 Chapter 7 OF THE CREATURE FROM BEYOND INFINITY by Henry Cutner Read by Mark Nelson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE CREATURE FROM BEYOND INFINITY Chapter 7 DOOM On the 2nd of January 1941 Stephen Court left for Canada. His cabin plane contained two passengers and a good deal of equipment. Marion Barton went with him, and he had allowed Sammy to go along. The old man had been reformed in every other respect, but wanderlust can be removed from a man only by the surgery of death. I won't be no trouble, Stevie, he had argued. I get itchy feet this time of year, and besides I never rode in an airplane. Anyhow, his watery eyes narrowed cunning. You'll need a handyman to do odd jobs. I can help you unpack and other things." To save argument that would waste time Court had agreed. It was a clear, bitingly cold day when the plane took off from the Wisconsin flying field. Luckily the weather reports were good. Though there was no danger of snow, Court flew at low altitude, fearing that ice would form on their wings. The excitement of hurtling the plane at high speed made him uncharacteristically talkative. His gaunt cheeks were flushed, and he chatted with the others with unusual animation and warmth. Sammy did not talk much, but he listened and occasionally asked a question. "'Plague, eh?' he said once. I was in the south once when a plague hit. It was pretty awful. Kids and women, we couldn't bury them fast enough. I sure hope it ain't like that." "'We'll see,' Court said. I can't do much till I examine this fellow Losico. For that matter,' he frowned, pondering, "'I really haven't enough equipment with me. I've got to bring Losico back to my lab.'" "'But you say it's contagious,' Marion protested. "'How can we travel?' "'I've arranged that. I'm having an ambulance made ready. It'll be plated with several thicknesses of lead, which ought to be safe enough. They're sending the car after me as soon as it's ready.' "'Oh,' Marion said. She fell silent, watching the mountains and lakes glide past below. "'You know,' Court observed after a time. "'I came across an interesting angle, a completely unexpected one. I've been getting photographs from most of the observatories. While I found no trace of my ex in space, I did notice something else, a satellite of some kind circling the earth. No one's noticed it before. It's so small and travels so fast, but it seems to be made of homogeneous metal.'" "'Iron?' "'Smooth metal, Marion, not pitted and rough as an asteroid would be. It's made of pure gold, or some yellow metal that resembles gold.' The girl looked sharply at Court." "'A spaceship?' "'Possibly. But why wouldn't it come down if it's a ship? Has it been circling the earth for ages?' "'But where could it have come from? Some ancient civilization might have mastered space travel, though I doubt that. If it is a spaceship, it probably came from some other planet.'" "'There's nothing in history about it,' Marion said. "'If one spaceship could come here, probably so would a lot more.'" "'Nothing in history?' "'No, but there's a lot in mythology and folklore. I'm just guessing, of course. I'm anxious to find out more about that highly unnatural satellite.'" She was silent, fascinated by the thought. "'How can you reach it?' she asked. "'It looks impossible,' he admitted. "'Space travel is impossible to us today. That's one reason. You see, Marion, if it really is a spaceship, it may mean earth salvation. To be completely irrational, we must consider that perhaps the plague can't be conquered. If it is a spaceship, we may be able to leave the earth and go to another planet. If those worlds are also in danger, we could leave the system. We couldn't do that with the modern rocket fuels. Suppose that strangely colored satellite is a genuine spaceship, one that has already traveled across the interstellar void. Repairing it would be less work than inventing one." "'It's worth trying,' Marion breathed, hopefully. "'I may fail. That's why I want to find out more about X. The NASA dangerously long chance, and I don't want to gamble everything on one throw of the dice. When I see Los Acoe!' Time wore on. Sammy asked innumerable questions about the plague, but when he exhausted his curiosity, he went to sleep. The plane sped over the border and into Canada. It was afternoon before they reached the landing field. An automobile met them and took them into town, together following with Sammy and the equipment. At the hospital they were greeted by Dr. Granger, a shriveled gnome of a man with one tuft of white hair standing straight up from his bald skull. "'Court,' he said in relief. Am I glad you're here. Are you hungry?' "'No,' characteristically, Court did not bother to introduce