deny him. He was a messenger -from the grave. - -They would see him in the airless cabin, even before he landed. They -would never be able to live with him, but they would have to listen to -him, and to believe. - -Seligman sat in the crash-chair in the cabin that was dark except for -the eerie glow that was part of him. He sat there, lonely and eternally -alone. And slowly, a grim smile grew on his lips. - -The bitter purpose that had been forced on him was finally clear. -For two years, he had fought to find an escape from the death and -loneliness of ruined Earth. Now that was impossible. One Seligman was -enough. - -Alone? He hadn't known the meaning of the word before! It would be his -job to make _sure_ that he was alone--alone among his people, until the -end of time. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOW WORM *** - -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. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <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: Glow Worm</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Harlan Ellison</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: WILIMCZYK</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 8, 2022 [eBook #67362]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOW WORM ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - - -<h1>Glow Worm</h1> - -<h2>By HARLAN ELLISON</h2> - -<p>Illustrated by WILIMCZYK</p> - -<p><i>He was the last man on Earth, all<br /> -right. But—was he still a man?</i></p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Infinity Science Fiction, February 1956.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>When the sun sank behind the blasted horizon, its glare blotted out -by the twisted wreckage rising obscenely against the hills, Seligman -continued to glow.</p> - -<p>He shone with a steady off-green aura that surrounded his body, -radiated from the tips of his hair, crawled from his skin, and lit his -way in the darkest night. It had been with him for two years now.</p> - -<p>Though Seligman had never been a melodramatic man, he had more than -once rolled the phrase through his mind, letting it fall from his lips: -"I'm a freak."</p> - -<p>Which was not entirely true. There was no longer anyone he might have -termed "normal" for his comparison. Not only were there no more men, -there was no more life of any kind. The silence was broken only by the -searching wind, picking its way cautiously between the slow-rusting -girders of a dead past.</p> - -<p>Even as he said, "Freak!" his mind washed the word with two waves, -almost as one: vindictiveness and a resignation inextricably bound in -self-pity, hopelessness and hatred.</p> - -<p>"<i>They</i> were at fault!" he screamed at the tortured piles of masonry in -his path.</p> - -<p>Across the viewer of his mind, thoughts twisted nimbly, knowing the -route, having traversed it often before.</p> - -<p>Man had reached for the stars, finding them within his reach were he -willing to give up his ancestral home.</p> - -<p>Those who had wanted space more than one planet had gone, out past the -Edge, into the wilderness of no return. It would take years to get -There, and the Journey Back was an unthinkable one. Time had set its -seal upon them: Go, if you must, but don't look behind you.</p> - -<p>So they had gone. They had left the steam of Venus, the grit-wind of -Mars, the ice of Pluto, the sun-bake of Mercury. There had been no -Earthmen left in the system of Sol. Except, of course, on Earth—which -had been left to madmen.</p> - -<p>And <i>they</i> had been too busy throwing things at each other to worry -about the stars.</p> - -<p>The men who knew no other answer stayed and fought. They were the ones -who fathered the Attilas, the Genghis Khans, the Hitlers. They were -the ones who pushed the buttons and launched the missiles that chased -each other across the skies, fell like downed birds, exploded, blasted, -cratered, chewed-out and carved-out the face of the planet. They were -also the little men who had failed to resist, even as they had failed -to look up at the night sky.</p> - -<p>They were the ones who had destroyed the Earth.</p> - -<p>Now no one was left. No man. Just Seligman. And he glowed.</p> - -<p>"<i>They</i> were at fault!" he screamed again, and the sound was a lost -thing in the night.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>His mind carried him back through the years to the days near the end -of what had to be the Last War, because there would be no one left to -fight another. He was carried back again to the sterile white rooms -where the searching instruments, the prying needles, the clucking -scientists, all labored over him and his group.</p> - -<p>They were to be a last-ditch throwaway. They were the indestructible -men: a new breed of soldier, able to live through the searing heat of -the bombs; to walk unaffected through the purgatory hail of radiation, -to assault where ordinary men would have collapsed long before.</p> - -<p>Seligman picked his way over the rubble, his aura casting the faintest -phosphorescence over the ruptured metal and plastic shreds. He paused -momentarily, eyeing the blasted remnants of a fence, to which clung a -sign, held to the twined metal by one rusting bolt:</p> - -<p class="ph1">NEWARK SPACEPORT<br /> -ENTRANCE BY<br /> -AUTHORIZATION ONLY</p> - -<p>Shards of metal scrap moved under his bare feet, their razored edges -rasping against the flesh, yet causing no break in the skin. Another -product of the sterile white rooms and the strangely-hued fluids -injected into his body?