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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..318eefa --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69308 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69308) diff --git a/old/69308-0.txt b/old/69308-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e4d1b4e..0000000 --- a/old/69308-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1974 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The call from beyond, by Clifford D. -Simak - -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: The call from beyond - -Author: Clifford D. Simak - -Release Date: November 7, 2022 [eBook #69308] - -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 THE CALL FROM BEYOND *** - - - - - - THE CALL FROM BEYOND - - By CLIFFORD D. SIMAK - - _Alone, accursed, he set out on the - long, dark voyage to the forbidden gateway - to worlds beyond life itself--restless - forever with an ultimate knowledge, - possessing which no man could die!_ - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Super Science Stories May 1950. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - CHAPTER ONE - - The Pyramid of Bottles - - -The pyramid was built of bottles, hundreds of bottles that flashed and -glinted as if with living fire, picking up and breaking up the misty -light that filtered from the distant sun and still more distant stars. - -Frederick West took a slow step forward, away from the open port of -his tiny ship. He shook his head and shut his eyes and opened them -again and the pyramid was still there. So it was no figment, as he had -feared, of his imagination, born in the darkness and the loneliness of -his flight from Earth. - -It was there and it was a crazy thing. Crazy because it should not be -there, at all. There should be nothing here on this almost unknown slab -of tumbling stone and metal. - -For no one lived on Pluto's moon. No one ever visited Pluto's moon. -Even he, himself, hadn't intended to until, circling it to have a look -before going on to Pluto, he had seen that brief flash of light, as -if someone might be signaling. It had been the pyramid, of course. He -knew that now. The stacked-up bottles catching and reflecting light. - -Behind the pyramid stood a space hut, squatted down among the jagged -boulders. But there was no movement, no sign of life. No one was -tumbling out of the entrance lock to welcome him. And that was strange, -he thought. For visitors must be rare, if, indeed, they came at all. - -Perhaps the pyramid really was a signaling device, although it would -be a clumsy way of signaling. More likely a madman's caprice. Come to -think of it, anyone who was sufficiently deranged to live on Pluto's -moon would be a fitting architect for a pyramid of bottles. - -The moon was so unimportant that it wasn't even named. The spacemen, on -those rare occasions when they mentioned it at all, simply called it -"Pluto's moon" and let it go at that. - -No one came out to this sector of space any more. Which, West told -himself parenthetically, is exactly why I came. For if you could slip -through the space patrol you would be absolutely safe. No one would -ever bother you. - -No one bothered Pluto these days. Not since the ban had been slapped on -it three years before, since the day the message had come through from -the scientists in the cold laboratories which had been set up several -years before that. - -No one came to the planet now. Especially with the space patrol on -guard ... although there were ways of slipping through. If one knew -where the patrol ships would be at certain times and build up one's -speed and shut off the engines, coasting on momentum in the shadow of -the planet, one could get to Pluto. - -West was near the pyramid now and he saw that it was built of whisky -bottles. All empty, very empty, their labels fresh and clear. - -West straightened up from staring at the bottles and advanced toward -the hut. Locating the lock, he pressed the button. There was no -response. He pressed it again. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the lock -swung in its seat. Swiftly he stepped inside and swung over the lever -that closed the outer lock, opened the inner one. - -Dim light oozed from the interior of the hut and through his earphones -West heard the dry rustle of tiny claws whispering across the floor. -Then a gurgling, like water running down a pipe. - -Heart in his mouth, thumb hooked close to the butt of his pistol, West -stepped quickly across the threshold of the lock. - -A man, clad in motheaten underwear, sat on the edge of the cot. His -hair was long and untrimmed, his whiskers sprouted in black ferocity. -From the mat of beard two eyes stared out, like animals brought to -bay in caves. A bony hand thrust out a whisky bottle in a gesture of -invitation. - -The whiskers moved and a croak came from them. "Have a snort," it said. - -West shook his head. "I don't drink." - -"I do," the whiskers said. The hand tilted the bottle and the bottle -gurgled. - -West glanced swiftly around the room. No radio. That made it simpler. -If there had been a radio he would have had to smash it. For, he -realized now, it had been a silly thing to do, stopping on this moon. -No one knew where he was ... and that was the way it should have stood. - -West snapped his visor up. - -"Drinking myself to death," the whiskers told him. - -West stared, astounded at the utter poverty, at the absolute squalor of -the place. - -"Three years," said the man. "Not a single sober breath in three solid -years." He hiccoughed. "Getting me," he said. His left hand came up and -thumped his shrunken chest. Lint flew from the ragged underwear. The -right hand still clutched the bottle. - -"Earth years," the whiskers explained. "Three Earth years. Not Pluto -years." - - * * * * * - -A thing that chattered came out of the shadows in one corner of the hut -and leaped upon the bed. It hunched itself beside the man and stared -leeringly at West, its mouth a slit that drooled across its face, its -puckered hide a horror in the sickly light. - -"Meet Annabelle," said the man. He whistled at the thing and it -clambered to his shoulder, cuddling against his cheek. - -West shivered at the sight. - -"Just passing through?" the man inquired. - -"My name is West," West told him. "Heading for Pluto." - -"Ask them to show you the painting," said the man. "Yes, you must see -the painting." - -"The painting?" - -"You deaf?" asked the man, belligerently. "I said a painting. You -understand--a picture." - -"I understand," said West. "But I didn't know there were any paintings -there. Didn't even know there was anybody there." - -"Sure there is," said the man. "There's Louis and--" - -He lifted the bottle and took a snort. - -"I got alcoholism," said the man. "Good thing, alcoholism. Keeps colds -away. Can't catch a cold when you got alcoholism. Kills you quicker -than a cold, though. Why, you might go on for years having colds--" - -"Look," urged West, "you have to tell me about Pluto. About who's -there. And the painting. How come you know about them?" - -The eyes regarded him with drunken cunning. - -"You'd have to do something for me. Couldn't give you information like -that out of the goodness of my heart." - -"Of course," agreed West. "Anything that you would like. You just name -it." - -"You got to take Annabelle out of here," the man told him. "Take her -back where she belongs. It isn't any place for a girl like her. No fit -life for her to lead. Living with a sodden wreck like me. Used to be a -great man once ... yes, sir, a great man. It all came of looking for a -bottle. One particular bottle. Had to sample all of them. Every last -one. And when I sampled them, there was nothing else to do but drink -them up. They'd spoil for sure if you let them stand around. And who -wants a lot of spoiled liquor cluttering up the place?" - -He took another shot. - -"Been at it ever since," he explained. "Almost got them now. Ain't many -of them left. Used to think that I'd find the right bottle before it -was too late and then everything would be all right. Wouldn't do me no -good to find it now, because I'm going to die. Enough left to last me, -though. Aim to die plastered. Happy way to die." - -"But what about those people on Pluto?" demanded West. - -The whiskers snickered. "I fooled them. They gave me my choice. Take -anything you want, they said. Big-hearted, you understand. Pals to the -very last. So I took the whisky. Cases of it. They didn't know, you -see. I tricked them." - -"I'm sure you did," said West. Tiny, icy feet ran up and down his -spine. For there was madness here, he knew, but madness with a pattern. -Somewhere, somehow, this twisted talk would fall into a pattern that -would make sense. - -"But something went wrong," the man declared. "Something went wrong." - -Silence whistled in the room. - -"You see, Mr. Best," the man declared. "I--" - -"West," said West. "Not Best. West." - -The man did not seem to notice. "I'm going to die, you understand. Any -minute, maybe. Got a liver and heart and either one could kill me. -Drinking does that to you. Never used to drink. Got into the habit when -I was sampling all these bottles. Got a taste for it. Then there wasn't -anything to do--" - -He hunched forward. - -"Promise you will take Annabelle," he croaked. - -Annabelle tittered at West, slobber drooling from her mouth. - -"But I can't take her back," West protested, "unless I know where she -came from. You have to tell me that." - -The man waggled a finger. "From far away," he croaked, "and yet not so -very far. Not so very far if you know the way." - -West eyed Annabelle with the gorge rising in his throat. - -"I will take her," he said. "But you have to tell me where." - -"Thank you, Guest," said the man. He lifted the bottle and let it -gurgle. - -"Not Guest," said West, patiently. "My name is--" - -The man toppled forward off the bed, sprawled across the floor. The -bottle rolled crazily, spilling liquor in sporadic gushes. - -West leaped forward, knelt beside the man and lifted him. The whiskers -moved and a whisper came from their tangled depths, a gasping whisper -that was scarcely more than a waning breath. - -"Tell Louis that his painting--" - -"Louis?" yelled West. "Louis who? What about--" - -The whisper came again. "Tell him ... someday ... he'll paint a wrong -place and then...." - -Gently West laid the man back on the floor and stepped away. The whisky -bottle still rocked to and fro beneath a chair where it had come to -rest. - - * * * * * - -Something glinted at the head of the cot and West walked to where it -hung. It was a watch, a shining watch, polished with years of care. -It swung slowly from a leather thong tied to the rod that formed the -cot's head, where a man could reach out in the dark and read it. - -West took it in his hand and turned it over, saw the engraving that ran -across its back. Bending low, he read the inscription in the feeble -light. - - To Walter J. Darling, from class of '16, - Mars Polytech. - -West straightened, understanding and disbelief stirring in his mind. - -Walter J. Darling, that huddle on the floor? Walter J. Darling, one -of the solar system's greatest biologists, dead in this filthy hut? -Darling, teacher for years at Mars Polytechnical Institute, that -shrunken, liquor-sodden corpse in shoddy underwear? - -West wiped his forehead with the back of his space-gloved hand. Darling -had been a member of that mysterious government commission assigned -to the cold laboratories on Pluto, sent there to develop artificial -hormones aimed at controlled mutation of the human race. A mission -that had been veiled in secrecy from the first because it was feared, -and rightly so, that revelation of its purpose might lead to outraged -protests from a humanity that could not imagine why it should be -improved biologically. - -A mission, thought West, that had set out in mystery and ended in -mystery, mystery that had sent whispers winging through the solar -system. Shuddery whispers. - -Louis? That would be Louis Nevin, another member of the Pluto -commission. He was the man Darling had tried to tell about just before -he died. - -And Nevin must still be out here on Pluto, must still be alive despite -the message that had come to Earth. - -But the painting didn't fit. Nevin wasn't an artist. He was a -biologist, scarcely second to Darling. - -The message of three years before had been a phony, then. There were -men still on the planet. - -And that meant, West told himself bitterly, that his own plan had gone -awry. For Pluto was the only place in the Solar System where there -would be food and shelter and to which no one would ever come. - -He remembered how he had planned it all so carefully ... how it had -seemed a perfect answer. There would be many years' supply of food -stacked in the storerooms, there would be comfortable living quarters, -and there would be tools and equipment should he ever need them. -And, of course, the Thing, whatever it might be. The horror that had -closed the planet, that had set the space patrol to guard the planet's -loneliness. - -But West had never been too concerned with what he might find on Pluto, -for whatever it might be, it could be no worse than the bitterness that -was his on Earth. - -There was something going on at the Pluto laboratories. Something that -the government didn't know about or that the government had suppressed -along with that now infamous report of three years before. - -Something that Darling could have told him had he wanted to ... or had -he been able. But now Walter J. Darling was past all telling. West -would have to find out by himself. - -West stepped to where he lay, lifted him to the cot and covered him -with a tattered blanket. - -Perched on the cot head, Annabelle chattered and giggled and drooled. - -"Come here, you," said West. "Come on over here." - -Annabelle came, slowly and coyly. West lifted her squeamishly, thrust -her into an outer pocket and zipped it shut. He started toward the -doorway. - -On the way out he picked the empty bottle from the floor, added it to -the pyramid outside. - - - - - CHAPTER TWO - - The White Singer - - -West's craft fled like a silvery shadow between the towering mountain -peaks shielding the only valley on Pluto that had ever known the tread -of Man. - -Coasting in on silent motors in the shadow of the planet, he had eluded -the patrol. Beyond the mountains he had thrown in the motors, had -braked the plunging ship almost to a crawl, taking the chance the flare -of the rockets might be seen by any of the patrol far out in space. - -And now, speed reduced, dropping in a long slant toward the -glass-smooth landing field, he huddled over the controls, keyed to -a free-fall landing, always dangerous at best. But it would be as -dangerous, he sensed, to advertise his coming with another rocket -blast. The field was long and smooth. If he hit it right and not too -far out, there would be plenty of room. - -The almost nonexistent atmosphere was a point in favor. There were no -eddies, no currents of air to deflect the ship, send it into a spin or -a dangerous wobble. - -Off to the right he caught a flash of light and his mind clicked the -split-second answer that it must be the laboratory. - -Then the ship was down, pancaking, hissing along the landing strip, -friction gripping the hull. It stopped just short of a jumbled pile -of rock and West let out his breath, felt his heart take up the beat -again. A few feet more.... - -Locking the controls, he hung the key around his neck, pulled down the -visor of his space gear and let himself out of the ship. - -Across the field glowed the lights of the laboratory. He had not been -mistaken, then. He had seen the lights ... and men were here. Or could -he be mistaken? Those lights would have continued to function even -without attention. The fact that they were shining in the building was -no reason to conclude that men also were there. - -At the far end of the field loomed a massive structure and West knew -that it was the shops of the Alpha Centauri expedition, where men -had labored for two years to make the Henderson space drive work. -Somewhere, he knew, in the shadow of the star-lighted shops, was the -ship itself, the _Alpha Centauri_, left behind when the crew had given -up in despair and gone back to Earth. A ship designed to fly out to the -stars, to quit the Solar System and go into the void, spanning light -years as easily as an ordinary ship went from Earth to Mars. - -It hadn't gone, of course, but that didn't matter. - -"A symbol," West said