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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes index 9f57f44..d7b82bc 100644 --- a/.gitattributes +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -1,13 +1,4 @@ -* text=auto -*.txt text -*.md text -*.htm text -*.html text -*.png binary -*.jpg binary -*.svg text -*.pdf binary -*.bmp binary -*.zip binary -*.midi binary -*.mp3 binary +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt index 6c72794..b5dba15 100644 --- a/LICENSE.txt +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -7,5 +7,5 @@ the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize -this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +this book outside of the United States should confirm copyright status under the laws that apply to them. @@ -1 +1,2 @@ -[Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook [#78907](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78907) +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +book #78907 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78907) diff --git a/crack.html b/crack.html deleted file mode 100644 index 8a3d8d0..0000000 --- a/crack.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,684 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> - <title> - Crack of Doom | Project Gutenberg - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .5em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - - -blockquote { - margin-top: 0; - margin-bottom: 0; - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} -.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} - - -figcaption {font-weight: bold;} -figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} - - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:small; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; -} - -.f15 {font-size: 1.5em;} -img.w20 {width: 20em;} - - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowp50 {width: 50%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp50 {width: 100%;} -.illowp51 {width: 51%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp51 {width: 100%;} - </style> -</head> -<body> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="cover" style="max-width: 107.5625em;"> - <img class="w20" src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""> - <figcaption> - <p>Transcribed from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader, April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).</p> - </figcaption> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> -<h1> -Crack of Doom -</h1> - - -<p class="center f15">by <strong>Milton Lesser</strong></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> - -<blockquote> -<p><i>Sam’s little boy was only three years old. He stood there in his -T-shirt and shorts, his hair messy, strawberry-jam stains all over his -lips. He didn’t come up to Sam’s belt buckle. But he looked at his -father sternly, and the words crackled coldly from his taut lips:</i></p> - -<p><i>“Go to your room!”</i></p> - -<p><i>Sam didn’t feel insane. Yet there was a frigidly adult gleam of -righteous anger in little Henry’s eyes. And the world outside had -become a topsy-turvy place where anyone over thirteen could be -considered senile and a candidate for euthanasia.</i></p> - -<p><i>It almost made one approve of infanticide....</i></p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp51" id="80" style="max-width: 46.875em;"> - <img class="w20" src="images/80.jpg" alt=""> - <figcaption> - <p>Illustrator: Everett Raymond Kinstler</p> - </figcaption> -</figure> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> - - -<p>Sam Weber got his first shock early in the morning. He padded softly -down the hall, past the door to Henry’s room, on his way to the -bathroom. He heard Henry call:</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, Pop, I’m up. Come on in.”</p> - -<p>Little Henry sat up in bed, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. His hair -was combed neatly, with plenty of stickum, and his scrubbed, shining -face wore an earnest expression.</p> - -<p>“Good morning,” he said. “For the present we’ll keep things unchanged -to a certain extent. Much easier that way.”</p> - -<p>Sam Weber’s mouth fell open. Henry was three.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Henry continued, “there’ll be minor changes here at the -outset. I’ll want an allowance, for one thing. Nothing big, say, not -for another year or so. Twenty dollars a week should suffice.” He stood -up and waddled over to Sam, punching at his father’s kneecap playfully -with a pudgy fist. “Don’t worry, Pop. We’ll get along fine. Just fine. -Anything you want, let me know. I mean that: any little thing and I’ll -be happy to oblige.”</p> - -<p>Henry turned his back and reached for a book which was lying -half-hidden under the coverlet. He opened it with a satisfied little -sigh and proceeded to read. Sam peered over his shoulder and read the -title. Arnold Toynbee’s <i>A Study of History</i>, Volume I.</p> - -<p>Mechanically, Sam walked on into the bathroom. He took off his robe and -pajamas, draped them over a towel rack, stepped out of his slippers -and climbed into the shower stall. His attempt at whistling was only -half-hearted, and he gave it up after a few bars, concentrating instead -on the pleasant cascade of warm water.</p> - -<p>Afterwards he shaved and dressed, then headed for the kitchen. Martha -had orange juice, coffee, and a plate of golden pancakes waiting for -him. “A little late this morning, Sam,” she observed.</p> - -<p>“I—I had a talk with Henry.” It would be best simply to state the -objective fact, to wait for further developments.</p> - -<p>“How’d he take it, Sam?”</p> - -<p>“Take what? Our talk?”</p> - -<p>“No, silly. The trip. The strange orientation.”</p> - -<p>Sam never answered a question unless he understood it. Now he asked one -of his own. “Did you know that Henry’s been reading?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly. It is a bit early in the morning, but he had me get Toynbee -down from the shelf at about seven. He wants to do history this week, -politics next week. Good idea, I think.”</p> - -<p>Sam was getting nowhere. He drank his orange juice and buttered his -pancakes, digging in with a definite lack of relish. “Where’s my -bacon?” he said.</p> - -<p>“You’re joking, of course.”