anyone. "'Where's the patient?' "'In the left wing of the hospital. We've cleared out everyone else. You'll have to put on the lead suit. We have only one, unfortunately.' Court seemed transformed into a swift, emotionless machine. He hastily donned the form-fitting suit of canvas with lead and scale sewed closely over the surface. As he followed Granger to the door, the physician paused. "'I'd better not go farther. I don't know exactly how far the radiation extends. It wilts gold leaf at quite some distance.' Court nodded, got his directions, and clumped ponderously out the door. He went along the corridor until he found the patient's room. Any other man would have hesitated before entering, but Court was not like any other man. Without stopping he pushed open the door. The bare, white-walled chamber was spotlessly sterile. A case of instruments lay open on a table, a hypodermic needle in view. On the bed a man was sprawled. Peering through lead-infiltrated goggles, Court came closer. Lossico was unconscious. No, he was asleep. His spare, wasted frame was barely fleshy enough to make a visible shape under the coverlets. On the pillow lay the withered skull face of an incredibly old man. Lossico was 23 years of age. His mouth was toothless. Hanging open helplessly it revealed his ugly, blackened gums. His skull was hairless, with ears that were large and malformed, and his nose too was enlarged. The repulsive skin dangled in loose, sagging wrinkles. Pouches hung slack on his naked skull. Court went to the window and drew down the shades. In the gloom a queer, silvery light was visible at once. It came from the patient's face. Court stripped off the covers, exposing Lossico's gaunt, nude body. Like the ghastly face it gleamed with a silvery radiance that did not pulse or wane, but remained steady. Lossico, Court called out sharply. When he gripped the thin shoulder the man shuddered convulsively and his eyes opened. They were not human eyes. They were pools of white radiance, like shining smoke in eye sockets. Lossico, can you hear me? Court asked quietly. A cracked whisper came from the withered lips. Yes. Yes, monsieur. Can you see me? I can. No, monsieur. Not with my eyes. I am blind. But I can see you, somehow. Court frowned, puzzled, as he pondered the weird reply. What do you see? You are covered with armor, I think. I do not know how I can tell this. I am blind. I am a doctor, Court said. If you can talk without pain, I'd want you to answer some questions. Out, monsieur, bien. Are you in pain? No, yes. I am hungry. It is strange. I am hungry and thirsty, but I do not want food. Something I do not understand. Court waited for him to continue. When Lossico did not, he went on with another line of reasoning. Tell me about this fog. There is not much to tell, Lossico said painfully. When I left my home, I could not find my way. The fog was so heavy, and its smell was not right. Stephen's eyes sparkled with interest under the thick mask. How did it smell? What did it remind you of? I do not know. Wait! Once I was in the big powerhouse at the dam, and it smelled like that. Ozone, Court shook his head. Well, he urged. The fog was cold at first, and then it seemed to grow warmer. I had this strange feeling it was getting inside of me. My lungs began to burn like fire. My heart beat faster. I was hungry, yet I had just eaten. Doctor, Lossico said suddenly, without moving, I am changing more and more. When it started I did not change much, but now I feel like something that is not a man. Can you hear my voice? Yes, Court soothed. That is odd. My mind is so wonderfully clear. But my senses, I do not seem to hear with my ears, nor speak with my tongue. I feel strong so, and hungry. His scrawny head slumped, and Court saw that he had lost consciousness. Whistling softly with grim abstraction, Court returned to the main hospital where the others waited. Doffing his suit, he questioned Granger. It's progressive, isn't it? Doesn't the radiation get stronger? Why, yes, the physician replied. For a time, anyway, Lossico was fearfully hungry. His metabolism was high, and this radiation got stronger every time we fed him. Yesterday, though, he refused to eat. But he's hungry, Stephen protested. So he says, and still he won't eat. The radiation is much fainter now. My sea, Court muttered. Get me a guinea pig, will you? A rabbit will do just as well if you don't have a guinea pig. I want to try something. Putting on the armor again, and carrying a wriggling guinea pig, Court went back to the patient. Lossico was still unconscious. For the first time, Court hesitated, staring at the pale aura surrounding Lossico's body. Then he slowly extended the guinea pig till its furry side touched the patient's