to himself. - -That was what it was ... a symbol and a dream. - -And something, too, now that he was here, now that he could admit it, -that had lain in the back of his mind all the way from Earth. - -West shucked his belt around so that the pistol hung handy to his fist. - -If men were here ... or worse, if that message hadn't been a phony, he -might need the pistol. Although it was unlikely that the sort of thing -that he then would face would be vulnerable to a pistol. - -Shivering, he remembered that terse, secret report reposing in the -confidential archives back on Earth ... the transcription of the tense, -rasping voice that had come over the radio from Pluto, a voice that -told of dreadful things, of dying men and something that was loose. A -voice that had screamed a warning, then had gurgled and died out. - -It was after that that the ban had been put on the planet and the space -patrol sent out to quarantine the place. - -Mystery from the first, he thought ... beginning and the end. First -because the commission was seeking a hormone to effect controlled -mutations in the human race. And the race would resent such a thing, of -course, so it had to be a mystery. - -The human race, West thought bitterly, resents anything that deviates -from the norm. It used to stone the leper from the towns and it -smothered its madmen in deep featherbeds and it stares at a crippled -thing and its pity is a burning insult. And its fear ... oh, yes, its -fear! - -Slowly, carefully, West made his way across the landing strip. The -surface was smooth, so smooth that his space boots had little grip upon -it. - -On the rocky height above the field stood the laboratory, but West -turned back and stared out into space, as if he might be taking final -leave of someone that he knew. - -Earth, he said. Earth, can you hear me now? - -You need no longer fear me and you need not worry, for I shall not come -back. - -But the day will come when there are others like me. And there may be -even now. - -For you can't tell a mutant by the way he combs his hair, nor the way -he walks or talks. He sprouts no horns and he grows no tail and there's -no mark upon his forehead. - -But when you spot one, you must watch him carefully. You must spy -against him and set double-checks about him. And you must find a place -to put him where you'll be safe from anything he does ... but you must -not let him know. You must try him and sentence him and send him into -exile without his ever knowing it. - -Like, said West, you tried to do with me. - -But, said West, talking to the Earth, I didn't like your exile, so I -chose one of my own. Because I knew, you see. I knew when you began to -watch me and about the double-checks and the conferences and the plan -of action and there were times when I could hardly keep from laughing -in your face. - - * * * * * - -He stood for a long moment, staring into space, out where the Earth -swam somewhere in darkness around the star-like Sun. - -Bitter? he asked himself. And answered: No, not bitter. Not exactly -bitter. - -For you must understand, he said, still talking to the Earth, that a -man is human first and mutant after that. He is not a monster simply -because he is a mutant ... he is just a little different. He is human -in every way that you are human and it may be that he is human in more -ways than you are. For the human race as it stands today is the history -of long mutancy ... of men who were a little different, who thought a -little clearer, who felt a deeper compassion, who held an attribute -that was more human than the rest of their fellow men. And they passed -that clearer thinking and that deeper compassion on to sons and -daughters and the sons and daughters passed it on to some--not all--but -some of their sons and daughters. Thus the race grew up from savagery, -thus the human concept grew. - -Perhaps, he thought, my father was a mutant, a mutant that no one -suspected. Or it may have been my mother. And neither of them would -have been suspected. For my father was a farmer and if his mutancy had -made the crops grow a little better through his better understanding -of the soil or through a deeper feeling for the art of growing things, -who would there be to know that he was a mutant? He would simply have -been a better farmer than his neighbors. And if at night, when he read -the well-worn books that stood on the shelf in the dining room, he -understood those books and the things they meant to say better than -most other men, who was there to know? - -But I, he said, I was noticed. That is the crime of mutancy, to be -noticed. Like the Spartan boy whose crime of stealing a fox was no -crime at all, but whose cries when the fox ripped out his guts were a -crime indeed. - -I rose too fast, he thought. I cut through too much red tape. I -understood too well. And in governmental office you can not rise too -fast nor cut red tape nor understand too well. You must be as mediocre -as your fellow office-holders. You cannot point to a blueprint of a -rocket motor and say, "There is the trouble," when men who are better -trained than you cannot see the trouble. And you cannot devise a system -of production that will turn out two rocket motors for the price of -one in half the time. For that is not only being too efficient; it's -downright blasphemy. - -But most of all you cannot stand up in open meeting of government -policy makers and point out that mutancy is no crime in itself ... that -it only is a crime when it is wrongly used. Nor say that the world -would be better off if it used its mutants instead of being frightened -of them. - -Of course, if one knew one was a mutant, one would never say a thing -like that. And a mutant, knowing himself a mutant, never would point -out a thing that was wrong with a rocket engine. For a mutant has to -keep his mouth shut, has to act the mediocre man and arrive at the ends -he wishes by complex indirection. - -If I had only known, thought West. If I had only known in time. I could -have fooled them, as I hope many others even now are fooling them. - -But now he knew it was too late, too late to turn back to the life that -he had rejected, to go back and accept the dead-end trap that had been -fashioned for him ... a trap that would catch and hold him, where he -would be safe. And where the human race would be safe from him. - -West turned around and found the path that led up the rocky decline -toward the laboratory. - -A hulking figure stepped out of the shadows and challenged him. - -"Where do you think you're going?" - -West halted. "Just got in," he said. "Looking for a friend of mine. By -the name of Nevin." - -Inside the pocket of his suit, he felt Annabelle stirring restlessly. -Probably she was getting cold. - -"Nevin?" asked the man, a note of alarm chilling his voice. "What do -you want of Nevin?" - -"He's got a painting," West declared. - -The man's voice turned silky and dangerous. "How much do you know about -Nevin and his painting?" - -"Not much," said West. "That's why I'm here. Wanted to talk with him -about it." - -Annabelle turned a somersault inside West's zippered pocket. The man's -eyes caught the movement. - -"What you got in there?" he demanded, suspiciously. - -"Annabelle," said West. "She's--well, she's something like a skinned -rat, partly, with a face that's almost human, except it's practically -all mouth." - -"You don't say. Where did you get her?" - -"Found her," West told him. - -Laughter gurgled in the man's throat. "So you found her, eh? Can you -imagine that?" - -He reached out and took West by the arm. - -"Maybe we'll have a lot to talk about," he said. "We'll have to compare -our notes." - -Together they moved up the hillside, the man's gloved hand clutching -West by the arm. - -"You're Langdon," West hazarded, as casually as he could speak. - -The man chuckled. "Not Langdon. Langdon got lost." - -"That's tough," commented West. "Bad place to get lost on ... Pluto." - -"Not Pluto," said the man. "Somewhere else." - -"Maybe Darling, then ..." and he held his breath to hear the answer. - -"Darling left us," said the man. "I'm Cartwright. Burton Cartwright." - -On the top of the tiny plateau in front of the laboratory, they stopped -to catch their breath. The dim starlight painted the valley below with -silver tracery. - -West pointed. "That ship!" - -Cartwright chuckled. "You recognize it, eh? The _Alpha Centauri_." - -"They're still working on the drive, back on Earth," said West. -"Someday they'll get it." - -"I have no doubt of it," said Cartwright. - -He swung back toward the laboratory. "Let's go in. Dinner will be ready -soon." - - * * * * * - -The table was set with white cloth and shining silver that gleamed in -the light of the flickering dinner tapers. Sparkling wine glasses stood -in their proper places. The centerpiece was a bowl of fruit--but fruit -such as West had never seen before. - -Cartwright tilted a chair and dumped a thing that had been sleeping -there onto the floor. - -"Your place, Mr. West," he said. - -The thing uncoiled itself and glared at West with an eye of fishy -hatred, purred with lusty venom and slithered out of sight. - -Across the table Louis Nevin apologized. "The damn things keep sneaking -through all the time. I suppose, Mr. West, you have trouble with them, -too." - -"We tried rat traps," said Cartwright, "but they were too smart for -that. So we get along with them the best we can." - -West laughed to cover momentary confusion, but he found Nevin's eyes -upon him. - -"Annabelle," he said, "is the only one that ever bothered me." - -"You're lucky," Nevin told him. "They get to be pests. There is one of -them that insists on sleeping with me." - -"Where's Belden?" Cartwright asked. - -"He ate early," explained Nevin. "Said there were a few things he -wanted to get done. Asked to be excused." - -He said to West, "James Belden. Perhaps you've heard of him." - -West nodded. - -He pulled back his chair, started to sit down, then jerked erect. - -A woman had appeared in the doorway, a woman with violet eyes and -platinum hair and wrapped in an ermine opera cloak. She moved forward -and the light from the flaring tapers fell across her face. West -stiffened at the sight, felt the blood run cold as ice within his veins. - -For the face was not a woman's face. It was like a furry skull, like a -moth's face that had attempted to turn human and had stuck halfway. - -Down at the end of the table, Cartwright was chuckling. - -"You recognize her, Mr. West?" - -West clutched the back of his chair so hard that his knuckles suddenly -were white. - -"Of course I do," he said. "The White Singer. But how did you bring her -here?" - -"So that's what they call her back on Earth," said Nevin. - -"But her face," insisted West. "What's happened to her face?" - -"There were two of them," said Nevin. "One of them we sent to Earth. We -had to fix her up a bit. Plastic surgery, you know." - -"She sings," said Cartwright. - -"Yes, I know," said West. "I've heard her sing. Or, at least the other -one ... the one you sent to Earth with the made-over face. She's driven -practically everything else off the air. All the networks carry her." - -Cartwright sighed. "I should like to hear her back on Earth," he said. -"She would sing differently there, you know, than she sang here." - -"They sing," interrupted Nevin, "only as they feel." - -"Firelight on the wall," said Cartwright, "and she'd sing like -firelight on the wall. Or the smell of lilacs in an April rain and her -music would be like the perfume of lilacs and the mist of rain along -the garden path." - -"We don't have rain or lilacs here," said Nevin and he looked, for a -moment, as if he were going to weep. - -Crazy, thought West. Crazy as a pair of bedbugs. Crazy as the man who'd -drunk himself to death out on Pluto's moon. - -And yet, perhaps not so crazy. - -"They have no mind," said Cartwright. "That is, no mind to speak of. -Just a bundle of nervous reactions, probably without the type of -sensory perceptions that we have, but more than likely with other -totally different sensory perceptions to make up for it. Sensitive -things. Music to them is an expression of sensory impressions. They -can't help the way they sing any more than a moth can help killing -himself against a candle-flame. And they're naturally telepathic. They -pick up thoughts and pass them along. Retain none of the thought, you -understand, just pass it along. Like old fashioned telephone wires. -Thoughts that listeners, under the spell of music, would pick up and -accept." - -"And the beauty of it is," said Nevin, "is that if a listener ever -became conscious of those thoughts afterward and wondered about them, -he would be convinced that they were his own, that he had had them all -the time." - -"Clever, eh?" asked Cartwright. - -West let out his breath. "Clever, yes. I didn't think you fellows had -it in you." - -West wanted to shiver and found he couldn't and the shiver built up and -up until it seemed his tautened nerves would snap. - -Cartwright was speaking. "So our Stella is doing all right." - -"What's that?" asked West. - -"Stella. The other one of them. The one with the face." - -"Oh, I see," said West. "I didn't know her name was Stella. No one, in -fact, knows anything about her. She suddenly appeared one night as a -surprise feature on one of the networks. She was announced as a mystery -singer, and then people began calling her the White Singer. She always -sang in dim, blue light, you see, and no one ever saw her face too -plainly, although everyone imagined, of course, that it was beautiful. - -"The network made no bones about her being an alien being. She was -represented as a member of a mystery race that Juston Lloyd had found -in the Asteroids. You remember Lloyd, the New York press agent." - -Nevin was leaning across the table. "And the people, the government, it -does not suspect?" - -West shook his head. "Why should it? Your Stella is a wonder. Everyone -is batty over her. The newspapers went wild. The movie people--" - -"And the cults?" - -"The cults," said West, "are doing fine." - -"And you?" asked Cartwright and in the man's rumbling voice West felt -the challenge. - -"I found out," he said, "I came here to get cut in." - -"You know exactly what you are asking?" - -"I do," said West, wishing that he did. - -"A new philosophy," said Cartwright. "A new concept of life. New paths -for progress. Secrets the human race never has suspected. Remaking the -human civilization almost overnight." - -"And you," said West, "right at the center, pulling all the strings." - -"So," said Cartwright. - -"I want a few to pull myself." - -Nevin held up his hand. "Just a minute, Mr. West. We would like to know -just how--" - -Cartwright laughed at him. "Forget it, Louis. He knew about your -painting. He had Annabelle. Where do you suppose he found out?" - -"But--but--" said Nevin. - -"Maybe he didn't use a painting," Cartwright declared. "Maybe he used -other methods. After all, there are others, you know. Thousands of -years ago men knew of the place we found. Mu, probably. Atlantis. Some -other forgotten civilization. Just the fact that West had Annabelle is -enough for me. He must have been there." - -West smiled, relieved. "I used other methods," he told them. - - - - - CHAPTER THREE - - The Painting - - -A robot came in, wheeling a tray with steaming dishes. - -"Let's sit down," suggested Nevin. - -"Just one thing," asked West. "How did you get Stella back to Earth? -None of you could have taken her. You'd have been recognized." - -Cartwright chuckled. "Robertson," he said. "We had one ship and he -slipped out. As to the recognition, Belden is our physician. He also, -if you remember, is a plastic surgeon of no mean ability." - -"He did the job," said Nevin, "for both Robertson and Stella." - -"Nearly skinned us alive," grumbled Cartwright, "to get enough to do -the work, I'll always think that he took more than he really needed, -just for spite. He's a moody beggar." - -Nevin changed the subject. "Shall we have Rosie sit with us?" - -"Rosie?" asked West. - -"Rosie is Stella's sister. We don't know the exact relationship, but we -call her that for convenience." - -"There are times," explained Cartwright, "when we forget her face and -let her sit at the table's head, as if she were one of us. As if she -were our hostess. She looks remarkably like a woman, you know. Those -wings of hers are like an ermine cape, and that platinum hair. She -lends something to the table ... a sort of--" - -"An illusion of gentility," said Nevin. - -"Perhaps we'd better not tonight," decided Cartwright. "Mr. West