</p> - -<p>“No. No, I’m not. You know I don’t like pancakes without bacon.”</p> - -<p>“Hah, hah. Actually, that’s going to be the biggest problem. A lot of -the economy here depends upon meat and meat products, and millions of -people will be thrown out of work. Well, they’ll get over it. In a few -years everything will be fine.”</p> - -<p>Sam’s household seemed on the brink of insanity, and he clung to the -one thing which he could understand. “I want my bacon.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Sam, that’s enough. I threw out all the bacon this morning. -Steaks, too.”</p> - -<p>Sam stood up from the table. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll grab a bite -downtown.” He left the pancakes in their plate, almost untouched.</p> - -<p>“Well, suit yourself. Oh, Sam, do me a favor?”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“On your way to the subway, stop in at the butcher’s and cancel our -account with him. We owe him fifteen dollars. Of course, he may not -even be opened, but if he is, you cancel our account. Okay?”</p> - -<p>Sam said it was okay. He had always left such matters in Martha’s -hands, and if she wasn’t satisfied with their present butcher, he’d -take care of it for her.</p> - -<p>On his way out, Sam couldn’t resist the impulse to peek into Henry’s -room. His boy’s little head was still buried deep in Toynbee.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“Hello, Mr. Adams,” Sam said. There was a big crowd in the butcher shop -and, Sam noticed with some surprise, no meat on any of the counters.</p> - -<p>“I’d, uh....”</p> - -<p>“Like to cancel your business here? Naturally. I guess it will be -interesting, looking for some other kind of work.”</p> - -<p>Sam felt dizzy. “Yes, that’s it. We owe you fifteen dollars, Martha -said. Umm-mm, why are you giving up the meat business? I always thought -it was good....”</p> - -<p>“Well, have your little joke, Mr. Weber. Fifteen, that’s right. You -know, I’m thinking of joining the police. I was an M.P. over in Korea. -That is, if my son doesn’t mind.”</p> - -<p>Sam thought it was nice, the way Mr. Adams would consult his son before -he took any new job. He said so.</p> - -<p>Mr. Adams smiled. “Nice of him to let me make my own choice, you mean. -After all, he’s only five, Mr. Weber. You know what <i>that</i> means.”</p> - -<p>Sam blanched. Maybe he had had the wrong idea on kids all these years. -Maybe they grew up a lot faster than he realized in this modern -generation. “Your boy read much?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“Read? Don’t be silly.”</p> - -<p>Sam liked the butcher’s answer. It made the world come spinning back, a -little closer to reality.</p> - -<p>“Of course he doesn’t read, Mr. Weber. He doesn’t have the time. -He’s started writing a book this morning, showing what’s wrong -with Einstein’s unified field theory. It’s a good theory, but not -particularly sound. But I guess you know its flaws as well as my son -Jerry. Thinks he can make a best seller out of it....”</p> - -<p>Sam mumbled something which was a cross between “Good luck” and a -confused gurgle, took his receipt, and trudged out the door. He headed -slowly for the subway entrance, but he changed his mind. He had seen -enough of people, for a while at least, and although the taximeter -would register a dollar fifty downtown, he could afford the luxury this -one time.</p> - -<p>It was a bright yellow cab with a little fat man at the wheel. “Where -to, friend?”</p> - -<p>“Bartlett Building,” said Sam, and the cab purred out into the early -morning traffic.</p> - -<p>“It takes my breath away,” the driver said.</p> - -<p>“What does?”</p> - -<p>“All these growing green things. What a beautiful world, so young and -fresh. And the way those flowers smell! Man, I could sniff them all -day.”</p> - -<p>Sam thought the man had missed his vocation. He should have been a -poet, or at least a gardener. “Yes,” Sam agreed. “I always liked late -May....”</p> - -<p>“No. That ain’t what I mean. It’s everything, the whole world. What a -change: couldn’t be more than two billion years old, I’d say.”</p> - -<p>Sam didn’t understand, but he’d be polite. “What couldn’t be more than, -uh, two billion years old?”</p> - -<p>“This planet, stupid. This planet. Say, how old are you? You don’t look -more than thirty, not much more.”</p> - -<p>“I’m thirty-two,” Sam said, mildly annoyed.</p> - -<p>“Well, the way you talk, you could be past seventy. Me, I’m pushing -forty-five, but I understand. My mother’s a little confused, but even -she can understand if I explain things to her real slow. Maybe you’re -sick. They said some people might get sick....”</p> - -<p>“I am not sick,” Sam assured him. But he wasn’t too sure: he felt as -if the whole world was crushing in on him from all directions, making -it difficult for him to breathe. Perhaps the radio would help. Sam -always liked to listen to the radio when he was feeling blue. “Why -don’t you turn on the news?” he suggested. “Should be able to catch the -eight-thirty over W—”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” the driver said, and Sam heard the click of the radio button.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>It would be his favorite commentator, Harry Groton, and already the -prospect of hearing the man’s familiar voice made him feel better. He -listened.</p> - -<p>“...Sorry that there can be no commercial this morning, folks, -but our sponsor was a producer of canned meat products. At any rate, -let’s get on with the news. The big item, of course—” Sam liked -Harry Groton because he was so informal, just as if he sat next to -you, chatting pleasantly about the doings of the day. “—is the fact -that the transfer has been achieved so successfully. There have been -reported a few isolated instances in which the subject’s mind was -temporarily deranged, and scientists even expect one or two cases in -which there has been no transfer at all, although until now none has -been reported.</p> - -<p>“Also, we’ll have to get used to the fact that our children are our -mental superiors. But naturally, it makes good sense. The best minds -should last the longest, especially in these difficult times....”</p> - -<p>“Turn it off!” Sam cried.