hand. Gently the weak, bony fingers constricted. Closing upon the tiny animal they did not harm it though it struggled frantically to escape. The little beast went limp, seemed amazingly to grow smaller. Swiftly the phosphorescent gleam surrounding Lossico grew brighter. So that's the way, Court muttered under his breath. He disengaged the guinea pig from the skeleton fingers and examined the animal. It was dead as he expected. Court silently returned to the others. You haven't been feeding him the right way, he explained, struggling out of the armor. He gave it to Granger, who put it on. Lossico is changing, slowly and steadily, into some form of life that is definitely not human. At first he ate normally, though in vast quantity. As his basic matter altered, Lossico lost the power to absorb food as we do, internally. He gets the energy direct, like a vampire to put it melodramatically. He will kill any living being that touches him. Good God! Granger cried in a shocked voice. We can't let him live, Court! We must, because I need him. I have to study the course of the plague in its natural progress. Lossico must be fed whatever he needs now, rabbits, guinea pigs, and so on. I shall take him to my home as soon as the special ambulance gets here. Sammy shuffled forward, wide-eyed with fear, but desperately stern. Stevie, don't take any chances! Court ignored the old man, as he ignored everyone else when his mind was absorbed. Marion, unpack my equipment. The ambulance should be here by tomorrow or the next day. In the meantime, I want to check every angle. Be sure that there's a supply of small animals for the patient. I don't know yet how much energy he needs, but he's broadcasting it at a terrific rate. Granger, clumsy in the lead suit, already left the room. Court looked at his watch. Lucky I got here in time. If Lossico had died... Can you save him? She asked eagerly. Of course not. I don't want to, even if I could. I want to stop the plague, and to do that I must watch it run its course in a test subject. Lossico happens to be the only one we know about. There may be new cases at any time, but I can't afford to wait. For all I know there may never be another case till the final crack-up. Then it will be too late to do anything. What do you intend? Marion asked, trying to hide her disappointment. I shall take Lossico back home with me, keep him in isolation and feed him whatever may be necessary. Eventually the plague will run its course. Lossico may not die, but he may have to be destroyed. The door slammed open, Granger burst into the room, ripped off the lead suit. His gnomish face was gray with horror. Court, he's dead. What? Court's jaw trembled within decision. No, he can't be. It's unconsciousness. But already he was snatching the suit from Granger. Get me adrenaline, quick, another guinea pig! They sprang to obey. Bearing his equipment, Court raced away. The minutes ticked slowly past, lagging unendurably. At last he came back, his shoulders slumped. You're right, Granger, he muttered. Lossico's dead. I was too late. You, the physician hesitated, biting his lips in helplessness. You'll want to have an autopsy? No, it's no use. I must watch the progress of the plague on a living being. A corpse is no good for my purposes. I must wait. Perhaps the plague will strike again. I... I don't know. Court went to the window and looked out, his back to the others. Take precautions with the burial, he said, after a time speaking in a strange, tight voice. The contagion can still be spread. No one must touch him without lead armor. You will cremate him, of course. Marion came across the room to stand beside him. You're not giving up, are you? She whispered. No, but I'm at a dead end now. Every hour I delay may mean... The others had shuffled despondently out of the room. We're going back, then, Marion asked. Yes, I'll take a few specimens from Lossico's body, but it's useless. I can't bring back life to a dead man. Damn him, he snarled with sudden fury. Why did he have to die? Marion's lips trembled and she turned away. Court, after a brief hesitation, replaced the lead-glass helmet and went into the wing. He could, as a matter of routine, take samples of Lossico's blood and skin, though he knew that would do little good. Court opened the door of Lossico's room and stopped abruptly, searching his breath. The blood drained from his cheeks. He reached out, almost blindly. Sammy! he whispered. Oh, my God! You fool! The old man stood motionless beside the bed. In the dimness his face could not be seen. His scant white hair was pale as silver. Hello, Stevie, he said gently. Don't go off the handle now. After all, I'm not so young any more, and you needed a case of this plague to