is not -used to her. After he's been here awhile--" - -He stopped and looked aghast. - -"We've forgotten something," he announced. - -He rose and strode around the table to the imitation fireplace and took -down a bottle that stood on the mantelpiece--a bottle with a black -silk bow tied around its neck. Ceremoniously, he set it in the center -of the table, beside the bowl of fruit. - -"It's a little joke we have," said Nevin. - -"Scarcely a joke," contradicted Cartwright. - -West looked puzzled. "A bottle of whisky?" - -"But a special bottle," Cartwright said. "A very special bottle. -Back in the old days we formed a last man's club, jokingly. This -bottle was to be the one the last man would drink. It made us feel so -adventuresome and brave and we laughed about it while we labored to -find hormones. For, you see, none of us thought it would ever come to -pass." - -"But now," said Nevin, "there are only three of us." - -"You are wrong," Cartwright reminded him. "There are four." - -Both of them looked at West. - -"Of course," decided Nevin. "There are four of us." - -Cartwright spread the napkin in his lap. "Perhaps, Louis, we might as -well let Mr. West see the painting." - -Nevin hesitated. "I'm not quite satisfied, Cartwright...." - -Cartwright clucked his tongue. "You're too suspicious, Louis. He had -the creature, didn't he? He knew about your painting. There was only -one way that he could have learned." - -Nevin considered. "I suppose you're right," he said. - -"And if Mr. West should, by any chance, turn out to be an impostor," -said Cartwright, cheerfully, "we can always take the proper steps." - -Nevin said to West: "I hope you understand." - -"Perfectly," said West. - -"We must be very careful," Nevin pointed out. "So few would understand." - -"So very few," said West. - -Nevin stepped across the room and pulled a cord that hung along the -wall. One of the tapestries rolled smoothly back, fold on heavy fold. -West, watching, held his breath at what he saw. - -A tree stood in the foreground, laden with golden fruit, fruit that -looked exactly like some of that in the bowl upon the table. As if -someone had just stepped into the painting and picked it fresh for -dinner. - -Under the tree ran a path, coming up to the very edge of the canvas in -such detail that even the tiny pebbles strewn upon it were clear to the -eye. And from the tree the path ran back against a sweep of background, -climbing into wooded hills. - -For the flicker of a passing second, West could have sworn that he -heard the whisper of wind in the leaves of the fruit-laden tree, that -he saw the leaves tremble in the wind, that he smelled the fragrance of -little flowers that bloomed along the path. - -"Well, Mr. West?" Nevin asked, triumphantly. - -"Why," said West, ears still cocked for the sound of wind in leaves -again. "Why, it almost seems as if one could step over and walk -straight down that path." - -Nevin sucked in his breath with a sound that was neither gasp nor sigh, -but somewhere in between. Down at the end of the table, Cartwright was -choking on his wine, chuckling laughter bubbling out between his lips -despite all his efforts to keep it bottled up. - -"Nevin," asked West, "have you ever thought of making another painting?" - -"Perhaps," said Nevin. "Why do you ask?" - -West smiled. Through his brain words were drumming, words that he -remembered, words a man had whispered just before he died. - -"I was just thinking," said West, "of what might happen if you should -paint the wrong place sometime." - -"By Lord," yelled Cartwright, "he's got you there, Nevin. The exact -words I've been telling you." - -Nevin started to rise from the table, and even as he did the rustling -whisper of music filled the room. Music that relaxed Nevin's hands from -their grip upon the table's edge, music that swept the sudden chill -from between West's shoulderblades. - -Music that told of keen-toothed space and the blaze of stars. Music -that had the whisper of rockets and the quietness of the void and the -somber arches of eternal night. - -Rosie was singing. - - * * * * * - -West sat on the edge of his bed and knew that he had been lucky to -break away before there could be more questions asked. So far, he was -certain, he'd answered those they asked without arousing too much -suspicion, but the longer a thing like that went on the more likely a -man was to make some slight mistake. - -Now he would have time to think, time to try to untangle and put -together some of the facts as they now appeared. - -One of the minor monstrosities that infested the place climbed the -bedpost and perched upon it, wrapping its long tail about it many -times. It chittered at West and West looked at it and shuddered, -wondering if it were making a face at him or if it really looked that -way. - -These slithery, chittering things ... he'd heard of them somewhere -before. He knew that. He'd even seen pictures of them at some time. -Some other time and place, very long ago. Things like Annabelle and the -creature Cartwright had dumped off the chair and the little satanic -being that perched upon the bedstead. - -That was funny, the thing Nevin had said about them ... _they keep -sneaking through_ ... not sneaking in, but through. - -Nothing added up. Not even Nevin and Cartwright. For there was about -them some subtle tinge of character not human in its texture. - -They had been working with hormones when something had happened that -occasioned the warning sent to Earth. Or had there been a warning? Had -the warning been a fake? Was there something going on here the Solar -government didn't want anyone to know? - -Why had they sent Stella to Earth? Why were they so pleased that -she was so well received? What was it Nevin had asked ... and _the -government, it does not suspect_? Why should the government suspect? -What was there for it to suspect? Just a mindless creature that sang -like the bells of heaven. - -That hormone business, now. Hormones did funny things to people. - -I should know, said West, talking to himself. - -A little faster and a little quicker. A mental shortcut here and there. -And you scarcely know, yourself, that you are any different. That's how -the race develops. A mutation here and another there and in a thousand -years or two a certain percentage of the race is not what the race had -been a thousand years before. - -Maybe it was a mutation back in the Old Stone Age who struck two flints -together and made himself a fire. Maybe another mutant who dreamed up a -wheel and took a stoneboat and changed it to a wagon. - -Slowly, he said, it would have to be slowly. Just a little at a time. -For if it were too much, if it were noticeable, the other humans would -kill off each mutation as it became apparent. For the human race cannot -tolerate divergence from the norm, even though mutation is the process -by which the race develops. - -The race doesn't kill the mutants any more. It confines them to mental -institutions or it forces them into such dead-ends of expression as art -or music, or it finds nice friendly exiles for them, where they will -be comfortable and have a job to do and where, the normal humans hope, -they'll never know what they are. - -It's harder to be different now, he thought, harder to be a mutant and -escape detection, what with the medical boards and the psychiatrists -and all the other scientific mumbo-jumbo the humans have set up to -guard their peace of mind. - -Five hundred years ago, thought West, they would not have found me out. -Five hundred years ago I might not have realized the fact myself. - -Controlled mutation? Now that was something different. That was the -thing the government had in mind when it sent the commission here to -Pluto, taking advantage of the cold conditions to develop hormones that -might mutate the race. Hormones that might make a better race, that -might develop latent talents or even add entirely new characteristics -calculated to bring out the best that was in humanity. - -Controlled mutations, those were all right. It was only the wild -mutations that the government would fear. - -What if the members of the commission had developed a hormone and tried -it on themselves? - -His thought stopped short, pleased with the idea, with the possible -solution. - -Upon the bedpost the little monstrosity fingered its mouth, slobbering -gleefully. - -A knock came on the door. - -"Come in," called West. - -The door opened and a man came in. - -"I'm Belden," said the man. "Jim Belden. They told me you were here." - -"I'm glad to know you, Belden." - -"What's the game?" asked Belden. - -"No game," said West. - -"You got those two downstairs sold on you," Belden said. "They think -you're another great mind that has discovered the outside." - -"So they do," said West. "I'm very glad to know it." - -"They pointed out Annabelle to me," said Belden. "Said that was proof -you were one of us. But I recognized Annabelle. They didn't, but I did. -She's the one that Darling took along. You got her from Darling." - - * * * * * - -West stayed silent. There was no use in playing innocent with Belden, -for Belden had guessed too close to the truth. - -Belden lowered his voice. "You have the same hunch as I have. You -figure Darling's hormone is worth more than all this mummery going on -downstairs. And you're here to find it. I told Nevin that Darling's -hormone was the thing for us to find instead of messing around outside, -but he didn't think so. After we took Darling to the moon, Nevin -smashed the ship's controls. He was afraid I might get away, you see. -He didn't trust me and he couldn't afford to let me get away." - -"I'll trade with you," West told him quietly. - -"We'll go to the moon in your ship and see Darling," said Belden. -"We'll beat it out of him." - -West grinned wryly. "Darling's dead," he said. - -"Did you search the hut?" asked Belden. - -"Of course not. Why should I have searched it?" - -"It's there, then," said Belden, grimly. "Hidden in the hut somewhere. -I've turned this place upside down and I'm sure it isn't here. Neither -the formula nor the hormones themselves. Not unless Darling was -trickier than I thought he was." - -"You know what this hormone is," said West smoothly, trying to make it -sound as if he himself might know it. - -"No," said Belden shortly. "Darling didn't trust us. He was angry at -what Nevin was trying to do. And once he made a crack that the man who -had it could rule the Solar System. Darling wasn't kidding, West. He -knew more about hormones than all the rest of us put together." - -"Seems to me," West said drily, "that you would have wanted to keep a -man like that here. You certainly could have used him." - -"Nevin again," Belden told him. "Darling wouldn't go along with the -program that Nevin planned. Even threatened to expose him if he ever -had the chance. Nevin wanted to kill him, but Cartwright thought up a -joke ... he's jovial, Cartwright is." - -"I've noticed that," said West. - -"Cartwright thought up the exile business," Belden said. "Offered -Darling any one thing he wished to take along. One thing, you -understand. Just one thing. That's where the joke came in. Cartwright -expected Darling to go through agonies trying to make up his mind. But -there wasn't a moment's hesitation. Darling took the whisky." - -"He drank himself to death," said West. - -"Darling wasn't a drinking man," Belden told him, sharply. - -"It was suicide," said West. "Darling took you fellows down the line, -neatly, all the way. He was away ahead of you." - -A soft sound like the brushing of a bird's wing swung West around. - -Rosie was coming through the door, her wings half-raised, exposing -the hideousness of the furry, splotched body beneath the furry, -death's-head face. - -"No!" screamed Belden. "No! I wasn't going to do anything. I wasn't--" - -He backed away, arms outthrust to ward off the thing that walked toward -him, mouth still working, but no sound coming out. - -Rosie brushed West to one side with a flip of a furry wing and then -the wings spread wider and shielded Belden from West's view. The wings -clapped shut and from behind them came the muffled scream of the man. -Then nothing; silence. - -West's hand dropped to the holster and his gun came sliding out. -His thumb slammed down the activator and the gun purred like a -well-contented cat. - -The ermine of Rosie's wings turned black and she crumpled to the floor. -A sickening odor filled the room. - -"Belden!" cried West. He leaped forward, kicked the charred Rosie to -one side. Belden lay on the floor and West turned away retching. - -For a moment West stood in indecision, then swiftly he knew what he -must do. - -Showdown. He had hoped that it could be put off a little longer, until -he knew a little more, but the incident of Belden and Rosie had settled -it. There was nothing else to do. - -He strode through the door and down the winding staircase toward the -darkened room below. - -The painting, he saw, was lighted ... lighted as if from within itself. -As if the source of light lay within the painting, as if some other -sun shone upon the landscape that lay upon the canvas. The picture was -lighted, but the rest of the room was dark and the light did not come -out of the painting, but stayed there, imprisoned in the canvas. - -Something scuttled between West's feet and scuttered down the stairs. -It squeaked and its claws beat a tattoo on the steps. - -As West reached the bottom of the stairway a voice came out of the -darkness: - -"Are you looking for something, Mr. West?" - -"Yes, Cartwright," said West. "I am looking for you." - -"You must not be too concerned with what Rosie did," Cartwright said. -"Don't let it upset you. Belden had it coming to him for a long time. -He was scarcely one of us, really, never one of us. He pretended to go -along with us because it was the only way that he could save his life. -And life is such a small thing to consider. Don't you think so, Mr. -West?" - - - - - CHAPTER FOUR - - The Last Man - - -West stood silently at the bottom of the stairs. The room was too dark -to see anything, but the voice was coming from somewhere near the -table's end, close to the lighted painting. - -I may have to kill him, West was thinking, and I must know where he is. -For the first shot has to do it, there'll be no time for a second. - -"Rosie had no mind," the voice said out in the darkness. "That is, no -mind to speak of. But she was telepathic. Her brain picked up thoughts -and passed them on. And she could obey simple commands. Very simple -commands. And killing a man is so simple, Mr. West. - -"Rosie stood here beside me and I knew every word that you and Belden -said. I did not blame you, West, for you had no way of knowing what you -did. But I did blame Belden and I sent Rosie up to get him. - -"There's only one thing, West, that I hold against you. You should -not have killed Rosie. That was a great mistake, West, a very great -mistake." - -"It was no mistake," said West. "I did it on purpose." - -"Take it easy, Mr. West," said Cartwright. "Don't do anything that -might make me pull the trigger. Because I have a gun on you. Dead -center on you, West, and I never miss." - -"I'll give you odds," said West, "that I can get you before you can -pull the trigger." - -"Now, Mr. West," said Cartwright, "let's not get hot-headed about this. -Sure, you pulled a fast one on us. You tried to muscle in and you -almost sold us, although eventually we would have tripped you up. And -I admire your guts. Maybe we can work it out so no one will get killed." - -"Start talking," West told him. - -"It was too bad about Rosie," said Cartwright, "and I really hold that -against you, West, for we could have used Rosie to good advantage. But -after all, the work is started on the other planets and we still have -Stella. Our students are well grounded ... they can get along without -instructions for a little while and maybe by the time we need to get in -contact with them again we can find another one to replace our Rosie." - -"Quit wandering around," said West. "Let's hear what you have in mind." - -"Well," said Cartwright, "we're getting awfully short-handed. Belden's -dead and Darling's dead and if Robertson isn't dead by now he will be -very shortly. For after he took Stella to Earth, he tried to desert, -tried to run away. And that would never do, of course. He might tell -folks about us and we can't let anyone do that. For we are dead, you -see...." - -He chuckled, the chuckle rolling through the darkness. - -"It was a masterpiece, West, that broadcast. I was the last man alive -and I told them