</p> - -<p>“Hunh? You just asked me to put it on. Better make up your mind, -mister. On, then off, then—aw, I think I’m gonna change my work. -Well, here’s the Bartlett Building. Better take it easy, friend. You -heard what he said about deranged minds.”</p> - -<p>Sam paid his fare, then watched a middle-aged woman get into the cab -with a little tot who could not have been two years old. Sam heard the -child’s voice quite distinctly:</p> - -<p>“Museum of Art, please. What? Yes, Grandmother, we might as well see -their art first hand. Only way to really understand their culture, and -it’s <i>our</i> culture now, you know.”</p> - -<p>Sam wasn’t particularly hungry, but he thought that some sizzling bacon -strips fresh from the griddle, toast, and coffee might make him feel -better. He entered the revolving doors and walked through the lobby of -the Bartlett Building, past the newsstand, the elevators, the shoeshine -booth, all the way across the lobby to the little luncheonette in the -rear. He even began to hum a little.</p> - -<p>The sign stopped him cold. It was done crudely, in big red letters, but -he couldn’t miss it. It said:</p> - -<p><i>Don’t worry! Come right in!</i></p> - -<p><i>We serve no meat or meat products.</i></p> - -<p>Sam almost ran back to the elevators. He waited for the express that -would take him to the eighteenth floor, watched the little knot of -people gather, waiting with him. They all seemed normal—if any of -them had heard or seen any of the fantastic, impossible things Sam had -witnessed, they didn’t look it. Sam suppressed a sob. What was it Harry -Groton had said about deranged minds?</p> - -<p>He didn’t make up his mind until the elevator door opened. The little -crowd of people began to enter, but Sam hung back, and finally the -starter spread his arms across the entrance. “Sorry, sir. No more room. -Next car, please.”</p> - -<p>Sam nodded absently. He didn’t care. He didn’t feel that he could take -Mr. Southerton’s shenanigans today, anyway. Martha’s uncle Gregory (on -her father’s side, as he remembered it) was a psychiatrist, and perhaps -the man might be able to help him. Nothing like psychoanalysis, of -course—he didn’t need anything as thorough as that. But perhaps he -had been working too hard lately—Mr. Southerton had a way of driving -him. Just a little talk, Sam thought, because he’d understand this -thing much better.... Perhaps all he needed was a little vacation.</p> - -<p>He stepped into a phone booth, dialed home. The receiver buzzed three -times in his ear, then it clicked. He heard Henry’s childish treble.</p> - -<p>“Hello?”</p> - -<p>“It’s me, your pop.” Sam felt mildly ridiculous.</p> - -<p>“Good morning again, Pop. What’s on your mind?”</p> - -<p>“I’d—I’d like to speak with your mother, please, Henry.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t. She’s out. Maybe I can help you. Say, this Toynbee is -fascinating reading. Really helps to explain the culture, on all -levels. I’ll show you when you get home. Meanwhile, Mom went to the -library to get me some more books—sent her after some history source -material. Well, can I help?”</p> - -<p>Sam began to sweat in the confined quarters of the phone booth. -“I doubt it, Henry. I wanted your great uncle Gregory’s address, -but....”</p> - -<p>“Where’s the address-book?”</p> - -<p>Numbly, Sam told him. There was a brief silence, then Henry’s little-boy -voice again:</p> - -<p>“That’s Gregory Thorne?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“One-two-five West End, Pop. What do you want with a psychiatrist? -Trouble?”</p> - -<p>“No. No, nothing like that. Just some business.” Sam felt more -ridiculous all the time. “I’ll see you tonight, son. And, uh, thanks.”</p> - -<p>Sam heard the boy say something about not mentioning it, then there -was a little click, Sam hung up the receiver, and left the booth on -unsteady feet. He wondered how long a thorough psychoanalysis took, -wondered further if he could afford it.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Dr. Gregory Thorne was a small, balding man, with a small red spot on -each cheek which almost looked like it was painted there. “Sam!” he -said. “Sam Weber. Long time no see. Very long. Won’t you come in?” Sam -said thanks and came in. He smiled weakly, but knew it was worse than -not smiling at all.</p> - -<p>“Hey, Sam, what’s the trouble? You look scared to me—mighty scared. -Go ahead, talk: I haven’t got a patient coming in for about an hour. -Anyway, I’m just the receptionist now—my granddaughter’s taking over -this mind business. Ever meet her? Cute little trick.”</p> - -<p>Sam groaned. “That’s the trouble, Doc. Your granddaughter.”</p> - -<p>“Eh, what’s that? What did she do?”</p> - -<p>“How old is she, Doc?”</p> - -<p>“Umm-mm, I don’t know exactly. Around seven, I’d say. Yes, Jack and -Mary got married in forty-two, then they waited a couple of years. Yes, -about seven. Why?”</p> - -<p>Sam spilled all of it, in a rush of words. He didn’t know that kids -matured so fast, he said, but all of a sudden, today, they seemed as -intelligent—more intelligent ... Also meat. What the devil was -wrong with meat? He couldn’t get it anywhere. Not even a couple of -strips of bacon. Not even at home from Martha. The butcher was going -out of business. And everyone acted so—peculiar. The news broadcast -made less sense than a scrambled jigsaw puzzle, and Henry Groton....</p> - -<p>“Whoa, Sam. Take it easy. I get the general drift. Care to answer a few -questions?”</p> - -<p>Sam said certainly, he’d like to. He took out a handkerchief and mopped -his brow as Dr. Thorne flicked a switch and called into the interoffice -phone on his desk. “Betty? Want to come in, please?”</p> - -<p>Sam heard the door open, and a scrawny little girl with freckles and -buck teeth entered the room. Dr. Thorne was right—about seven. And -she had the most earnest look on her face....</p> - -<p>“Betty, this is Sam Weber, sort of a cousin’s husband. I’d like you to -listen for a while, and then see what can be done.”</p> - -<p>The little girl nodded, put her lollipop down in an ashtray. “Hi, Sam,” -she said. “It’s funny how strong physical habit can be sometimes—like -this lollipop thing. I like it. Well, go ahead with it, gentlemen.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Thorne cleared his throat, lit a cigarette and puffed nervously. -“Now, then, Sam, you say you like meat? You have a strong desire for -it?”