</p> - -<p>Twenty-three young men, routine volunteers, as fit as the era of war -could produce, had been moved to the solitary block building in Salt -Lake City. It was a cubed structure with no windows and only one door, -guarded night and day. If nothing else, they had security. No one knew -the intensive experimentation going on inside those steel-enforced -concrete walls, even the men upon whose bodies the experiments were -being performed.</p> - -<p>It was because of those experiments performed on him that Seligman was -here now, alone. Because of the myopic little men with their foreign -accents and their clippings of skin from his buttocks and shoulders, -the bacteriologists and the endocrine specialists, the epidermis men -and the blood-stream inspectors—because of all of them—he was here -now, when no one else had lived.</p> - -<p>Seligman rubbed his forehead at the base of the hairline. <i>Why</i> had he -lived? Was it some strain of rare origin running through his body that -had allowed him to stand the effects of the bombs? Was it a combination -of the experiments performed on him—and only in a certain way on him, -for none of the other twenty-two had lived—<i>and</i> the radiation? He -gave up, for the millionth time. Had he been a student of the ills of -man he might have ventured a guess, but it was too far afield for a -common foot-soldier.</p> - -<p>All that counted was that when he had awakened, pinned thighs, chest -and arms under the masonry of a building in Salt Lake City, he was -alive and could see. He could see, that is, till the tears clouded the -vision of his own sick green glow.</p> - -<p>It was life. But at times like this, with the flickering light of his -passage marked on the ash-littered remains of his culture, he wondered -if it was worth the agony.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He never really approached madness, for the shock of realizing he was -totally and finally alone, without a voice or a face or a touch in all -the world, overrode the smaller shock of his transformation.</p> - -<p>He lived. He was that fabled, joked-about Last Man On Earth. But it -wasn't a joke now.</p> - -<p>Nor had the months after the final dust of extinction settled -across the planet been a joke. Those months had labored past as he -searched the country, taking what little food was still sealed from -radiation—though why radiation should bother him he could not imagine; -habit more than anything—and disease, racing from one end of the -continent in search of but one other human to share his torment.</p> - -<p>But of course there had been no one. He was cut off like a withered arm -from the body that was his race.</p> - -<p>Not only was he alone, and with the double terror of an aura that never -dimmed, sending the word, "Freak!" pounding through his mind, but there -were other changes, equally terrifying. It had been in Philadelphia, -while grubbing inside a broken store window that he had discovered -another symptom of his change.</p> - -<p>The jagged glass pane had ripped the shirt through to his skin—but -had not damaged him. The flesh showed white momentarily, and then -even that faded. Seligman experimented cautiously, then recklessly, -and found that the radiations, or his treatments, or both, had indeed -changed him. He was completely impervious to harm of a minor sort: fire -in small amounts did not bother him, sharp edges could no more rip -his flesh than they could a piece of treated steel, work produced no -callouses; he was, in a limited sense of the word, invulnerable.</p> - -<p>The indestructible man had been created too late. Too late to bring -satisfaction to the myopic butchers who had puttered unceasingly about -his body. Perhaps had they managed to survive they might still not -comprehend what had occurred. It was too much like the product of a -wild coincidence.</p> - -<p>But that had not lessened his agony. Loneliness can be a powerful -thing, more consuming than hatred, more demanding than mother love, -more driving than ambition. It could, in fact, drive a man to the stars.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it had been a communal yearning within his glowing breast; -perhaps a sense of the dramatic or a last vestige of that unconscious -debt all men owe to their kind; perhaps it was simply an urge to -talk to someone. Seligman summed it up without soul-searching in the -philosophy, "I can't be any worse off than I am now, so why not?"</p> - -<p>It didn't matter really. Whatever the reason, he knew by the time his -search was over that he must seek men out, wherever in the stars they -might be, and tell them. He must be a messenger of death to his kin -beyond the Earth. They would mourn little, he knew, but still he had -to tell them.</p> - -<p>He would have to go after them and say, "Your fathers are gone. Your -home is no more. They played the last hand of that most dangerous of -games, and lost. The Earth is dead."</p> - -<p>He smiled a tight, grim smile as he thought: At least I won't have to -carry a lantern to them; they'll see me coming by my own glow. <i>Glow -little glow worm, glimmer, glimmer....</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Seligman threaded his way through the tortured wreckage and crumpled -metalwork of what had been a towering structure of shining-planed glass -and steel and plastic. Even though he knew he was alone, Seligman -turned and looked back over his shoulder, sensing he was being watched. -He had had that feeling many times, and he knew it for what it was. It -was Death, standing straddle-legged over the face of the land, casting -shadow and eternal silence upon it. The only light came from the lone -man stalking toward the rocket standing sentry like a pillar of January -ice in the center of the blast area.