what had happened. I told them the spacetime continuum -had ruptured and things were coming through. And I gurgled ... I -gurgled just before I died." - -"You didn't really die, of course," West said, innocently. - -"Hell, no. But they think I did. And they still wake up screaming, -thinking how I must have died." - -Ham, thought West. Pure, unadulterated ham. A jokester who would maroon -a man to die on a lonely moon. A man who held a gun in his fist while -he bragged about the things he'd done ... about how he had outwitted -Earth. - -"You see," said Cartwright, "I had to make them believe that it really -happened. I had to make it so horrible that the government would never -make it public, so horrible they'd close the planet with an iron-tight -ban." - -"You had to be alone," said West. - -"That's right, West. We had to be alone." - -"Well," said West. "You've almost got it now. There's only two of you -alive." - -"The two of us," Cartwright said, "and you." - -"You forget, Cartwright," said West. "You're going to kill me. You've -got a gun pointed at me and you're all set to pull the trigger." - -"Not necessarily," said Cartwright. "We might make a deal." - -I've got him now, thought West. I know exactly where he is. I can't see -him, but I know where he is. And the pay-off is in a minute. It'll be -one of us or the other. - -"You aren't much use to us," said Cartwright, "but we might need you -later. You remember Langdon?" - -"The one that got lost," said West. - -Cartwright chuckled. "That's it, West. But he wasn't lost. We gave him -away. You see there was a--a--well, something, that could use him for a -pet and so we made it a present of Langdon." - -He chuckled again. "Langdon didn't like the idea too well, but what -were we to do?" - -"Cartwright," West said, evenly, "I'm going for my gun." - -"What's that--" said Cartwright, but the other words were blotted out -by the hissing of his gun, firing even as he talked. - -The beam hissed into the wall at the foot of the staircase, a spot that -had been covered only a split second before by West's head. - -But West had dropped to a crouch almost as he spoke and now his own gun -was in his fist, tilting up, solid in his hand. His thumb pressed the -activator and then slid off. - -Something dragged itself with heavy thumps across the floor and in the -stillness between the bumps, West heard the rasp of heavy breaths. - -"Damn you, West," said Cartwright. "Damn you...." - -"It's an old trick, Cartwright," said West, "that business of talking -to a man just before you kill him. Throwing him off guard, practically -ambushing him." - -Came a sound of cloth dragging over cloth, the whistling of painful -breath, the thump of knees and elbows on the floor. - -Then there was silence. - -And a moment later something in some far corner squeaked and ran on -pattering, rat-sounding feet. Then the silence again. - -The rat-feet were still, but there was another sound, a faint shout -as if someone far away were shouting ... from somewhere outside the -building, from somewhere outside ... from outside. - -West crouched close against the floor, huddling there, the muzzle of -the gun resting on the carpet. - -Outside ... outside ... outside.... - -The words hammered in his head. - -Outside of what, he asked, but he knew the answer now. He knew where -he had seen the picture of the thing that had slept in the chair and -the other thing that squatted on the bedpost. And he knew the sound of -chirping and of chittering and of running feet. - -Outside ... outside ... outside.... - -_Outside this world, of course._ - - * * * * * - -He raised his head and looked at the painting, and the tree still -glowed softly with its inner light, and from within it came a sound, a -faint thudding sound, the sound of running feet. - -The shout came again and the man was running down the path inside the -painting. A man who ran and waved his arms and shouted. - -The man was Nevin. - -Nevin was in the painting, running down the path, his padding feet -raising little puffs of dust along the pebbled path. - -West raised the pistol and his hand was trembling so that the muzzle -weaved back and forth and then described a circle. - -"Buck fever," said West. - -He said it through chattering teeth. - -For now he knew ... no he knew the answer. - -He put up his other hand and grasped the wrist of the hand that held -the gun and the muzzle steadied. West gritted his teeth together to -stop their chattering. - -His thumb went down against the activator and held it there and the -flame from the gun's muzzle spat out and mushroomed upon the painting. -Mushroomed until the entire canvas was a maelstrom of blue brilliance -that hissed and roared and licked with hungry tongues. - -Slowly the tree ran together, as if one's eyes might have blurred and -gone slightly out of focus. The landscape dimmed and jigged and ran in -little wavering lines. And through the wavering lines could be seen a -twisted and distorted man whose mouth seemed open in a howl of rage. -But there was no sound of howling, just the purring of the gun. - -With a tired little puff the mushrooming brilliance and the painting -were gone and the gun's pencil of flame was hissing through an empty -steel frame still filled with tiny glowing wires, spattering against -the wall behind it. - -West lifted his thumb and silence clamped down upon him, clamped down -and held the room ... as it held leagues of space stretching on all -sides. - -"No painting," said West. - -An echo seemed to run all around the room. - -"No painting," the echo said, but West knew it was no echo, just his -brain clicking off endlessly the words his lips had said. - -"No painting," the echo said, but West was in some other world, -some other place, some _otherwhere_. A machine that broke down the -spacetime continuum or whatever it was that separated Man's universe -from other, stranger universes. - -No wonder the fruit upon the tree had looked like the fruit upon the -table. No wonder he had thought that he heard the wind in the leaves. - -West stood up and moved to the wall behind him. He found a tumbler and -thumbed it up and the lights came on. - -In the light the smashed other-world machine was a sagging piece of -wreckage. Cartwright's body lay in the center of the room. A chittering -thing ran across the floor and ducked into the dark beneath a table. A -grinning face peeped out from behind a chair and squalled at West in -cold-boned savagery. - -And it was nothing new, for he had seen those faces before. Pictures of -them in old books and in magazines that published tales of soul-shaking -horror, tales of things that come from beyond, of entities that broke -in from outside. - -[Illustration: He had seen those faces before ... things that came from -beyond, entities that broke in from the outside....] - -Just tales to send one shivering to bed. Just stories that should not -be read at midnight. Stories that made one a little nervous when a tree -squeaked in the wind outside the window or the rain walked along the -shingles. - -It had taken the wizardry of the Solar System's best band of scientists -to open the door that led into the world beyond. - -And yet people in unknown, savage ages had talked of things like -these ... of goblin and incubus and imp. Perhaps men in Atlantis might -have found the way, even as Nevin and Cartwright had found the way. In -that long-gone day letting loose upon the world a flood of things that -for ages after had lived in chimney-corner stories to chill one to the -marrow. - -And the pictures he had seen? - -Ancestral memory, perhaps. Or a weird imaging that happened to be true. -Or had the writers of those stories, the painters of those pictures.... - -West shuddered from the thought. - -What was it Cartwright had said? _The work is started on the other -planets._ - -The work of passing along the knowledge, the principles, the psychology -of the alien things of _otherwhere_. Education by remote control ... -involuntary education. Stella, the telepathic Stella, singing back -on Earth, darling of the airways. And she was an agent for these -things ... she passed along the knowledge and a man would think it was -his own. - -That was it, of course, the thing that Nevin and Cartwright had -planned. Remake the world, they'd said. Sitting out on Pluto and -pulling strings that would remake the world. - -Superstitions once. Hard facts now. Stories once to make the blood run -cold. And now-- - -With the source dried up, with the screen empty, with the Pluto gang -wiped out, the cults would die and Stella would sing on, but there -would come a time when the listeners would turn away from Stella, when -her novelty wore off, when the strangeness and the alienness of her had -lost their appeal. - -The Solar System would go on thinking imp and incubus were no more than -shuddery imagery from the days when men crouched in caves and saw a -supernatural threat in every moving shadow. - -But it had been a narrow squeak. - -From a dark corner a thing mouthed at West in a shrill sing-song of -hate. - - * * * * * - -So this was it, thought West. Here he was, at the end of the Solar -System's trail, in an empty house. And it was, finally, as he had -hoped it would be. No one around. A storehouse full of food. Adequate -shelter. A shop where he could work. A place guarded by the patrol -against unwelcome callers. - -Just the place for a man who might be hiding. Just the place for a -fugitive from the human race. - -There were things to do ... later on. Two bodies to be given burial. -A screen to be cleaned up and thrown on a junk heap. A few chittering -things to be hunted down and killed. - -Then he could settle down. - -There were robots, of course. One had brought in the dinner. - -Later on, he said. - -But there was something else to do ... something to do immediately, if -he could just remember. - -He stood and looked around the room, cataloguing its contents. - -Chairs, drapes, a desk, the table, the imitation fireplace.... - -That was it, the fireplace. - -He walked across the room to stand in front of it. Reaching up, he took -down the bottle from the mantel, the bottle with the black silk bow -tied around its neck. The bottle for the last man's club. - -And he was the last man, there was no doubt of it. The very last of all. - -He had not been in the pact, of course, but he would carry out the -pact. It was melodrama, undoubtedly, but there are times, he told -himself, when a little melodrama may be excusable. - -He uncorked the bottle and swung around to face the room. He raised the -bottle in salute--salute to the gaping, blackened frame that had held -the painting, to the dead man on the floor, to the thing that mewed in -a far, dark corner. - -He tried to think of a word to say, but couldn't. And there had to be a -word to say, there simply had to be. - -"Mud in your eye," he said and it wasn't any good, but it would have to -do. - -He put the bottle to his lips and tipped it up and tilted back his head. - -Gagging, he snatched the bottle from his lips. - -It wasn't whisky and it was awful. It was gall and vinegar and quinine, -all rolled into one. It was a brew straight from the Pit. It was all -the bad medicine he had taken as a boy, it was sulphur and molasses, it -was castor oil, it was-- - -"Good God," said Frederick West. - -For suddenly he remembered the location of a knife he had lost twenty -years before. He saw it where he had left it, just as plain as day. - -He knew an equation he'd never known before, and what was more, he knew -what it was for and how it could be used. - -Unbidden, he visualized, in one comprehensive picture, just how a -rocket motor worked ... every detail, every piece, every control, like -a chart laid out before his eyes. - -He could capture and hold seven fence posts in his mental eye and four -was the best any human ever had been able to see _mentally_ before. - -He whooshed out his breath to air his mouth and stared at the bottle. - -Suddenly he was able to recite, word for word, the first page from a -book he had read ten years ago. - -"The hormones," he whispered. "Darling's hormones!" - -Hormones that did something to his brain. Speeded it up, made it work -better, made more of it work than had ever worked before. Made it think -cleaner and clearer than it had ever thought before. - -"Good Lord," he said. - -A head start to begin with. And now this! - -_The man who has it could rule the Solar System._ That was what Belden -had said about it. - -Belden had hunted for it. Had torn this place apart. And Darling had -hunted for it, too. Darling, who had thought he had it, who had played -a trick on Nevin and Cartwright so he could be sure he had it, who had -drank himself to death trying to find the bottle he had it in. - -And all these years the hormones had been in this bottle on the mantel! - -Someone else had played a trick on all of them. Langdon, maybe. -Langdon, who had been given away as a pet to a thing so monstrous that -even Cartwright had shrunk from naming it. - -With shaking hand, West put the bottle back on the mantel, placed the -cork beside it. For a moment he stood there, hands against the mantel, -gripping it, staring out the vision port beside the fireplace. Staring -down into the valley where a shadowy cylinder tilted upward from the -rocky planet, as if striving for the stars. - -The _Alpha Centauri_--the ship with the space drive that wouldn't work. -Something wrong ... something wrong.... - -A sob rose in West's throat and his hands tightened on the mantel with -a grip that hurt. - -He knew what was wrong! - -He had studied blueprints of the drive back on Earth. - -And now it was as if the blueprints were before his eyes again, for he -remembered them, each line, each symbol as if they were etched upon his -brain. - -He saw the trouble, the simple adjustment that would make the space -drive work. Ten minutes ... ten minutes would be all he needed. So -simple. So simple. So simple that it seemed beyond belief it had not -been found before, that all the great minds which had worked upon it -should not have seen it long ago. - -There had been a dream--a thing that he had not even dared to say -aloud, not even to himself. A thing he had not dared even to think -about. - -West straightened from the mantel and faced the room again. He took the -bottle and for a second time raised it in salute. - -But this time he had a toast for the dead men and the thing that -whimpered in the corner. - -"To the stars," he said. - -And he drank without gagging. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CALL FROM BEYOND *** - -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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Simak</p> -<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: The call from beyond</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Clifford D. Simak</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 7, 2022 [eBook #69308]</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 THE CALL FROM BEYOND ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>THE CALL FROM BEYOND</h1> - -<h2>By CLIFFORD D. SIMAK</h2> - -<p><i>Alone, accursed, he set out on the<br /> -long, dark voyage to the forbidden gateway<br /> -to worlds beyond life itself—restless<br /> -forever with an ultimate knowledge,<br /> -possessing which no man could die!</i></p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Super Science Stories May 1950.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">CHAPTER ONE</p> - -<p class="ph1">The Pyramid of Bottles</p> - - -<p>The pyramid was built of bottles, hundreds of bottles that flashed and -glinted as if with living fire, picking up and breaking up the misty -light that filtered from the distant sun and still more distant stars.</p> - -<p>Frederick West took a slow step forward, away from the open port of -his tiny ship. He shook his head and shut his eyes and opened them -again and the pyramid was still there. So it was no figment, as he had -feared, of his imagination, born in the darkness and the loneliness of -his flight from Earth.</p> - -<p>It was there and it was a crazy thing. Crazy because it should not be -there, at all. There should be nothing here on this almost unknown slab -of tumbling stone and metal.</p> - -<p>For no one lived on Pluto's moon. No one ever visited Pluto's moon. -Even he, himself, hadn't intended to until, circling it to have a look -before going on to Pluto, he had seen that brief flash of light, as -if someone might be signaling. It had been the pyramid, of course. He -knew that now. The stacked-up bottles catching and reflecting light.