</p> - -<p>“You bet, Doc. Just bacon, that’s all I’d want for now. A couple of -sizzling strips....”</p> - -<p>“Uh-oh,” Betty mumbled, taking her lollipop out of the ashtray and -sucking on it furiously. “Better go ahead, Grandpa Gregory.”</p> - -<p>“And children, Sam. You think it’s peculiar that they’re so intelligent -for, ah, their years? Impossibly so, all of a sudden?”</p> - -<p>Sam nodded. “Yes. Something like that. Sounds silly, I know. But all -you have to do is look at Betty. Go ahead, look at Betty. I’m not crazy—it’s -the truth.”</p> - -<p>The girl put down her lollipop. “I’ll take over from this point, -Grandpa Gregory. Take it down in shorthand, please.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Thorne rummaged through a desk drawer and came up with a pad and -pencil. “Go ahead,” he said.</p> - -<p>Betty’s voice was just right for the part of Goldilocks in a school -play. “Sam,” she said, “what do you remember of your life on Alpha -Centauri Gee?”</p> - -<p>“I—uh. Hey, Doc, cut it out! If this is a gag, please get on with -your questions.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t a gag,” Dr. Thorne said, suddenly very serious. “Answer her -questions as well as you can.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I—oh, this is stupid.”</p> - -<p>“Answer me,” Betty told him. “Please.” She worked the melting lollipop -back and forth from cheek to cheek inside her mouth.</p> - -<p>“Well—I don’t remember a thing. I don’t even know what you’re talking -about. What is Alpher Century G?”</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” Betty told him. “Another question. Do you resent children -being your mental superiors?”</p> - -<p>Dr. Thorne said, “It was necessary, you know. There’s bound to be some -difficulties the first generation or so, Sam, and we figured the longer -our better minds lasted, the better off we’d be. Those poor Earthmen—suddenly -transferred to our bodies, on a cold, dry desert of a world. I -wonder what they think....”</p> - -<p>“Please be quiet, Grandpa,” Betty said. “I’m asking the questions, and -you’ll only confuse him. I think I know what happened, too.” She shook -her head sadly, took the white stick from her mouth and put it in the -ashtray. “I think I’ll take up smoking,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Please,” Sam said, not without difficulty. “I think I’ll go home.” He -stood up.</p> - -<p>“In a little while,” Betty told him. “We’d like to do something first; -only take a minute, Sam. Okay?”</p> - -<p>Sam nodded vaguely, and they led him into the next room. “Lie down on -that couch, please,” Betty said. “We’ll give you a quick temporal EEG.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Thorne nodded. “Electroencephalogram, eh? And then you’ll....”</p> - -<p>“Please get him ready, Grandpa.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Thorne dabbed the area in front of Sam’s ears with something wet -and slimy, then he placed something over Sam’s head which looked like a -couple of sturdy, curving wires with a small antenna for each temple. -From this a wire ran to a drum covered with graph paper.</p> - -<p>Sam felt nothing, but in a few moments it was over. Dr. Thorne took the -antennae from his head, and then he was busy bending over the graph -paper with his granddaughter.</p> - -<p>“See?” she said. “See. Plenty of low magnitude, quick stuff, Alpha, -Beta, and Gamma. But you don’t see any Delta waves, do you. Look, there -isn’t a wave here with a frequency of less than ten a second, and most -of them are more.”</p> - -<p>“Tch-tch,” Dr. Thorne shook his head. “A shame.”</p> - -<p>“Umm-mm. It’s simple to see what happened. Actually, the transfer experts -expected this. Probably there are a few hundred of them all over -the planet, men like Sam here, who haven’t been transferred. He’s still -an Earthman, Grandpa.”</p> - -<p>“So? So what can be done about it?”</p> - -<p>“Unfortunately, he can’t be helped. The transfer is a finished product -now. Nothing can be done. Of course, he can’t be permitted to remain. -Look at the simplest things, Grandpa. He eats meat. <i>Meat.</i> He eats it. -Probably a hundred other little things. He couldn’t be happy now, -ever.”</p> - -<p>“Well what can we do?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. It’s not up to us at all. There are the authorities. -Elimination probably will be painless ... Has he got a child, -Grandpa?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. A son, about three, I think.”</p> - -<p>“Obviously, a brilliant mind. You can send Sam home now, but notify his -son by telephone. Poor Sam.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Sam didn’t know what was going on. He had a few drinks first, and then -he took a long walk in the park. He bought a bag of peanuts and fed -the pigeons for a time, and then he grew tired of it. He’d take Martha -and little Henry to the country. Although Dr. Thorne hadn’t prescribed -anything in particular, Sam knew he needed a vacation, a long vacation. -But that girl, Betty. It was eerie. And Sam didn’t relish the idea of -going home to his suddenly brilliant little son.</p> - -<p>He entered their house by the side door, and he heard Martha in the -kitchen, weeping. “Hallo!” he called. “I’m home.”</p> - -<p>Martha ran into his arms and hugged him for a moment. “My Sam,” she -cried. “My poor, poor Sam.”</p> - -<p>“Easy, Martha. Nothing’s wrong with me. Nothing that a little vacation -won’t fix. By the way, I stopped in at Adams’ and canceled your orders -there.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Sam. Thank you....” And then she was crying again.</p> - -<p>Henry came into the room, looking ludicrously grim for his three years. -“Hello, Pop. I’m sorry,” he said.</p> - -<p>Martha wailed, “It isn’t fair....”</p> - -<p>“One of those unfortunate things,” Henry told her. “You’ll get over it. -It’s just too bad that the only way we’d get the transfer in this way—with -the memories of these Earth people, with their emotions. But -you’ll get over it, Mother. Stop sniffling. It will all be over soon.”</p> - -<p>Sam stood by, saying nothing, balancing on one foot and then the other. -Henry looked at him. “Pop, you’ll have to go to your room now. Please -go to your room.”