experiment on. If it's as contagious as you say, I guess I sure enough got it by now. Sammy! Court whispered through dry lips. Why? He could not go on. Why? The old man shrugged. I don't know. I told you about that plague down south, with women and kids dying like flies. I know what that's like. If I can help you save women and kids, Stevie, I figure I've done a pretty good job. So it's up to you now, boy. It's up to you. Chapter 8 The Mystery of Droge Gear Our death was worried. As he sat immersed in thoughts within the laboratory of the Golden Ship, he felt that he was little nearer to his goal. The barbaric hordes that overran the earth in this new era promised little. Only in the far Eastern lands did the flame of civilization burn. But would our death find a super mentality there? Would there be one he could take with him to a future age, to find a suitable mate? Or must he go on once more? There was another matter, too. Neither Jens Saja nor Thordred had proved as intelligent as he had expected. At times Thordred was almost obtuse, despite his eagerness to learn new things. A flash of suspicion crossed our death's mind. Perhaps Thordred was pretending stupidity. But why should he? Our death, unused to guile and deceit, found the question difficult. He had saved Thordred's life, but humans were completely alien to our death. He had come from Hyria, a planet far across the universe. He did not realize that humans sometimes mistrust and hate those greater than themselves. Fearing power, which, though benevolent, can also be used for evil. Besides, he knew that Thordred was ambitious, for the giant earthman had conspired to win Zaina's throne. Our death rose from his seat and pressed a lever, the veil of flickering light that barred the doorway died. He stepped across the threshold and once more the barrier flamed with shimmering deadliness. He stood watching Thordred and Jens Saja as they sat near a vision screen, intent on the scene pictured there. Thordred turned his vulture face, sensing our death's presence. There is nothing new, Master. Our death smiled, somewhat sadly, and shook his head. How often must I tell you not to call me Master? Because I have more knowledge than you, Thordred, does not mean that you are my slave. This eternal desire of earthmen for enslavement! He shrugged bewilderedly, and his thoughts went back to his home planet, Kyria, long since shattered into cosmic dust. Often he had dreamed of that world, which he had seen only on vision screens. Always he had awakened to this barbarous planet where men hated and fought and died for silly causes. Truly the road of ages was long. Yet he knew there would be an end. Even here, in this eastern land, the Kyrian had found a clue. Thordred, he said slowly, and you too, Jansaja, I must leave you for a while. Intent on his thoughts, our death did not notice the quick glow that brightened the other's eyes. There is a man here I must know, and a mystery I must solve, he continued. Barbra's hordes have overrun this country, huge hairy giants from the north. They are little more than beasts, but at their head is a chieftain called Drogear. He puzzles me. His acts are wise. His brain seems highly developed, yet he is filled with the violent emotions of a savage. This is a paradox. Jansaja's lovely eyes were narrowed. You must leave us, you said? Our death nodded. Remain in the ship till I return. There is plenty of food, and no danger can touch you. I have only one warning. Do not attempt to enter the laboratory. He smiled as a thought came to him. Though you know nothing of the apparatus there, yet you might harm yourselves. We will obey, Thordred grunted, his harsh face immobile. Quickly our death made his preparations. As he opened the port he turned. His gaze dwelt on Thordred, and there was a curiously mocking light in it. Farewell for a time. I shall rejoin you soon. He stepped out and was gone. The girl made a quick movement, but Thordred lifted his huge hand in warning. Wait! he whispered. They waited, while the minutes dragged past. At last Thordred arose and went to the laboratory door. He fumbled over the wall, and abruptly the flickering veil of light died. The giant's face twisted in a contemptuous grin. Our death is a fool, he rumbled. Else he would never have left his laboratory unguarded, even though he does not realize that I know the secret of his brain. But, do you, Janssaya asked? She stood behind the giant, peering over his shoulder into the laboratory. You know nothing of his thoughts since you drew the knowledge from his mind, and that was ages ago. I know enough, Thordred retorted, eyeing the apparatus wolfishly. Enough to handle his weapons once I get my hands on them. We shall follow our death