</p> - -<p>Behind the pyramid stood a space hut, squatted down among the jagged -boulders. But there was no movement, no sign of life. No one was -tumbling out of the entrance lock to welcome him. And that was strange, -he thought. For visitors must be rare, if, indeed, they came at all.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the pyramid really was a signaling device, although it would -be a clumsy way of signaling. More likely a madman's caprice. Come to -think of it, anyone who was sufficiently deranged to live on Pluto's -moon would be a fitting architect for a pyramid of bottles.</p> - -<p>The moon was so unimportant that it wasn't even named. The spacemen, on -those rare occasions when they mentioned it at all, simply called it -"Pluto's moon" and let it go at that.</p> - -<p>No one came out to this sector of space any more. Which, West told -himself parenthetically, is exactly why I came. For if you could slip -through the space patrol you would be absolutely safe. No one would -ever bother you.</p> - -<p>No one bothered Pluto these days. Not since the ban had been slapped on -it three years before, since the day the message had come through from -the scientists in the cold laboratories which had been set up several -years before that.</p> - -<p>No one came to the planet now. Especially with the space patrol on -guard ... although there were ways of slipping through. If one knew -where the patrol ships would be at certain times and build up one's -speed and shut off the engines, coasting on momentum in the shadow of -the planet, one could get to Pluto.</p> - -<p>West was near the pyramid now and he saw that it was built of whisky -bottles. All empty, very empty, their labels fresh and clear.</p> - -<p>West straightened up from staring at the bottles and advanced toward -the hut. Locating the lock, he pressed the button. There was no -response. He pressed it again. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the lock -swung in its seat. Swiftly he stepped inside and swung over the lever -that closed the outer lock, opened the inner one.</p> - -<p>Dim light oozed from the interior of the hut and through his earphones -West heard the dry rustle of tiny claws whispering across the floor. -Then a gurgling, like water running down a pipe.</p> - -<p>Heart in his mouth, thumb hooked close to the butt of his pistol, West -stepped quickly across the threshold of the lock.</p> - -<p>A man, clad in motheaten underwear, sat on the edge of the cot. His -hair was long and untrimmed, his whiskers sprouted in black ferocity. -From the mat of beard two eyes stared out, like animals brought to -bay in caves. A bony hand thrust out a whisky bottle in a gesture of -invitation.</p> - -<p>The whiskers moved and a croak came from them. "Have a snort," it said.</p> - -<p>West shook his head. "I don't drink."</p> - -<p>"I do," the whiskers said. The hand tilted the bottle and the bottle -gurgled.</p> - -<p>West glanced swiftly around the room. No radio. That made it simpler. -If there had been a radio he would have had to smash it. For, he -realized now, it had been a silly thing to do, stopping on this moon. -No one knew where he was ... and that was the way it should have stood.</p> - -<p>West snapped his visor up.</p> - -<p>"Drinking myself to death," the whiskers told him.</p> - -<p>West stared, astounded at the utter poverty, at the absolute squalor of -the place.</p> - -<p>"Three years," said the man. "Not a single sober breath in three solid -years." He hiccoughed. "Getting me," he said. His left hand came up and -thumped his shrunken chest. Lint flew from the ragged underwear. The -right hand still clutched the bottle.</p> - -<p>"Earth years," the whiskers explained. "Three Earth years. Not Pluto -years."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A thing that chattered came out of the shadows in one corner of the hut -and leaped upon the bed. It hunched itself beside the man and stared -leeringly at West, its mouth a slit that drooled across its face, its -puckered hide a horror in the sickly light.</p> - -<p>"Meet Annabelle," said the man. He whistled at the thing and it -clambered to his shoulder, cuddling against his cheek.</p> - -<p>West shivered at the sight.</p> - -<p>"Just passing through?" the man inquired.</p> - -<p>"My name is West," West told him. "Heading for Pluto."</p> - -<p>"Ask them to show you the painting," said the man. "Yes, you must see -the painting."</p> - -<p>"The painting?"</p> - -<p>"You deaf?" asked the man, belligerently. "I said a painting. You -understand—a picture."</p> - -<p>"I understand," said West. "But I didn't know there were any paintings -there. Didn't even know there was anybody there."</p> - -<p>"Sure there is," said the man. "There's Louis and—"</p> - -<p>He lifted the bottle and took a snort.</p> - -<p>"I got alcoholism," said the man. "Good thing, alcoholism. Keeps colds -away. Can't catch a cold when you got alcoholism. Kills you quicker -than a cold, though. Why, you might go on for years having colds—"</p> - -<p>"Look," urged West, "you have to tell me about Pluto. About who's -there. And the painting. How come you know about them?"</p> - -<p>The eyes regarded him with drunken cunning.</p> - -<p>"You'd have to do something for me. Couldn't give you information like -that out of the goodness of my heart."</p> - -<p>"Of course," agreed West. "Anything that you would like. You just name -it."</p> - -<p>"You got to take Annabelle out of here," the man told him. "Take her -back where she belongs. It isn't any place for a girl like her. No fit -life for her to lead. Living with a sodden wreck like me. Used to be a -great man once ... yes, sir, a great man. It all came of looking for a -bottle. One particular bottle. Had to sample all of them. Every last -one. And when I sampled them, there was nothing else to do but drink -them up. They'd spoil for sure if you let them stand around. And who -wants a lot of spoiled liquor cluttering up the place?"</p> - -<p>He took another shot.</p> - -<p>"Been at it ever since," he explained. "Almost got them now. Ain't many -of them left. Used to think that I'd find the right bottle before it -was too late and then everything would be all right. Wouldn't do me no -good to find it now, because I'm going to die. Enough left to last me, -though. Aim to die plastered. Happy way to die."</p> - -<p>"But what about those people on Pluto?" demanded West.</p> - -<p>The whiskers snickered. "I fooled them. They gave me my choice. Take -anything you want, they said. Big-hearted, you understand. Pals to the -very last. So I took the whisky. Cases of it. They didn't know, you -see. I tricked them."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure you did," said West. Tiny, icy feet ran up and down his -spine. For there was madness here, he knew, but madness with a pattern. -Somewhere, somehow, this twisted talk would fall into a pattern that -would make sense.</p> - -<p>"But something went wrong," the man declared. "Something went wrong."</p> - -<p>Silence whistled in the room.</p> - -<p>"You see, Mr. Best," the man declared. "I—"</p> - -<p>"West," said West. "Not Best. West."</p> - -<p>The man did not seem to notice. "I'm going to die, you understand. Any -minute, maybe. Got a liver and heart and either one could kill me. -Drinking does that to you. Never used to drink. Got into the habit when -I was sampling all these bottles. Got a taste for it. Then there wasn't -anything to do—"</p> - -<p>He hunched forward.</p> - -<p>"Promise you will take Annabelle," he croaked.</p> - -<p>Annabelle tittered at West, slobber drooling from her mouth.</p> - -<p>"But I can't take her back," West protested, "unless I know where she -came from. You have to tell me that."</p> - -<p>The man waggled a finger. "From far away," he croaked, "and yet not so -very far. Not so very far if you know the way."</p> - -<p>West eyed Annabelle with the gorge rising in his throat.</p> - -<p>"I will take her," he said. "But you have to tell me where."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Guest," said the man. He lifted the bottle and let it -gurgle.</p> - -<p>"Not Guest," said West, patiently. "My name is—"</p> - -<p>The man toppled forward off the bed, sprawled across the floor. The -bottle rolled crazily, spilling liquor in sporadic gushes.</p> - -<p>West leaped forward, knelt beside the man and lifted him. The whiskers -moved and a whisper came from their tangled depths, a gasping whisper -that was scarcely more than a waning breath.</p> - -<p>"Tell Louis that his painting—"</p> - -<p>"Louis?" yelled West. "Louis who? What about—"</p> - -<p>The whisper came again. "Tell him ... someday ... he'll paint a wrong -place and then...."</p> - -<p>Gently West laid the man back on the floor and stepped away. The whisky -bottle still rocked to and fro beneath a chair where it had come to -rest.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Something glinted at the head of the cot and West walked to where it -hung. It was a watch, a shining watch, polished with years of care. -It swung slowly from a leather thong tied to the rod that formed the -cot's head, where a man could reach out in the dark and read it.</p> - -<p>West took it in his hand and turned it over, saw the engraving that ran -across its back. Bending low, he read the inscription in the feeble -light.</p> - -<p class="ph1">To Walter J. Darling, from class of '16,<br /> -Mars Polytech.</p> - -<p>West straightened, understanding and disbelief stirring in his mind.</p> - -<p>Walter J. Darling, that huddle on the floor? Walter J. Darling, one -of the solar system's greatest biologists, dead in this filthy hut? -Darling, teacher for years at Mars Polytechnical Institute, that -shrunken, liquor-sodden corpse in shoddy underwear?</p> - -<p>West wiped his forehead with the back of his space-gloved hand. Darling -had been a member of that mysterious government commission assigned -to the cold laboratories on Pluto, sent there to develop artificial -hormones aimed at controlled mutation of the human race. A mission -that had been veiled in secrecy from the first because it was feared, -and rightly so, that revelation of its purpose might lead to outraged -protests from a humanity that could not imagine why it should be -improved biologically.</p> - -<p>A mission, thought West, that had set out in mystery and ended in -mystery, mystery that had sent whispers winging through the solar -system. Shuddery whispers.</p> - -<p>Louis? That would be Louis Nevin, another member of the Pluto -commission. He was the man Darling had tried to tell about just before -he died.</p> - -<p>And Nevin must still be out here on Pluto, must still be alive despite -the message that had come to Earth.</p> - -<p>But the painting didn't fit. Nevin wasn't an artist. He was a -biologist, scarcely second to Darling.</p> - -<p>The message of three years before had been a phony, then. There were -men still on the planet.</p> - -<p>And that meant, West told himself bitterly, that his own plan had gone -awry. For Pluto was the only place in the Solar System where there -would be food and shelter and to which no one would ever come.</p> - -<p>He remembered how he had planned it all so carefully ... how it had -seemed a perfect answer. There would be many years' supply of food -stacked in the storerooms, there would be comfortable living quarters, -and there would be tools and equipment should he ever need them. -And, of course, the Thing, whatever it might be. The horror that had -closed the planet, that had set the space patrol to guard the planet's -loneliness.</p> - -<p>But West had never been too concerned with what he might find on Pluto, -for whatever it might be, it could be no worse than the bitterness that -was his on Earth.</p> - -<p>There was something going on at the Pluto laboratories. Something that -the government didn't know about or that the government had suppressed -along with that now infamous report of three years before.</p> - -<p>Something that Darling could have told him had he wanted to ... or had -he been able. But now Walter J. Darling was past all telling. West -would have to find out by himself.</p> - -<p>West stepped to where he lay, lifted him to the cot and covered him -with a tattered blanket.</p> - -<p>Perched on the cot head, Annabelle chattered and giggled and drooled.</p> - -<p>"Come here, you," said West. "Come on over here."</p> - -<p>Annabelle came, slowly and coyly. West lifted her squeamishly, thrust -her into an outer pocket and zipped it shut. He started toward the -doorway.</p> - -<p>On the way out he picked the empty bottle from the floor, added it to -the pyramid outside.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">CHAPTER TWO</p> - -<p class="ph1">The White Singer</p> - - -<p>West's craft fled like a silvery shadow between the towering mountain -peaks shielding the only valley on Pluto that had ever known the tread -of Man.</p> - -<p>Coasting in on silent motors in the shadow of the planet, he had eluded -the patrol. Beyond the mountains he had thrown in the motors, had -braked the plunging ship almost to a crawl, taking the chance the flare -of the rockets might be seen by any of the patrol far out in space.</p> - -<p>And now, speed reduced, dropping in a long slant toward the -glass-smooth landing field, he huddled over the controls, keyed to -a free-fall landing, always dangerous at best. But it would be as -dangerous, he sensed, to advertise his coming with another rocket -blast. The field was long and smooth. If he hit it right and not too -far out, there would be plenty of room.</p> - -<p>The almost nonexistent atmosphere was a point in favor. There were no -eddies, no currents of air to deflect the ship, send it into a spin or -a dangerous wobble.</p> - -<p>Off to the right he caught a flash of light and his mind clicked the -split-second answer that it must be the laboratory.</p> - -<p>Then the ship was down, pancaking, hissing along the landing strip, -friction gripping the hull. It stopped just short of a jumbled pile -of rock and West let out his breath, felt his heart take up the beat -again. A few feet more....</p> - -<p>Locking the controls, he hung the key around his neck, pulled down the -visor of his space gear and let himself out of the ship.</p> - -<p>Across the field glowed the lights of the laboratory. He had not been -mistaken, then. He had seen the lights ... and men were here. Or could -he be mistaken? Those lights would have continued to function even -without attention. The fact that they were shining in the building was -no reason to conclude that men also were there.</p> - -<p>At the far end of the field loomed a massive structure and West knew -that it was the shops of the Alpha Centauri expedition, where men -had labored for two years to make the Henderson space drive work. -Somewhere, he knew, in the shadow of the star-lighted shops, was the -ship itself, the <i>Alpha Centauri</i>, left behind when the crew had given -up in despair and gone back to Earth. A ship designed to fly out to the -stars, to quit the Solar System and go into the void, spanning light -years as easily as an ordinary ship went from Earth to Mars.</p> - -<p>It hadn't gone, of course, but that didn't matter.</p> - -<p>"A symbol," West said to himself.</p> - -<p>That was what it was ... a symbol and a dream.</p> - -<p>And something, too, now that he was here, now that he could admit it, -that had lain in the back of his mind all the way from Earth.</p> - -<p>West shucked his belt around so that the pistol hung handy to his fist.</p> - -<p>If men were here ... or worse, if that message hadn't been a phony, he -might need the pistol. Although it was unlikely that the sort of thing -that he then would face would be vulnerable to a pistol.</p> - -<p>Shivering, he remembered that terse, secret report reposing in the -confidential archives back on Earth ... the transcription of the tense, -rasping voice that had come over the radio from Pluto, a voice that -told of dreadful things, of dying men and something that was loose. A -voice that had screamed a warning, then had gurgled and died out.</p> - -<p>It was after that that the ban had been put on the planet and the space -patrol sent out to quarantine the place.</p> - -<p>Mystery from the first, he thought ... beginning and the end. First -because the commission was seeking a hormone to effect controlled -mutations in the human race. And the race would resent such a thing, of -course, so it had to be a mystery.