</p> - -<p>The boy still wore his tee shirt and shorts. His hair was messy and he -had strawberry-jam stains all over his lips. The top of his head didn’t -come up to Sam’s belt buckle. He said, again, “Go to your room.”</p> - -<p>Sam turned and walked from the room. He heard Martha sobbing again, -but he did not wheel about to face her. He continued on up the stairs, -entered his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. He sat for a long -time on the edge of the bed, looking out into the bright sunshine, -watching the very old men and women playing with their mudpies in the -street.</p> - -<p>He must have dozed. When he awoke, he saw two green and white cars -pulling over in front of the house. Police. They were very grim.</p> - -<p>Sam heard voices. “Does Henry Weber live here?”</p> - -<p>“I’m Weber,” Henry told them.</p> - -<p>“Your father is....”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Still human. No transfer, unfortunately. The EEG clearly shows -it. I’m afraid he’ll have to be....”</p> - -<p>“Of course, sir. He will be eliminated as painlessly as possible. -Downtown, a bullet in the brain at point-blank range. Quite painless, -I’m told.”</p> - -<p>“The best way,” Henry said in his childish treble.</p> - -<p>Sam heard them coming up the stairs, slowly, with their measured steps. -Something told him, quite suddenly, that this was more than a hideous -joke. Much more....</p> - -<p>There was silence. They stood outside his door a long time, and then -the door opened, just a thin crack. Sam saw an eye peer within the room.</p> - -<p>The crack opened wider and he saw his son Henry’s little face. Behind -the face he could see some uniformed blue figures.</p> - -<p>Sam smiled bravely. He pushed at the door and the crack opened all the -way, admitting Henry and the policemen.</p> - -<p>Henry looked just like a little man.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> -<div class="chapter"></div><div class="transnote"> - <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_note"> - Transcriber’s note: - </h2> - - -<blockquote> -<p>This etext was produced from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader, -April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).</p> - -<p>Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but -minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.</p> -</blockquote> -</div> -</body> -</html> diff --git a/crack.txt b/crack.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 172f0f8..0000000 --- a/crack.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,564 +0,0 @@ - - - - - Crack of Doom - - by Milton Lesser - - - _Sam’s little boy was only three years old. He stood there in his - T-shirt and shorts, his hair messy, strawberry-jam stains all over - his lips. He didn’t come up to Sam’s belt buckle. But he looked at - his father sternly, and the words crackled coldly from his taut lips:_ - - _“Go to your room!”_ - - _Sam didn’t feel insane. Yet there was a frigidly adult gleam of - righteous anger in little Henry’s eyes. And the world outside had - become a topsy-turvy place where anyone over thirteen could be - considered senile and a candidate for euthanasia._ - - _It almost made one approve of infanticide...._ - -[Illustration: Illustrator: Everett Raymond Kinstler] - - - - -Sam Weber got his first shock early in the morning. He padded softly -down the hall, past the door to Henry’s room, on his way to the -bathroom. He heard Henry call: - -“It’s all right, Pop, I’m up. Come on in.” - -Little Henry sat up in bed, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. His hair -was combed neatly, with plenty of stickum, and his scrubbed, shining -face wore an earnest expression. - -“Good morning,” he said. “For the present we’ll keep things unchanged -to a certain extent. Much easier that way.” - -Sam Weber’s mouth fell open. Henry was three. - -“Of course,” Henry continued, “there’ll be minor changes here at the -outset. I’ll want an allowance, for one thing. Nothing big, say, not -for another year or so. Twenty dollars a week should suffice.” He stood -up and waddled over to Sam, punching at his father’s kneecap playfully -with a pudgy fist. “Don’t worry, Pop. We’ll get along fine. Just fine. -Anything you want, let me know. I mean that: any little thing and I’ll -be happy to oblige.” - -Henry turned his back and reached for a book which was lying -half-hidden under the coverlet. He opened it with a satisfied little -sigh and proceeded to read. Sam peered over his shoulder and read the -title. Arnold Toynbee’s _A Study of History_, Volume I. - -Mechanically, Sam walked on into the bathroom. He took off his robe and -pajamas, draped them over a towel rack, stepped out of his slippers -and climbed into the shower stall. His attempt at whistling was only -half-hearted, and he gave it up after a few bars, concentrating instead -on the pleasant cascade of warm water. - -Afterwards he shaved and dressed, then headed for the kitchen. Martha -had orange juice, coffee, and a plate of golden pancakes waiting for -him. “A little late this morning, Sam,” she observed. - -“I--I had a talk with Henry.” It would be best simply to state the -objective fact, to wait for further developments. - -“How’d he take it, Sam?” - -“Take what? Our talk?” - -“No, silly. The trip. The strange orientation.” - -Sam never answered a question unless he understood it. Now he asked one -of his own. “Did you know that Henry’s been reading?” - -“Certainly. It is a bit early in the morning, but he had me get Toynbee -down from the shelf at about seven. He wants to do history this week, -politics next week. Good idea, I think.” - -Sam was getting nowhere. He drank his orange juice and buttered his -pancakes, digging in with a definite lack of relish. “Where’s my -bacon?” he said. - -“You’re joking, of course.” - -“No. No, I’m not. You know I don’t like pancakes without bacon.” - -“Hah, hah. Actually, that’s going to be the biggest problem. A lot of -the economy here depends upon meat and meat products, and millions of -people will be thrown out of work. Well, they’ll get over it. In a few -years everything will be fine.” - -Sam’s household seemed on the brink of insanity, and he clung to the -one thing which he could understand. “I want my bacon.” - -“Now, Sam, that’s enough. I threw out all the bacon this morning. -Steaks, too.” - -Sam stood up from the table. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll grab a bite -downtown.” He left the pancakes in their plate, almost untouched. - -“Well, suit yourself. Oh, Sam, do me a favor?” - -“What?” - -“On your way to the subway, stop in at the butcher’s and cancel our -account with him. We owe him fifteen dollars. Of course, he may not -even be opened, but if he is, you cancel our account. Okay?” - -Sam said it was okay. He had always left such matters in Martha’s -hands, and if she wasn’t satisfied with their present butcher, he’d -take care of it for her. - -On his way out, Sam couldn’t resist the impulse to peek into Henry’s -room. His boy’s little head was still buried deep in Toynbee. - - * * * * * - -“Hello, Mr. Adams,” Sam said. There was a big crowd in the butcher shop -and, Sam noticed with some surprise, no meat on any of the counters. - -“I’d, uh....” - -“Like to cancel your business here? Naturally. I guess it will be -interesting, looking for some other kind of work.” - -Sam felt dizzy. “Yes, that’s it. We owe you fifteen dollars, Martha -said. Umm-mm, why are you giving up the meat business? I always thought -it was good....” - -“Well, have your little joke, Mr. Weber. Fifteen, that’s right. You -know, I’m thinking of joining the police. I was an M.P. over in Korea. -That is, if my son doesn’t mind.” - -Sam thought it was nice, the way Mr. Adams would consult his son before -he took any new job. He said so. - -Mr. Adams smiled. “Nice of him to let me make my own choice, you mean. -After all, he’s only five, Mr. Weber. You know what _that_ means.” - -Sam blanched. Maybe he had had the wrong idea on kids all these years. -Maybe they grew up a lot faster than he realized in this modern -generation. “Your boy read much?” he demanded. - -“Read? Don’t be silly.” - -Sam liked the butcher’s answer. It made the world come spinning back, a -little closer to reality. - -“Of course he doesn’t read, Mr. Weber. He doesn’t have the time. -He’s started writing a book this morning, showing what’s wrong -with Einstein’s unified field theory. It’s a good theory, but not -particularly sound. But I guess you know its flaws as well as my son -Jerry. Thinks he can make a best seller out of it....” - -Sam mumbled something which was a cross between “Good luck” and a -confused gurgle, took his receipt, and trudged out the door. He headed -slowly for the subway entrance, but he changed his mind. He had seen -enough of people, for a while at least, and although the taximeter -would register a dollar fifty downtown, he could afford the luxury this -one time. - -It was a bright yellow cab with a little fat man at the wheel. “Where -to, friend?” - -“Bartlett Building,” said Sam, and the cab purred out into the early -morning traffic. - -“It takes my breath away,” the driver said. - -“What does?” - -“All these growing green things. What a beautiful world, so young and -fresh. And the way those flowers smell! Man, I could sniff them all -day.” - -Sam thought the man had missed his vocation. He should have been a -poet, or at least a gardener. “Yes,” Sam agreed. “I always liked late -May....” - -“No. That ain’t what I mean. It’s everything, the whole world. What a -change: couldn’t be more than two billion years old, I’d say.” - -Sam didn’t understand, but he’d be polite. “What couldn’t be more than, -uh, two billion years old?” - -“This planet, stupid. This planet. Say, how old are you? You don’t look -more than thirty, not much more.” - -“I’m thirty-two,” Sam said, mildly annoyed. - -“Well, the way you talk, you could be past seventy. Me, I’m pushing -forty-five, but I understand. My mother’s a little confused, but even -she can understand if I explain things to her real slow. Maybe you’re -sick. They said some people might get sick....” - -“I am not sick,” Sam assured him. But he wasn’t too sure: he felt as -if the whole world was crushing in on him from all directions, making -it difficult for him to breathe. Perhaps the radio would help. Sam -always liked to listen to the radio when he was feeling blue. “Why -don’t you turn on the news?” he suggested. “Should be able to catch the -eight-thirty over W--” - -“Sure,” the driver said, and Sam heard the click of the radio button. - - * * * * * - -It would be his favorite commentator, Harry Groton, and already the -prospect of hearing the man’s familiar voice made him feel better. He -listened. - -“...Sorry that there can be no commercial this morning, folks, but our -sponsor was a producer of canned meat products. At any rate, let’s get -on with the news. The big item, of course--” Sam liked Harry Groton -because he was so informal, just as if he sat next to you, chatting -pleasantly about the doings of the day. “--is the fact that the -transfer has been achieved so successfully. There have been reported -a few isolated instances in which the subject’s mind was temporarily -deranged, and scientists even expect one or two cases in which there -has been no transfer at all, although until now none has been reported. - -“Also, we’ll have to get used to the fact that our children are our -mental superiors. But naturally, it makes good sense. The best minds -should last the longest, especially in these difficult times....” - -“Turn it off!” Sam cried. - -“Hunh? You just asked me to put it on. Better make up your mind, -mister. On, then off, then--aw, I think I’m gonna change my work. Well, -here’s the Bartlett Building. Better take it easy, friend. You heard -what he said about deranged minds.” - -Sam paid his fare, then watched a middle-aged woman get into the cab -with a little tot who could not have been two years old. Sam heard the -child’s voice quite distinctly: - -“Museum of Art, please. What? Yes, Grandmother, we might as well see -their art first hand. Only way to really understand their culture, and -it’s _our_ culture now, you know.” - -Sam wasn’t particularly hungry, but he thought that some sizzling bacon -strips fresh from the griddle, toast, and coffee might make him feel -better. He entered the revolving doors and walked through the lobby of -the Bartlett Building, past the newsstand, the elevators, the shoeshine -booth, all the way across the lobby to the little luncheonette in the -rear. He even began to hum a little. - -The sign stopped him cold. It was done crudely, in big red letters, but -he couldn’t miss it. It said: - -_Don’t worry! Come right in!