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+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.
+
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+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #69308 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69308)
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-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.
-
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-<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The call from beyond, by Clifford D. Simak</p>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
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-<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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"</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&mdash;"</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&mdash;"</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&mdash;"</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&mdash;"</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&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p>"Louis?" yelled West. "Louis who? What about&mdash;"</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&mdash;not all&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"</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&mdash;"</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&mdash;but&mdash;" 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&mdash;"</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&mdash;"</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&mdash;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&mdash;"</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&mdash;a&mdash;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&mdash;" 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&mdash;</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&mdash;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&mdash;</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>&mdash;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&mdash;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>
-
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