</p> - -<p>His fingers twitched as he thought of the two years' work that had -gone into erecting that shaft of beryllium. Innumerable painstaking -trips to and from the junk heaps of that field, pirating pieces from -other ships, liberating cases of parts from bombed-out storage sheds, -relentlessly forcing himself on, even when exhaustion cried its claim.</p> - -<p>Seligman had not been a scientist or a mechanic. But determination, -texts on rocket motors, and the original miracle of finding an only -partially-destroyed ship with its drive still intact had provided him -with a means to leave this place of death.</p> - -<p>It was one of the latest model ships; a <i>Smith</i> class cruiser with -conning bubble set far back on the tapered nose, and the ugly black -depressions behind which the Bergsil cannons rested on movable tracks.</p> - -<p>He climbed the hull-ladder into the open inspection hatch, finding his -way easily, even without a torch. His fingers began running over the -complicated leads of the drive-components, checking and re-checking -what he already knew was sound and foolproof—or as foolproof as an -amateur could make them.</p> - -<p>Now that it was ready, and all that remained were these routine -check-tests and loading the food for the journey, he found himself more -terrified of leaving than of remaining alone till he died—and when -that might be with his stamina he had no idea.</p> - -<p>How would they receive a man as transformed as he? Would they not -instinctively fear, mistrust, despise him? <i>Am I stalling?</i> The -question suddenly formed in his mind, causing his sure inspection to -falter. Had he been purposely putting the takeoff date further and -further ahead? Using the checks and other tasks as further attempts to -stall? His head began to ache with the turmoil of his thoughts.</p> - -<p>Then he shook himself in disgust. The tests were necessary, it was -stressed repeatedly in all of the texts lying about the floor of the -drive chamber.</p> - -<p>His hands shook, but that same impetus which had carried him for two -years forced him to complete the checkups. Just as dawn oozed up over -the outline of the tatters that had been New York, he finished his work -on the ship.</p> - -<p>Without pause, sensing he must race, not with time, but with the doubts -raging inside him, he climbed back down the ladder and began loading -food boxes. They were stacked neatly to one side of a hand-powered lift -he had restored. The hard rubber containers of concentrates and the -bulbs of carefully-sought-out liquids made an imposing and somewhat -perplexing sight.</p> - -<p>Food is the main problem, he told himself. If I should get past a point -of no return and find my food giving out, my chances would be nil. I'll -have to wait till I can find more stores of food. He estimated the time -needed for the search and realized it might be months, perhaps even -another year till he had accrued enough from the wasted stores within -any conceivable distance.</p> - -<p>In fact, finding a meal in the city, after he had carted box after box -of edibles out to the rocket, had become an increasingly more difficult -job. Further, he suddenly realized he had not eaten since the day -before.</p> - -<p>The day before?</p> - -<p>He had been so engrossed in the final touches of the ship he had -completely neglected to eat. Well, it had happened before, even before -the blast. With an effort he began to grope back, trying to remember -the last time he <i>had</i> eaten. Then it became quite clear to him. It -leaped out and dissolved away all the delays he had been contriving. -<i>He had not eaten in three weeks.</i></p> - -<p>Seligman had known it, of course. But it had been buried so deeply that -he only half-feared it. He had tried to deny the truth, for when that -last seemingly insurmountable problem was removed, there was nothing -but his own inadequacies to prevent his leaving.</p> - -<p>Now it came out, full-bloom. The treatments and radiation had done more -than make him merely impervious to mild perils. He no longer needed to -eat! He boggled at the concept for a moment, shaken by the realization -that he had not recognized the fact before.</p> - -<p>He had heard of anaerobic bacteria or yeasts that could derive their -energy from other sources, without the normal oxidation of foods. -Bringing the impossible to relatively homely terms made it easier for -him to accept. Maybe it was even possible to absorb energy directly. At -least he felt no slightest twinge of hunger, even after three weeks of -back-breaking work without eating.</p> - -<p>Probably he would have to take along a certain amount of proteins to -replenish the body tissue he expended. But as for the bulky boxes -of edibles dotting the space around the ship, most were no longer a -necessity.</p> - -<p>Now that he had faced up to the idea that he had been delaying through -fear of the trip itself, and that there was nothing left to stop his -leaving almost immediately, Seligman again found himself caught up in -the old drive.</p> - -<p>He was suddenly intent on getting the ship into the air and beyond.