_ - -_We serve no meat or meat products._ - -Sam almost ran back to the elevators. He waited for the express that -would take him to the eighteenth floor, watched the little knot of -people gather, waiting with him. They all seemed normal--if any of -them had heard or seen any of the fantastic, impossible things Sam had -witnessed, they didn’t look it. Sam suppressed a sob. What was it Harry -Groton had said about deranged minds? - -He didn’t make up his mind until the elevator door opened. The little -crowd of people began to enter, but Sam hung back, and finally the -starter spread his arms across the entrance. “Sorry, sir. No more room. -Next car, please.” - -Sam nodded absently. He didn’t care. He didn’t feel that he could take -Mr. Southerton’s shenanigans today, anyway. Martha’s uncle Gregory (on -her father’s side, as he remembered it) was a psychiatrist, and perhaps -the man might be able to help him. Nothing like psychoanalysis, of -course--he didn’t need anything as thorough as that. But perhaps he had -been working too hard lately--Mr. Southerton had a way of driving him. -Just a little talk, Sam thought, because he’d understand this thing -much better.... Perhaps all he needed was a little vacation. - -He stepped into a phone booth, dialed home. The receiver buzzed three -times in his ear, then it clicked. He heard Henry’s childish treble. - -“Hello?” - -“It’s me, your pop.” Sam felt mildly ridiculous. - -“Good morning again, Pop. What’s on your mind?” - -“I’d--I’d like to speak with your mother, please, Henry.” - -“Can’t. She’s out. Maybe I can help you. Say, this Toynbee is -fascinating reading. Really helps to explain the culture, on all -levels. I’ll show you when you get home. Meanwhile, Mom went to the -library to get me some more books--sent her after some history source -material. Well, can I help?” - -Sam began to sweat in the confined quarters of the phone booth. “I -doubt it, Henry. I wanted your great uncle Gregory’s address, but....” - -“Where’s the address-book?” - -Numbly, Sam told him. There was a brief silence, then Henry’s -little-boy voice again: - -“That’s Gregory Thorne?” - -“Yes.” - -“One-two-five West End, Pop. What do you want with a psychiatrist? -Trouble?” - -“No. No, nothing like that. Just some business.” Sam felt more -ridiculous all the time. “I’ll see you tonight, son. And, uh, thanks.” - -Sam heard the boy say something about not mentioning it, then there -was a little click, Sam hung up the receiver, and left the booth on -unsteady feet. He wondered how long a thorough psychoanalysis took, -wondered further if he could afford it. - - * * * * * - -Dr. Gregory Thorne was a small, balding man, with a small red spot on -each cheek which almost looked like it was painted there. “Sam!” he -said. “Sam Weber. Long time no see. Very long. Won’t you come in?” Sam -said thanks and came in. He smiled weakly, but knew it was worse than -not smiling at all. - -“Hey, Sam, what’s the trouble? You look scared to me--mighty scared. -Go ahead, talk: I haven’t got a patient coming in for about an hour. -Anyway, I’m just the receptionist now--my granddaughter’s taking over -this mind business. Ever meet her? Cute little trick.” - -Sam groaned. “That’s the trouble, Doc. Your granddaughter.” - -“Eh, what’s that? What did she do?” - -“How old is she, Doc?” - -“Umm-mm, I don’t know exactly. Around seven, I’d say. Yes, Jack and -Mary got married in forty-two, then they waited a couple of years. Yes, -about seven. Why?” - -Sam spilled all of it, in a rush of words. He didn’t know that kids -matured so fast, he said, but all of a sudden, today, they seemed as -intelligent--more intelligent ... Also meat. What the devil was wrong -with meat? He couldn’t get it anywhere. Not even a couple of strips -of bacon. Not even at home from Martha. The butcher was going out of -business. And everyone acted so--peculiar. The news broadcast made less -sense than a scrambled jigsaw puzzle, and Henry Groton.... - -“Whoa, Sam. Take it easy. I get the general drift. Care to answer a few -questions?” - -Sam said certainly, he’d like to. He took out a handkerchief and mopped -his brow as Dr. Thorne flicked a switch and called into the interoffice -phone on his desk. “Betty? Want to come in, please?” - -Sam heard the door open, and a scrawny little girl with freckles and -buck teeth entered the room. Dr. Thorne was right--about seven. And she -had the most earnest look on her face.... - -“Betty, this is Sam Weber, sort of a cousin’s husband. I’d like you to -listen for a while, and then see what can be done.” - -The little girl nodded, put her lollipop down in an ashtray. “Hi, Sam,” -she said. “It’s funny how strong physical habit can be sometimes--like -this lollipop thing. I like it. Well, go ahead with it, gentlemen.” - -Dr. Thorne cleared his throat, lit a cigarette and puffed nervously. -“Now, then, Sam, you say you like meat? You have a strong desire for -it?” - -“You bet, Doc. Just bacon, that’s all I’d want for now. A couple of -sizzling strips....” - -“Uh-oh,” Betty mumbled, taking her lollipop out of the ashtray and -sucking on it furiously. “Better go ahead, Grandpa Gregory.” - -“And children, Sam. You think it’s peculiar that they’re so intelligent -for, ah, their years? Impossibly so, all of a sudden?” - -Sam nodded. “Yes. Something like that. Sounds silly, I know. But all -you have to do is look at Betty. Go ahead, look at Betty. I’m not -crazy--it’s the truth.” - -The girl put down her lollipop. “I’ll take over from this point, -Grandpa Gregory. Take it down in shorthand, please.” - -Dr. Thorne rummaged through a desk drawer and came up with a pad and -pencil. “Go ahead,” he said. - -Betty’s voice was just right for the part of Goldilocks in a school -play. “Sam,” she said, “what do you remember of your life on Alpha -Centauri Gee?” - -“I--uh. Hey, Doc, cut it out! If this is a gag, please get on with your -questions.” - -“It isn’t a gag,” Dr. Thorne said, suddenly very serious. “Answer her -questions as well as you can.” - -“Well, I--oh, this is stupid.” - -“Answer me,” Betty told him. “Please.” She worked the melting lollipop -back and forth from cheek to cheek inside her mouth. - -“Well--I don’t remember a thing. I don’t even know what you’re talking -about. What is Alpher Century G?” - -“Never