</p> - -<p>The human race, West thought bitterly, resents anything that deviates -from the norm. It used to stone the leper from the towns and it -smothered its madmen in deep featherbeds and it stares at a crippled -thing and its pity is a burning insult. And its fear ... oh, yes, its -fear!</p> - -<p>Slowly, carefully, West made his way across the landing strip. The -surface was smooth, so smooth that his space boots had little grip upon -it.</p> - -<p>On the rocky height above the field stood the laboratory, but West -turned back and stared out into space, as if he might be taking final -leave of someone that he knew.</p> - -<p>Earth, he said. Earth, can you hear me now?</p> - -<p>You need no longer fear me and you need not worry, for I shall not come -back.</p> - -<p>But the day will come when there are others like me. And there may be -even now.</p> - -<p>For you can't tell a mutant by the way he combs his hair, nor the way -he walks or talks. He sprouts no horns and he grows no tail and there's -no mark upon his forehead.</p> - -<p>But when you spot one, you must watch him carefully. You must spy -against him and set double-checks about him. And you must find a place -to put him where you'll be safe from anything he does ... but you must -not let him know. You must try him and sentence him and send him into -exile without his ever knowing it.</p> - -<p>Like, said West, you tried to do with me.</p> - -<p>But, said West, talking to the Earth, I didn't like your exile, so I -chose one of my own. Because I knew, you see. I knew when you began to -watch me and about the double-checks and the conferences and the plan -of action and there were times when I could hardly keep from laughing -in your face.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He stood for a long moment, staring into space, out where the Earth -swam somewhere in darkness around the star-like Sun.</p> - -<p>Bitter? he asked himself. And answered: No, not bitter. Not exactly -bitter.</p> - -<p>For you must understand, he said, still talking to the Earth, that a -man is human first and mutant after that. He is not a monster simply -because he is a mutant ... he is just a little different. He is human -in every way that you are human and it may be that he is human in more -ways than you are. For the human race as it stands today is the history -of long mutancy ... of men who were a little different, who thought a -little clearer, who felt a deeper compassion, who held an attribute -that was more human than the rest of their fellow men. And they passed -that clearer thinking and that deeper compassion on to sons and -daughters and the sons and daughters passed it on to some—not all—but -some of their sons and daughters. Thus the race grew up from savagery, -thus the human concept grew.</p> - -<p>Perhaps, he thought, my father was a mutant, a mutant that no one -suspected. Or it may have been my mother. And neither of them would -have been suspected. For my father was a farmer and if his mutancy had -made the crops grow a little better through his better understanding -of the soil or through a deeper feeling for the art of growing things, -who would there be to know that he was a mutant? He would simply have -been a better farmer than his neighbors. And if at night, when he read -the well-worn books that stood on the shelf in the dining room, he -understood those books and the things they meant to say better than -most other men, who was there to know?</p> - -<p>But I, he said, I was noticed. That is the crime of mutancy, to be -noticed. Like the Spartan boy whose crime of stealing a fox was no -crime at all, but whose cries when the fox ripped out his guts were a -crime indeed.</p> - -<p>I rose too fast, he thought. I cut through too much red tape. I -understood too well. And in governmental office you can not rise too -fast nor cut red tape nor understand too well. You must be as mediocre -as your fellow office-holders. You cannot point to a blueprint of a -rocket motor and say, "There is the trouble," when men who are better -trained than you cannot see the trouble. And you cannot devise a system -of production that will turn out two rocket motors for the price of -one in half the time. For that is not only being too efficient; it's -downright blasphemy.</p> - -<p>But most of all you cannot stand up in open meeting of government -policy makers and point out that mutancy is no crime in itself ... that -it only is a crime when it is wrongly used. Nor say that the world -would be better off if it used its mutants instead of being frightened -of them.</p> - -<p>Of course, if one knew one was a mutant, one would never say a thing -like that. And a mutant, knowing himself a mutant, never would point -out a thing that was wrong with a rocket engine. For a mutant has to -keep his mouth shut, has to act the mediocre man and arrive at the ends -he wishes by complex indirection.</p> - -<p>If I had only known, thought West. If I had only known in time. I could -have fooled them, as I hope many others even now are fooling them.</p> - -<p>But now he knew it was too late, too late to turn back to the life that -he had rejected, to go back and accept the dead-end trap that had been -fashioned for him ... a trap that would catch and hold him, where he -would be safe. And where the human race would be safe from him.</p> - -<p>West turned around and found the path that led up the rocky decline -toward the laboratory.</p> - -<p>A hulking figure stepped out of the shadows and challenged him.</p> - -<p>"Where do you think you're going?"</p> - -<p>West halted. "Just got in," he said. "Looking for a friend of mine. By -the name of Nevin."</p> - -<p>Inside the pocket of his suit, he felt Annabelle stirring restlessly. -Probably she was getting cold.</p> - -<p>"Nevin?" asked the man, a note of alarm chilling his voice. "What do -you want of Nevin?"</p> - -<p>"He's got a painting," West declared.</p> - -<p>The man's voice turned silky and dangerous. "How much do you know about -Nevin and his painting?"</p> - -<p>"Not much," said West. "That's why I'm here. Wanted to talk with him -about it."</p> - -<p>Annabelle turned a somersault inside West's zippered pocket. The man's -eyes caught the movement.</p> - -<p>"What you got in there?" he demanded, suspiciously.</p> - -<p>"Annabelle," said West. "She's—well, she's something like a skinned -rat, partly, with a face that's almost human, except it's practically -all mouth."</p> - -<p>"You don't say. Where did you get her?"</p> - -<p>"Found her," West told him.</p> - -<p>Laughter gurgled in the man's throat. "So you found her, eh? Can you -imagine that?"</p> - -<p>He reached out and took West by the arm.</p> - -<p>"Maybe we'll have a lot to talk about," he said. "We'll have to compare -our notes."</p> - -<p>Together they moved up the hillside, the man's gloved hand clutching -West by the arm.</p> - -<p>"You're Langdon," West hazarded, as casually as he could speak.</p> - -<p>The man chuckled. "Not Langdon. Langdon got lost."</p> - -<p>"That's tough," commented West. "Bad place to get lost on ... Pluto."</p> - -<p>"Not Pluto," said the man. "Somewhere else."</p> - -<p>"Maybe Darling, then ..." and he held his breath to hear the answer.</p> - -<p>"Darling left us," said the man. "I'm Cartwright. Burton Cartwright."</p> - -<p>On the top of the tiny plateau in front of the laboratory, they stopped -to catch their breath. The dim starlight painted the valley below with -silver tracery.</p> - -<p>West pointed. "That ship!"</p> - -<p>Cartwright chuckled. "You recognize it, eh? The <i>Alpha Centauri</i>."</p> - -<p>"They're still working on the drive, back on Earth," said West. -"Someday they'll get it."</p> - -<p>"I have no doubt of it," said Cartwright.</p> - -<p>He swung back toward the laboratory. "Let's go in. Dinner will be ready -soon."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The table was set with white cloth and shining silver that gleamed in -the light of the flickering dinner tapers. Sparkling wine glasses stood -in their proper places. The centerpiece was a bowl of fruit—but fruit -such as West had never seen before.</p> - -<p>Cartwright tilted a chair and dumped a thing that had been sleeping -there onto the floor.</p> - -<p>"Your place, Mr. West," he said.</p> - -<p>The thing uncoiled itself and glared at West with an eye of fishy -hatred, purred with lusty venom and slithered out of sight.</p> - -<p>Across the table Louis Nevin apologized. "The damn things keep sneaking -through all the time. I suppose, Mr. West, you have trouble with them, -too."</p> - -<p>"We tried rat traps," said Cartwright, "but they were too smart for -that. So we get along with them the best we can."</p> - -<p>West laughed to cover momentary confusion, but he found Nevin's eyes -upon him.</p> - -<p>"Annabelle," he said, "is the only one that ever bothered me."</p> - -<p>"You're lucky," Nevin told him. "They get to be pests. There is one of -them that insists on sleeping with me."</p> - -<p>"Where's Belden?" Cartwright asked.</p> - -<p>"He ate early," explained Nevin. "Said there were a few things he -wanted to get done. Asked to be excused."</p> - -<p>He said to West, "James Belden. Perhaps you've heard of him."</p> - -<p>West nodded.</p> - -<p>He pulled back his chair, started to sit down, then jerked erect.</p> - -<p>A woman had appeared in the doorway, a woman with violet eyes and -platinum hair and wrapped in an ermine opera cloak. She moved forward -and the light from the flaring tapers fell across her face. West -stiffened at the sight, felt the blood run cold as ice within his veins.</p> - -<p>For the face was not a woman's face. It was like a furry skull, like a -moth's face that had attempted to turn human and had stuck halfway.</p> - -<p>Down at the end of the table, Cartwright was chuckling.</p> - -<p>"You recognize her, Mr. West?"</p> - -<p>West clutched the back of his chair so hard that his knuckles suddenly -were white.</p> - -<p>"Of course I do," he said. "The White Singer. But how did you bring her -here?"</p> - -<p>"So that's what they call her back on Earth," said Nevin.</p> - -<p>"But her face," insisted West. "What's happened to her face?"</p> - -<p>"There were two of them," said Nevin. "One of them we sent to Earth. We -had to fix her up a bit. Plastic surgery, you know."</p> - -<p>"She sings," said Cartwright.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know," said West. "I've heard her sing. Or, at least the other -one ... the one you sent to Earth with the made-over face. She's driven -practically everything else off the air. All the networks carry her."</p> - -<p>Cartwright sighed. "I should like to hear her back on Earth," he said. -"She would sing differently there, you know, than she sang here."</p> - -<p>"They sing," interrupted Nevin, "only as they feel."</p> - -<p>"Firelight on the wall," said Cartwright, "and she'd sing like -firelight on the wall. Or the smell of lilacs in an April rain and her -music would be like the perfume of lilacs and the mist of rain along -the garden path."</p> - -<p>"We don't have rain or lilacs here," said Nevin and he looked, for a -moment, as if he were going to weep.</p> - -<p>Crazy, thought West. Crazy as a pair of bedbugs. Crazy as the man who'd -drunk himself to death out on Pluto's moon.</p> - -<p>And yet, perhaps not so crazy.</p> - -<p>"They have no mind," said Cartwright. "That is, no mind to speak of. -Just a bundle of nervous reactions, probably without the type of -sensory perceptions that we have, but more than likely with other -totally different sensory perceptions to make up for it. Sensitive -things. Music to them is an expression of sensory impressions. They -can't help the way they sing any more than a moth can help killing -himself against a candle-flame. And they're naturally telepathic. They -pick up thoughts and pass them along. Retain none of the thought, you -understand, just pass it along. Like old fashioned telephone wires. -Thoughts that listeners, under the spell of music, would pick up and -accept."</p> - -<p>"And the beauty of it is," said Nevin, "is that if a listener ever -became conscious of those thoughts afterward and wondered about them, -he would be convinced that they were his own, that he had had them all -the time."</p> - -<p>"Clever, eh?" asked Cartwright.</p> - -<p>West let out his breath. "Clever, yes. I didn't think you fellows had -it in you."</p> - -<p>West wanted to shiver and found he couldn't and the shiver built up and -up until it seemed his tautened nerves would snap.</p> - -<p>Cartwright was speaking. "So our Stella is doing all right."</p> - -<p>"What's that?" asked West.</p> - -<p>"Stella. The other one of them. The one with the face."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I see," said West. "I didn't know her name was Stella. No one, in -fact, knows anything about her. She suddenly appeared one night as a -surprise feature on one of the networks. She was announced as a mystery -singer, and then people began calling her the White Singer. She always -sang in dim, blue light, you see, and no one ever saw her face too -plainly, although everyone imagined, of course, that it was beautiful.</p> - -<p>"The network made no bones about her being an alien being. She was -represented as a member of a mystery race that Juston Lloyd had found -in the Asteroids. You remember Lloyd, the New York press agent."</p> - -<p>Nevin was leaning across the table. "And the people, the government, it -does not suspect?"</p> - -<p>West shook his head. "Why should it? Your Stella is a wonder. Everyone -is batty over her. The newspapers went wild. The movie people—"</p> - -<p>"And the cults?"</p> - -<p>"The cults," said West, "are doing fine."</p> - -<p>"And you?" asked Cartwright and in the man's rumbling voice West felt -the challenge.</p> - -<p>"I found out," he said, "I came here to get cut in."</p> - -<p>"You know exactly what you are asking?"</p> - -<p>"I do," said West, wishing that he did.</p> - -<p>"A new philosophy," said Cartwright. "A new concept of life. New paths -for progress. Secrets the human race never has suspected. Remaking the -human civilization almost overnight."</p> - -<p>"And you," said West, "right at the center, pulling all the strings."</p> - -<p>"So," said Cartwright.</p> - -<p>"I want a few to pull myself."</p> - -<p>Nevin held up his hand. "Just a minute, Mr. West. We would like to know -just how—"</p> - -<p>Cartwright laughed at him. "Forget it, Louis. He knew about your -painting. He had Annabelle. Where do you suppose he found out?"</p> - -<p>"But—but—" said Nevin.</p> - -<p>"Maybe he didn't use a painting," Cartwright declared. "Maybe he used -other methods. After all, there are others, you know. Thousands of -years ago men knew of the place we found. Mu, probably. Atlantis. Some -other forgotten civilization. Just the fact that West had Annabelle is -enough for me. He must have been there."</p> - -<p>West smiled, relieved. "I used other methods," he told them.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">CHAPTER THREE</p> - -<p class="ph1">The Painting</p> - - -<p>A robot came in, wheeling a tray with steaming dishes.</p> - -<p>"Let's sit down," suggested Nevin.</p> - -<p>"Just one thing," asked West. "How did you get Stella back to Earth? -None of you could have taken her. You'd have been recognized."</p> - -<p>Cartwright chuckled. "Robertson," he said. "We had one ship and he -slipped out. As to the recognition, Belden is our physician. He also, -if you remember, is a plastic surgeon of no mean ability."</p> - -<p>"He did the job," said Nevin, "for both Robertson and Stella."</p> - -<p>"Nearly skinned us alive," grumbled Cartwright, "to get enough to do -the work, I'll always think that he took more than he really needed, -just for spite. He's a moody beggar."</p> - -<p>Nevin changed the subject. "Shall we have Rosie sit with us?"</p> - -<p>"Rosie?" asked West.</p> - -<p>"Rosie is Stella's sister. We don't know the exact relationship, but we -call her that for convenience."</p> - -<p>"There are times," explained Cartwright, "when we forget her face and -let her sit at the table's head, as if she were one of us. As if she -were our hostess. She looks remarkably like a woman, you know. Those -wings of hers are like an ermine cape, and that platinum hair. She -lends something to the table ... a sort of—"</p> - -<p>"An illusion of gentility," said Nevin.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps we'd better not tonight," decided Cartwright. "Mr. West is not -used to her. After he's been here awhile—"</p> - -<p>He stopped and looked aghast.</p> - -<p>"We've forgotten something," he announced.