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dusk mingled with the blotching of the sun before Seligman was ready. -It had not been stalling this time, however. The sorting and packing of -needed proteins took time. But now he was ready. There was nothing to -keep him on Earth.</p> - -<p>He took one last look around. It seemed the thing to do. Sentimentalism -was not one of Seligman's more outstanding traits, but he did it in -preparation for anyone who might ask him, "What did it look like—at -the end?" It was with a twinge of regret that he brought the fact to -mind; he had never really <i>looked</i> at his sterile world in the two -years he had been preparing to leave it. One became accustomed to -living in a pile of rubble, and after a bit it no longer offered even -the feel of an environment.</p> - -<p>He climbed the ladder into the ship, carefully closing and dogging the -port behind him. The chair was ready, webbing flattened back against -the deep rubber pile of its seat and backrest. He slid into it and -swung the control box down on its ball-swivel to a position before his -face.</p> - -<p>He drew the top webbing across himself and snapped its triple-lock -clamps into place. Seligman sat in the ship he had not even bothered to -name, fingers groping for the actuator button on the arm of the chair, -glowing all the while, weirdly, in the half-light of the cabin.</p> - -<p>So this was to be the last picture he might carry with him to the -heavens: a bitter epitaph to a race misspent. No warning; it was too -late for such puny action. All was dead and haunted on the face of the -Earth. No blade of grass dared rise; no small life murmured in its -burrows and caves, in the oddly dusty skies, or for all he knew, to the -very bottom of the Cayman Trench. There was only silence. The silence -of a graveyard.</p> - -<p>He pushed the button.</p> - -<p>The ship began to rise, waveringly. There was a total lack of the -grandeur he remembered when the others had left. The ship sputtered and -coughed brokenly as it climbed on its imperfect drive. Tremors shook -the cabin and Seligman could feel something wrong, vibrating through -the chair and floor into his body.</p> - -<p>Its flames were not so bright or steady as those other take-offs, but -it continued to rise and gather speed. The hull began to glow as the -rocket lifted higher into the dust-filled sky.</p> - -<p>Acceleration pressed down on Seligman, though not as much as he -had expected. It was merely uncomfortable, not punishing. Then he -remembered that he was not of the same stamp as those who had preceded -him.</p> - -<p>His ship continued to pull itself up out of the Earth's atmosphere. The -hull oranged, then turned cherry, then straw-yellow, as the coolers -within its skin fought to counteract the blasting fury.</p> - -<p>Again and again Seligman could feel the <i>wrongness</i> of the climb. -Something was going to give!</p> - -<p>As the bulkheads to his right began to strain and buckle, he knew what -it was. The ship had not been built or re-welded by trained experts, -working in teams with the latest equipment. He had been one lone -determined man, with only book experience to back him. Now his errors -were about to tell.</p> - -<p>The ship passed beyond the atmosphere, and Seligman stared in horror as -the plates cracked and shattered outwards. He tried to scream as the -air shrieked outwards, but it was already impossible.</p> - -<p>Then he fainted.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the ship passed the moon, Seligman still sat, his body held in -place by the now-constricted webbing, facing the gaping squares and -sundered metal that had been the cabin wall.</p> - -<p>Abruptly, the engines cut off. As though it were a signal, Seligman's -eyes fluttered and opened wide.</p> - -<p>He stared at the wall, his reviving brain grasping the final truth. The -last vestige of humanity had been clawed from him. He no longer needed -air to live.</p> - -<p>His throat constricted, his belly knotted, and the blood that should -theoretically be boiling pounded thickly in his throat. His last -kinship with those he was searching was gone. If he had been a freak -before, what was he <i>now</i>?</p> - -<p>The turmoil fought itself out in him as the ship sped onward and he -faced what he had become, what he must do.</p> - -<p>He was more than a messenger, now. He was a shining symbol of the end -of all humanity on Earth, a symbol of the evil their kind had done. The -men out there would never treasure him, welcome him, or build proud -legends around him. But they could never deny him. He was a messenger -from the grave.</p> - -<p>They would see him in the airless cabin, even before he landed. They -would never be able to live with him, but they would have to listen to -him, and to believe.</p> - -<p>Seligman sat in the crash-chair in the cabin that was dark except for -the eerie glow that was part of him. He sat there, lonely and eternally -alone. And slowly, a grim smile grew on his lips.</p> - -<p>The bitter purpose that had been forced on him was finally clear. -For two years, he had fought to find an escape from the death and -loneliness of ruined Earth. Now that was impossible. One Seligman was -enough.</p> - -<p>Alone? He hadn't known the meaning of the word before! It would be his -job to make <i>sure</i> that he was alone—alone among his people, until the -end of time.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOW WORM ***</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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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