mind,” Betty told him. “Another question. Do you resent children -being your mental superiors?” - -Dr. Thorne said, “It was necessary, you know. There’s bound to be -some difficulties the first generation or so, Sam, and we figured the -longer our better minds lasted, the better off we’d be. Those poor -Earthmen--suddenly transferred to our bodies, on a cold, dry desert of -a world. I wonder what they think....” - -“Please be quiet, Grandpa,” Betty said. “I’m asking the questions, and -you’ll only confuse him. I think I know what happened, too.” She shook -her head sadly, took the white stick from her mouth and put it in the -ashtray. “I think I’ll take up smoking,” she said. - -“Please,” Sam said, not without difficulty. “I think I’ll go home.” He -stood up. - -“In a little while,” Betty told him. “We’d like to do something first; -only take a minute, Sam. Okay?” - -Sam nodded vaguely, and they led him into the next room. “Lie down on -that couch, please,” Betty said. “We’ll give you a quick temporal EEG.” - -Dr. Thorne nodded. “Electroencephalogram, eh? And then you’ll....” - -“Please get him ready, Grandpa.” - -Dr. Thorne dabbed the area in front of Sam’s ears with something wet -and slimy, then he placed something over Sam’s head which looked like a -couple of sturdy, curving wires with a small antenna for each temple. -From this a wire ran to a drum covered with graph paper. - -Sam felt nothing, but in a few moments it was over. Dr. Thorne took the -antennae from his head, and then he was busy bending over the graph -paper with his granddaughter. - -“See?” she said. “See. Plenty of low magnitude, quick stuff, Alpha, -Beta, and Gamma. But you don’t see any Delta waves, do you. Look, there -isn’t a wave here with a frequency of less than ten a second, and most -of them are more.” - -“Tch-tch,” Dr. Thorne shook his head. “A shame.” - -“Umm-mm. It’s simple to see what happened. Actually, the transfer -experts expected this. Probably there are a few hundred of them all -over the planet, men like Sam here, who haven’t been transferred. He’s -still an Earthman, Grandpa.” - -“So? So what can be done about it?” - -“Unfortunately, he can’t be helped. The transfer is a finished product -now. Nothing can be done. Of course, he can’t be permitted to remain. -Look at the simplest things, Grandpa. He eats meat. _Meat._ He eats it. -Probably a hundred other little things. He couldn’t be happy now, ever.” - -“Well what can we do?” - -“Nothing. It’s not up to us at all. There are the authorities. -Elimination probably will be painless ... Has he got a child, Grandpa?” - -“Yes. A son, about three, I think.” - -“Obviously, a brilliant mind. You can send Sam home now, but notify his -son by telephone. Poor Sam.” - - * * * * * - -Sam didn’t know what was going on. He had a few drinks first, and then -he took a long walk in the park. He bought a bag of peanuts and fed -the pigeons for a time, and then he grew tired of it. He’d take Martha -and little Henry to the country. Although Dr. Thorne hadn’t prescribed -anything in particular, Sam knew he needed a vacation, a long vacation. -But that girl, Betty. It was eerie. And Sam didn’t relish the idea of -going home to his suddenly brilliant little son. - -He entered their house by the side door, and he heard Martha in the -kitchen, weeping. “Hallo!” he called. “I’m home.” - -Martha ran into his arms and hugged him for a moment. “My Sam,” she -cried. “My poor, poor Sam.” - -“Easy, Martha. Nothing’s wrong with me. Nothing that a little vacation -won’t fix. By the way, I stopped in at Adams’ and canceled your orders -there.” - -“Thank you, Sam. Thank you....” And then she was crying again. - -Henry came into the room, looking ludicrously grim for his three years. -“Hello, Pop. I’m sorry,” he said. - -Martha wailed, “It isn’t fair....” - -“One of those unfortunate things,” Henry told her. “You’ll get over -it. It’s just too bad that the only way we’d get the transfer in this -way--with the memories of these Earth people, with their emotions. But -you’ll get over it, Mother. Stop sniffling. It will all be over soon.” - -Sam stood by, saying nothing, balancing on one foot and then the other. -Henry looked at him. “Pop, you’ll have to go to your room now. Please -go to your room.” - -The boy still wore his tee shirt and shorts. His hair was messy and he -had strawberry-jam stains all over his lips. The top of his head didn’t -come up to Sam’s belt buckle. He said, again, “Go to your room.” - -Sam turned and walked from the room. He heard Martha sobbing again, -but he did not wheel about to face her. He continued on up the stairs, -entered his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. He sat for a long -time on the edge of the bed, looking out into the bright sunshine, -watching the very old men and women playing with their mudpies in the -street. - -He must have dozed. When he awoke, he saw two green and white cars -pulling over in front of the house. Police. They were very grim. - -Sam heard voices. “Does Henry Weber live here?” - -“I’m Weber,” Henry told them. - -“Your father is....” - -“Yes. Still human. No transfer, unfortunately. The EEG clearly shows -it. I’m afraid he’ll have to be....” - -“Of course, sir. He will be eliminated as painlessly as possible. -Downtown, a bullet in the brain at point-blank range. Quite painless, -I’m told.” - -“The best way,” Henry said in his childish treble. - -Sam heard them coming up the stairs, slowly, with their measured steps. -Something told him, quite suddenly, that this was more than a hideous -joke. Much more.... - -There was silence. They stood outside his door a long time, and then -the door opened, just a thin crack. Sam saw an eye peer within the room. - -The crack opened wider and he saw his son Henry’s little face. Behind -the face he could see some uniformed blue figures. - -Sam smiled bravely. He pushed at the door and the crack opened all the -way, admitting Henry and the policemen. - -Henry looked just like a little man. - - - - - Transcriber’s note: - - - This etext was produced from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader, - April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2). - - Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but - minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
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