</p> - -<p>He rose and strode around the table to the imitation fireplace and took -down a bottle that stood on the mantelpiece—a bottle with a black -silk bow tied around its neck. Ceremoniously, he set it in the center -of the table, beside the bowl of fruit.</p> - -<p>"It's a little joke we have," said Nevin.</p> - -<p>"Scarcely a joke," contradicted Cartwright.</p> - -<p>West looked puzzled. "A bottle of whisky?"</p> - -<p>"But a special bottle," Cartwright said. "A very special bottle. -Back in the old days we formed a last man's club, jokingly. This -bottle was to be the one the last man would drink. It made us feel so -adventuresome and brave and we laughed about it while we labored to -find hormones. For, you see, none of us thought it would ever come to -pass."</p> - -<p>"But now," said Nevin, "there are only three of us."</p> - -<p>"You are wrong," Cartwright reminded him. "There are four."</p> - -<p>Both of them looked at West.</p> - -<p>"Of course," decided Nevin. "There are four of us."</p> - -<p>Cartwright spread the napkin in his lap. "Perhaps, Louis, we might as -well let Mr. West see the painting."</p> - -<p>Nevin hesitated. "I'm not quite satisfied, Cartwright...."</p> - -<p>Cartwright clucked his tongue. "You're too suspicious, Louis. He had -the creature, didn't he? He knew about your painting. There was only -one way that he could have learned."</p> - -<p>Nevin considered. "I suppose you're right," he said.</p> - -<p>"And if Mr. West should, by any chance, turn out to be an impostor," -said Cartwright, cheerfully, "we can always take the proper steps."</p> - -<p>Nevin said to West: "I hope you understand."</p> - -<p>"Perfectly," said West.</p> - -<p>"We must be very careful," Nevin pointed out. "So few would understand."</p> - -<p>"So very few," said West.</p> - -<p>Nevin stepped across the room and pulled a cord that hung along the -wall. One of the tapestries rolled smoothly back, fold on heavy fold. -West, watching, held his breath at what he saw.</p> - -<p>A tree stood in the foreground, laden with golden fruit, fruit that -looked exactly like some of that in the bowl upon the table. As if -someone had just stepped into the painting and picked it fresh for -dinner.</p> - -<p>Under the tree ran a path, coming up to the very edge of the canvas in -such detail that even the tiny pebbles strewn upon it were clear to the -eye. And from the tree the path ran back against a sweep of background, -climbing into wooded hills.</p> - -<p>For the flicker of a passing second, West could have sworn that he -heard the whisper of wind in the leaves of the fruit-laden tree, that -he saw the leaves tremble in the wind, that he smelled the fragrance of -little flowers that bloomed along the path.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr. West?" Nevin asked, triumphantly.</p> - -<p>"Why," said West, ears still cocked for the sound of wind in leaves -again. "Why, it almost seems as if one could step over and walk -straight down that path."</p> - -<p>Nevin sucked in his breath with a sound that was neither gasp nor sigh, -but somewhere in between. Down at the end of the table, Cartwright was -choking on his wine, chuckling laughter bubbling out between his lips -despite all his efforts to keep it bottled up.</p> - -<p>"Nevin," asked West, "have you ever thought of making another painting?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," said Nevin. "Why do you ask?"</p> - -<p>West smiled. Through his brain words were drumming, words that he -remembered, words a man had whispered just before he died.</p> - -<p>"I was just thinking," said West, "of what might happen if you should -paint the wrong place sometime."</p> - -<p>"By Lord," yelled Cartwright, "he's got you there, Nevin. The exact -words I've been telling you."</p> - -<p>Nevin started to rise from the table, and even as he did the rustling -whisper of music filled the room. Music that relaxed Nevin's hands from -their grip upon the table's edge, music that swept the sudden chill -from between West's shoulderblades.</p> - -<p>Music that told of keen-toothed space and the blaze of stars. Music -that had the whisper of rockets and the quietness of the void and the -somber arches of eternal night.</p> - -<p>Rosie was singing.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>West sat on the edge of his bed and knew that he had been lucky to -break away before there could be more questions asked. So far, he was -certain, he'd answered those they asked without arousing too much -suspicion, but the longer a thing like that went on the more likely a -man was to make some slight mistake.</p> - -<p>Now he would have time to think, time to try to untangle and put -together some of the facts as they now appeared.</p> - -<p>One of the minor monstrosities that infested the place climbed the -bedpost and perched upon it, wrapping its long tail about it many -times. It chittered at West and West looked at it and shuddered, -wondering if it were making a face at him or if it really looked that -way.</p> - -<p>These slithery, chittering things ... he'd heard of them somewhere -before. He knew that. He'd even seen pictures of them at some time. -Some other time and place, very long ago. Things like Annabelle and the -creature Cartwright had dumped off the chair and the little satanic -being that perched upon the bedstead.</p> - -<p>That was funny, the thing Nevin had said about them ... <i>they keep -sneaking through</i> ... not sneaking in, but through.</p> - -<p>Nothing added up. Not even Nevin and Cartwright. For there was about -them some subtle tinge of character not human in its texture.</p> - -<p>They had been working with hormones when something had happened that -occasioned the warning sent to Earth. Or had there been a warning? Had -the warning been a fake? Was there something going on here the Solar -government didn't want anyone to know?</p> - -<p>Why had they sent Stella to Earth? Why were they so pleased that -she was so well received? What was it Nevin had asked ... and <i>the -government, it does not suspect</i>? Why should the government suspect? -What was there for it to suspect? Just a mindless creature that sang -like the bells of heaven.</p> - -<p>That hormone business, now. Hormones did funny things to people.</p> - -<p>I should know, said West, talking to himself.</p> - -<p>A little faster and a little quicker. A mental shortcut here and there. -And you scarcely know, yourself, that you are any different. That's how -the race develops. A mutation here and another there and in a thousand -years or two a certain percentage of the race is not what the race had -been a thousand years before.</p> - -<p>Maybe it was a mutation back in the Old Stone Age who struck two flints -together and made himself a fire. Maybe another mutant who dreamed up a -wheel and took a stoneboat and changed it to a wagon.</p> - -<p>Slowly, he said, it would have to be slowly. Just a little at a time. -For if it were too much, if it were noticeable, the other humans would -kill off each mutation as it became apparent. For the human race cannot -tolerate divergence from the norm, even though mutation is the process -by which the race develops.</p> - -<p>The race doesn't kill the mutants any more. It confines them to mental -institutions or it forces them into such dead-ends of expression as art -or music, or it finds nice friendly exiles for them, where they will -be comfortable and have a job to do and where, the normal humans hope, -they'll never know what they are.</p> - -<p>It's harder to be different now, he thought, harder to be a mutant and -escape detection, what with the medical boards and the psychiatrists -and all the other scientific mumbo-jumbo the humans have set up to -guard their peace of mind.</p> - -<p>Five hundred years ago, thought West, they would not have found me out. -Five hundred years ago I might not have realized the fact myself.</p> - -<p>Controlled mutation? Now that was something different. That was the -thing the government had in mind when it sent the commission here to -Pluto, taking advantage of the cold conditions to develop hormones that -might mutate the race. Hormones that might make a better race, that -might develop latent talents or even add entirely new characteristics -calculated to bring out the best that was in humanity.</p> - -<p>Controlled mutations, those were all right. It was only the wild -mutations that the government would fear.</p> - -<p>What if the members of the commission had developed a hormone and tried -it on themselves?</p> - -<p>His thought stopped short, pleased with the idea, with the possible -solution.</p> - -<p>Upon the bedpost the little monstrosity fingered its mouth, slobbering -gleefully.</p> - -<p>A knock came on the door.</p> - -<p>"Come in," called West.</p> - -<p>The door opened and a man came in.</p> - -<p>"I'm Belden," said the man. "Jim Belden. They told me you were here."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad to know you, Belden."</p> - -<p>"What's the game?" asked Belden.</p> - -<p>"No game," said West.</p> - -<p>"You got those two downstairs sold on you," Belden said. "They think -you're another great mind that has discovered the outside."</p> - -<p>"So they do," said West. "I'm very glad to know it."</p> - -<p>"They pointed out Annabelle to me," said Belden. "Said that was proof -you were one of us. But I recognized Annabelle. They didn't, but I did. -She's the one that Darling took along. You got her from Darling."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>West stayed silent. There was no use in playing innocent with Belden, -for Belden had guessed too close to the truth.</p> - -<p>Belden lowered his voice. "You have the same hunch as I have. You -figure Darling's hormone is worth more than all this mummery going on -downstairs. And you're here to find it. I told Nevin that Darling's -hormone was the thing for us to find instead of messing around outside, -but he didn't think so. After we took Darling to the moon, Nevin -smashed the ship's controls. He was afraid I might get away, you see. -He didn't trust me and he couldn't afford to let me get away."</p> - -<p>"I'll trade with you," West told him quietly.</p> - -<p>"We'll go to the moon in your ship and see Darling," said Belden. -"We'll beat it out of him."</p> - -<p>West grinned wryly. "Darling's dead," he said.</p> - -<p>"Did you search the hut?" asked Belden.</p> - -<p>"Of course not. Why should I have searched it?"</p> - -<p>"It's there, then," said Belden, grimly. "Hidden in the hut somewhere. -I've turned this place upside down and I'm sure it isn't here. Neither -the formula nor the hormones themselves. Not unless Darling was -trickier than I thought he was."</p> - -<p>"You know what this hormone is," said West smoothly, trying to make it -sound as if he himself might know it.</p> - -<p>"No," said Belden shortly. "Darling didn't trust us. He was angry at -what Nevin was trying to do. And once he made a crack that the man who -had it could rule the Solar System. Darling wasn't kidding, West. He -knew more about hormones than all the rest of us put together."</p> - -<p>"Seems to me," West said drily, "that you would have wanted to keep a -man like that here. You certainly could have used him."</p> - -<p>"Nevin again," Belden told him. "Darling wouldn't go along with the -program that Nevin planned. Even threatened to expose him if he ever -had the chance. Nevin wanted to kill him, but Cartwright thought up a -joke ... he's jovial, Cartwright is."</p> - -<p>"I've noticed that," said West.</p> - -<p>"Cartwright thought up the exile business," Belden said. "Offered -Darling any one thing he wished to take along. One thing, you -understand. Just one thing. That's where the joke came in. Cartwright -expected Darling to go through agonies trying to make up his mind. But -there wasn't a moment's hesitation. Darling took the whisky."</p> - -<p>"He drank himself to death," said West.</p> - -<p>"Darling wasn't a drinking man," Belden told him, sharply.</p> - -<p>"It was suicide," said West. "Darling took you fellows down the line, -neatly, all the way. He was away ahead of you."</p> - -<p>A soft sound like the brushing of a bird's wing swung West around.</p> - -<p>Rosie was coming through the door, her wings half-raised, exposing -the hideousness of the furry, splotched body beneath the furry, -death's-head face.</p> - -<p>"No!" screamed Belden. "No! I wasn't going to do anything. I wasn't—"</p> - -<p>He backed away, arms outthrust to ward off the thing that walked toward -him, mouth still working, but no sound coming out.</p> - -<p>Rosie brushed West to one side with a flip of a furry wing and then -the wings spread wider and shielded Belden from West's view. The wings -clapped shut and from behind them came the muffled scream of the man. -Then nothing; silence.</p> - -<p>West's hand dropped to the holster and his gun came sliding out. -His thumb slammed down the activator and the gun purred like a -well-contented cat.</p> - -<p>The ermine of Rosie's wings turned black and she crumpled to the floor. -A sickening odor filled the room.</p> - -<p>"Belden!" cried West. He leaped forward, kicked the charred Rosie to -one side. Belden lay on the floor and West turned away retching.</p> - -<p>For a moment West stood in indecision, then swiftly he knew what he -must do.</p> - -<p>Showdown. He had hoped that it could be put off a little longer, until -he knew a little more, but the incident of Belden and Rosie had settled -it. There was nothing else to do.</p> - -<p>He strode through the door and down the winding staircase toward the -darkened room below.</p> - -<p>The painting, he saw, was lighted ... lighted as if from within itself. -As if the source of light lay within the painting, as if some other -sun shone upon the landscape that lay upon the canvas. The picture was -lighted, but the rest of the room was dark and the light did not come -out of the painting, but stayed there, imprisoned in the canvas.</p> - -<p>Something scuttled between West's feet and scuttered down the stairs. -It squeaked and its claws beat a tattoo on the steps.</p> - -<p>As West reached the bottom of the stairway a voice came out of the -darkness:</p> - -<p>"Are you looking for something, Mr. West?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Cartwright," said West. "I am looking for you."</p> - -<p>"You must not be too concerned with what Rosie did," Cartwright said. -"Don't let it upset you. Belden had it coming to him for a long time. -He was scarcely one of us, really, never one of us. He pretended to go -along with us because it was the only way that he could save his life. -And life is such a small thing to consider. Don't you think so, Mr. -West?"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">CHAPTER FOUR</p> - -<p class="ph1">The Last Man</p> - - -<p>West stood silently at the bottom of the stairs. The room was too dark -to see anything, but the voice was coming from somewhere near the -table's end, close to the lighted painting.</p> - -<p>I may have to kill him, West was thinking, and I must know where he is. -For the first shot has to do it, there'll be no time for a second.</p> - -<p>"Rosie had no mind," the voice said out in the darkness. "That is, no -mind to speak of. But she was telepathic. Her brain picked up thoughts -and passed them on. And she could obey simple commands. Very simple -commands. And killing a man is so simple, Mr. West.</p> - -<p>"Rosie stood here beside me and I knew every word that you and Belden -said. I did not blame you, West, for you had no way of knowing what you -did. But I did blame Belden and I sent Rosie up to get him.</p> - -<p>"There's only one thing, West, that I hold against you. You should -not have killed Rosie. That was a great mistake, West, a very great -mistake."</p> - -<p>"It was no mistake," said West. "I did it on purpose."</p> - -<p>"Take it easy, Mr. West," said Cartwright. "Don't do anything that -might make me pull the trigger. Because I have a gun on you. Dead -center on you, West, and I never miss."</p> - -<p>"I'll give you odds," said West, "that I can get you before you can -pull the trigger."</p> - -<p>"Now, Mr. West," said Cartwright, "let's not get hot-headed about this. -Sure, you pulled a fast one on us. You tried to muscle in and you -almost sold us, although eventually we would have tripped you up. And -I admire your guts. Maybe we can work it out so no one will get killed."</p> - -<p>"Start talking," West told him.</p> - -<p>"It was too bad about Rosie," said Cartwright, "and I really hold that -against you, West, for we could have used Rosie to good advantage. But -after all, the work is started on the other planets and we still have -Stella. Our students are well grounded ... they can get along without -instructions for a little while and maybe by the time we need to get in -contact with them again we can find another one to replace our Rosie."</p> - -<p>"Quit wandering around," said West. "Let's hear what you have in mind."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Cartwright, "we're getting awfully short-handed. Belden's -dead and Darling's dead and if Robertson isn't dead by now he will be -very shortly. For after he took Stella to Earth, he tried to desert, -tried to run away. And that would never do, of course. He might tell -folks about us and we can't let anyone do that. For we are dead, you -see...."</p> - -<p>He chuckled, the chuckle rolling through the darkness.</p> - -<p>"It was a masterpiece, West, that broadcast. I was the last man alive -and I told them what had happened. I told them the spacetime continuum -had ruptured and things were coming through. And I gurgled ... I -gurgled just before I died."</p> - -<p>"You didn't really die, of course," West said, innocently.</p> - -<p>"Hell, no. But they think I did. And they still wake up screaming, -thinking how I must have died."</p> - -<p>Ham, thought West. Pure, unadulterated ham. A jokester who would maroon -a man to die on a lonely moon. A man who held a gun in his fist while -he bragged about the things he'd done ... about how he had outwitted -Earth.</p> - -<p>"You see," said Cartwright, "I had to make them believe that it really -happened. I had to make it so horrible that the government would never -make it public, so horrible they'd close the planet with an iron-tight -ban."</p> - -<p>"You had to be alone," said West.</p> - -<p>"That's right, West. We had to be alone."</p> - -<p>"Well," said West. "You've almost got it now. There's only two of you -alive."</p> - -<p>"The two of us," Cartwright said, "and you."</p> - -<p>"You forget, Cartwright," said West. "You're going to kill me. You've -got a gun pointed at me and you're all set to pull the trigger."</p> - -<p>"Not necessarily," said Cartwright. "We might make a deal."</p> - -<p>I've got him now, thought West. I know exactly where he is. I can't see -him, but I know where he is. And the pay-off is in a minute. It'll be -one of us or the other.</p> - -<p>"You aren't much use to us," said Cartwright, "but we might need you -later. You remember Langdon?"</p> - -<p>"The one that got lost," said West.</p> - -<p>Cartwright chuckled. "That's it, West. But he wasn't lost. We gave him -away. You see there was a—a—well, something, that could use him for a -pet and so we made it a present of Langdon."</p> - -<p>He chuckled again. "Langdon didn't like the idea too well, but what -were we to do?"</p> - -<p>"Cartwright," West said, evenly, "I'm going for my gun."</p> - -<p>"What's that—" said Cartwright, but the other words were blotted out -by the hissing of his gun, firing even as he talked.</p> - -<p>The beam hissed into the wall at the foot of the staircase, a spot that -had been covered only a split second before by West's head.</p> - -<p>But West had dropped to a crouch almost as he spoke and now his own gun -was in his fist, tilting up, solid in his hand. His thumb pressed the -activator and then slid off.</p> - -<p>Something dragged itself with heavy thumps across the floor and in the -stillness between the bumps, West heard the rasp of heavy breaths.</p> - -<p>"Damn you, West," said Cartwright. "Damn you...."</p> - -<p>"It's an old trick, Cartwright," said West, "that business of talking -to a man just before you kill him. Throwing him off guard, practically -ambushing him."</p> - -<p>Came a sound of cloth dragging over cloth, the whistling of painful -breath, the thump of knees and elbows on the floor.</p> - -<p>Then there was silence.</p> - -<p>And a moment later something in some far corner squeaked and ran on -pattering, rat-sounding feet. Then the silence again.</p> - -<p>The rat-feet were still, but there was another sound, a faint shout -as if someone far away were shouting ... from somewhere outside the -building, from somewhere outside ... from outside.</p> - -<p>West crouched close against the floor, huddling there, the muzzle of -the gun resting on the carpet.</p> - -<p>Outside ... outside ... outside....</p> - -<p>The words hammered in his head.</p> - -<p>Outside of what, he asked, but he knew the answer now. He knew where -he had seen the picture of the thing that had slept in the chair and -the other thing that squatted on the bedpost. And he knew the sound of -chirping and of chittering and of running feet.</p> - -<p>Outside ... outside ... outside....</p> - -<p><i>Outside this world, of course.</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He raised his head and looked at the painting, and the tree still -glowed softly with its inner light, and from within it came a sound, a -faint thudding sound, the sound of running feet.</p> - -<p>The shout came again and the man was running down the path inside the -painting. A man who ran and waved his arms and shouted.</p> - -<p>The man was Nevin.</p> - -<p>Nevin was in the painting, running down the path, his padding feet -raising little puffs of dust along the pebbled path.</p> - -<p>West raised the pistol and his hand was trembling so that the muzzle -weaved back and forth and then described a circle.</p> - -<p>"Buck fever," said West.</p> - -<p>He said it through chattering teeth.</p> - -<p>For now he knew ... no he knew the answer.</p> - -<p>He put up his other hand and grasped the wrist of the hand that held -the gun and the muzzle steadied. West gritted his teeth together to -stop their chattering.</p> - -<p>His thumb went down against the activator and held it there and the -flame from the gun's muzzle spat out and mushroomed upon the painting. -Mushroomed until the entire canvas was a maelstrom of blue brilliance -that hissed and roared and licked with hungry tongues.</p> - -<p>Slowly the tree ran together, as if one's eyes might have blurred and -gone slightly out of focus. The landscape dimmed and jigged and ran in -little wavering lines. And through the wavering lines could be seen a -twisted and distorted man whose mouth seemed open in a howl of rage. -But there was no sound of howling, just the purring of the gun.</p> - -<p>With a tired little puff the mushrooming brilliance and the painting -were gone and the gun's pencil of flame was hissing through an empty -steel frame still filled with tiny glowing wires, spattering against -the wall behind it.</p> - -<p>West lifted his thumb and silence clamped down upon him, clamped down -and held the room ... as it held leagues of space stretching on all -sides.</p> - -<p>"No painting," said West.</p> - -<p>An echo seemed to run all around the room.</p> - -<p>"No painting," the echo said, but West knew it was no echo, just his -brain clicking off endlessly the words his lips had said.</p> - -<p>"No painting," the echo said, but West was in some other world, -some other place, some <i>otherwhere</i>. A machine that broke down the -spacetime continuum or whatever it was that separated Man's universe -from other, stranger universes.</p> - -<p>No wonder the fruit upon the tree had looked like the fruit upon the -table. No wonder he had thought that he heard the wind in the leaves.</p> - -<p>West stood up and moved to the wall behind him. He found a tumbler and -thumbed it up and the lights came on.</p> - -<p>In the light the smashed other-world machine was a sagging piece of -wreckage. Cartwright's body lay in the center of the room. A chittering -thing ran across the floor and ducked into the dark beneath a table. A -grinning face peeped out from behind a chair and squalled at West in -cold-boned savagery.</p> - -<p>And it was nothing new, for he had seen those faces before. Pictures of -them in old books and in magazines that published tales of soul-shaking -horror, tales of things that come from beyond, of entities that broke -in from outside.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> - <div class="caption"> - <p>He had seen those faces before ... things that came from beyond, entities that broke in from the outside....</p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Just tales to send one shivering to bed. Just stories that should not -be read at midnight. Stories that made one a little nervous when a tree -squeaked in the wind outside the window or the rain walked along the -shingles.</p> - -<p>It had taken the wizardry of the Solar System's best band of scientists -to open the door that led into the world beyond.</p> - -<p>And yet people in unknown, savage ages had talked of things like -these ... of goblin and incubus and imp. Perhaps men in Atlantis might -have found the way, even as Nevin and Cartwright had found the way. In -that long-gone day letting loose upon the world a flood of things that -for ages after had lived in chimney-corner stories to chill one to the -marrow.</p> - -<p>And the pictures he had seen?</p> - -<p>Ancestral memory, perhaps. Or a weird imaging that happened to be true. -Or had the writers of those stories, the painters of those pictures....</p> - -<p>West shuddered from the thought.</p> - -<p>What was it Cartwright had said? <i>The work is started on the other -planets.</i></p> - -<p>The work of passing along the knowledge, the principles, the psychology -of the alien things of <i>otherwhere</i>. Education by remote control ... -involuntary education. Stella, the telepathic Stella, singing back -on Earth, darling of the airways. And she was an agent for these -things ... she passed along the knowledge and a man would think it was -his own.</p> - -<p>That was it, of course, the thing that Nevin and Cartwright had -planned. Remake the world, they'd said. Sitting out on Pluto and -pulling strings that would remake the world.</p> - -<p>Superstitions once. Hard facts now. Stories once to make the blood run -cold. And now—</p> - -<p>With the source dried up, with the screen empty, with the Pluto gang -wiped out, the cults would die and Stella would sing on, but there -would come a time when the listeners would turn away from Stella, when -her novelty wore off, when the strangeness and the alienness of her had -lost their appeal.</p> - -<p>The Solar System would go on thinking imp and incubus were no more than -shuddery imagery from the days when men crouched in caves and saw a -supernatural threat in every moving shadow.</p> - -<p>But it had been a narrow squeak.</p> - -<p>From a dark corner a thing mouthed at West in a shrill sing-song of -hate.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>So this was it, thought West. Here he was, at the end of the Solar -System's trail, in an empty house. And it was, finally, as he had -hoped it would be. No one around. A storehouse full of food. Adequate -shelter. A shop where he could work. A place guarded by the patrol -against unwelcome callers.</p> - -<p>Just the place for a man who might be hiding. Just the place for a -fugitive from the human race.</p> - -<p>There were things to do ... later on. Two bodies to be given burial. -A screen to be cleaned up and thrown on a junk heap. A few chittering -things to be hunted down and killed.</p> - -<p>Then he could settle down.</p> - -<p>There were robots, of course. One had brought in the dinner.</p> - -<p>Later on, he said.</p> - -<p>But there was something else to do ... something to do immediately, if -he could just remember.</p> - -<p>He stood and looked around the room, cataloguing its contents.</p> - -<p>Chairs, drapes, a desk, the table, the imitation fireplace....</p> - -<p>That was it, the fireplace.</p> - -<p>He walked across the room to stand in front of it. Reaching up, he took -down the bottle from the mantel, the bottle with the black silk bow -tied around its neck. The bottle for the last man's club.</p> - -<p>And he was the last man, there was no doubt of it. The very last of all.</p> - -<p>He had not been in the pact, of course, but he would carry out the -pact. It was melodrama, undoubtedly, but there are times, he told -himself, when a little melodrama may be excusable.</p> - -<p>He uncorked the bottle and swung around to face the room. He raised the -bottle in salute—salute to the gaping, blackened frame that had held -the painting, to the dead man on the floor, to the thing that mewed in -a far, dark corner.</p> - -<p>He tried to think of a word to say, but couldn't. And there had to be a -word to say, there simply had to be.</p> - -<p>"Mud in your eye," he said and it wasn't any good, but it would have to -do.</p> - -<p>He put the bottle to his lips and tipped it up and tilted back his head.</p> - -<p>Gagging, he snatched the bottle from his lips.</p> - -<p>It wasn't whisky and it was awful. It was gall and vinegar and quinine, -all rolled into one. It was a brew straight from the Pit. It was all -the bad medicine he had taken as a boy, it was sulphur and molasses, it -was castor oil, it was—</p> - -<p>"Good God," said Frederick West.</p> - -<p>For suddenly he remembered the location of a knife he had lost twenty -years before. He saw it where he had left it, just as plain as day.</p> - -<p>He knew an equation he'd never known before, and what was more, he knew -what it was for and how it could be used.</p> - -<p>Unbidden, he visualized, in one comprehensive picture, just how a -rocket motor worked ... every detail, every piece, every control, like -a chart laid out before his eyes.</p> - -<p>He could capture and hold seven fence posts in his mental eye and four -was the best any human ever had been able to see <i>mentally</i> before.</p> - -<p>He whooshed out his breath to air his mouth and stared at the bottle.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he was able to recite, word for word, the first page from a -book he had read ten years ago.</p> - -<p>"The hormones," he whispered. "Darling's hormones!"</p> - -<p>Hormones that did something to his brain. Speeded it up, made it work -better, made more of it work than had ever worked before. Made it think -cleaner and clearer than it had ever thought before.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord," he said.</p> - -<p>A head start to begin with. And now this!</p> - -<p><i>The man who has it could rule the Solar System.</i> That was what Belden -had said about it.</p> - -<p>Belden had hunted for it. Had torn this place apart. And Darling had -hunted for it, too. Darling, who had thought he had it, who had played -a trick on Nevin and Cartwright so he could be sure he had it, who had -drank himself to death trying to find the bottle he had it in.</p> - -<p>And all these years the hormones had been in this bottle on the mantel!</p> - -<p>Someone else had played a trick on all of them. Langdon, maybe. -Langdon, who had been given away as a pet to a thing so monstrous that -even Cartwright had shrunk from naming it.</p> - -<p>With shaking hand, West put the bottle back on the mantel, placed the -cork beside it. For a moment he stood there, hands against the mantel, -gripping it, staring out the vision port beside the fireplace. Staring -down into the valley where a shadowy cylinder tilted upward from the -rocky planet, as if striving for the stars.</p> - -<p>The <i>Alpha Centauri</i>—the ship with the space drive that wouldn't work. -Something wrong ... something wrong....</p> - -<p>A sob rose in West's throat and his hands tightened on the mantel with -a grip that hurt.</p> - -<p>He knew what was wrong!</p> - -<p>He had studied blueprints of the drive back on Earth.</p> - -<p>And now it was as if the blueprints were before his eyes again, for he -remembered them, each line, each symbol as if they were etched upon his -brain.</p> - -<p>He saw the trouble, the simple adjustment that would make the space -drive work. Ten minutes ... ten minutes would be all he needed. So -simple. So simple. So simple that it seemed beyond belief it had not -been found before, that all the great minds which had worked upon it -should not have seen it long ago.</p> - -<p>There had been a dream—a thing that he had not even dared to say -aloud, not even to himself. A thing he had not dared even to think -about.</p> - -<p>West straightened from the mantel and faced the room again. He took the -bottle and for a second time raised it in salute.</p> - -<p>But this time he had a toast for the dead men and the thing that -whimpered in the corner.</p> - -<p>"To the stars," he said.</p> - -<p>And he drank without gagging.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CALL FROM BEYOND ***</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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