now and slay him. Then this new world will be ready for conquests. I am afraid, the girl complained. Do not try to kill our death. Because I see that in his eyes which makes me tremble. He is not earth-born. Let us flee, instead, to where he can never find us. While he lives, we are not safe, Thordred growled. Come!" He sprang across the threshold and was flung back, a wall of flaming blue light reared viciously before him, crackling, humming, blazing with azure fury the strange veil rippled weirdly. Sick with amazement and baffled rage, Thordred drew back, a stinging pain in his arm and his side. Janssaya cried out and fled into a corner. He, he watches us, the girl whimpered. I did not think so, but now I know he is a demon. Thordred was Ashley Gray under his brown, hairy skin. His jaw muscles bunched. Like a beast he crouched, great hand shaking as he glared at the ominous portal. Quiet! He does not watch. Our death is clever, that is all. I do not understand. One lock on a door is good, but two are better. Our death had put two locks on this one. Thordred growled deep in his throat. Does he suspect me? If he does! He shook his shaggy head. No! It is a precaution any one might take. Let me see. Thordred approached and gingerly tested the blue wall of light. It was as solid and resistant as metal. It is a new thing. I know many of our death's secrets, though not this one. Perhaps I can learn how to destroy this barrier before he returns. Janssia began trembling with a new fear. If you do not, he may destroy us. Hurry, Thordred! There is no need for haste. Let me see. The giant began testing the wall beside the door. Under his beatling brows the amber cat eyes glowed as he worked. Presently sweat began to trickle down the swarthy face and run into the black beard. Could he find the secret of the barrier before our death returned? Meanwhile, our death walked swiftly through the forest, his thoughts busy. The Kyrian had already forgotten Thordred and Janssia. He was pondering the mystery of the savage chief Drogir, whose actions were those of a genius, but who certainly did not resemble one in any way. In a far later age Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun would ravage the earth as Drogir did now. Centuries later the walled cities of China would again fall victim to the invader, as they had fallen before Drogir. Out of the northern steppes the hordes of this scourge had come, huge hairy men on horseback. Their villages were crude collections of dome-shaped huts, yurts they were called. Eastward the ravagers had swept and down the bleak coasts into oriental lands. Westward they had been halted for a time by the vast mountain range that towered to the skies. To the south they had swarmed into a land of green lush jungle and carved stone temples, where men worshipped Siva and Kali the many armed. Like an avalanche the hoofs of the invaders thundered across the earth. Slay they shouted. Their curved swords glittered, their horsetail standard shook the chill winds that followed them from the north. Their spears drank deep, lifted, dripping red. Great beast-faced giants who rode like centaurs and fought like devils, they bathed the east in rivers of blood. Slay, show no mercy! Prisoners mutter and revolt, therefore take no prisoners! Only slay! Over these barbarians Drogear ruled. Our death's vision screen had showed him that Drogear camped with a group of his men not far away, but night had fallen before he reached the outposts and was accosted by a wary sentry. In the moonlight the guard's face was like that of a gargoyle. He lifted his spear and held it rigid as our death's gaze met and locked with his. A silent conflict flared without words or actions between the two men. As the stronger will mastered the sentry turned and led the Kyrian into the midst of a group of goatskin tents. Before the largest he paused. A few soldiers were sitting here and there by the fires. They looked up curiously but none offered to interfere. The sentry lifted the tent flap and our death entered. He felt an involuntary tension as he faced the baffling Drogear. A few lamps of pottery, with wicks protruding from reeking animal oil cast a flickering yellowish gleam on the tented walls. There were some beast-skins scattered around haphazardly but nothing more. A man reclined at length on a greasy fur and he looked up sharply as the intruder entered. Drogear was a giant as huge as Thordred. He wore nothing but a loose robe which left his shaggy breast bare. His thick black beard was shiny with oil. His long thick mustache had been twisted into two short braids and tied with golden wire. A fur cap covered his head. His face was that of a blindly ferocious beast. The low brow slanted back. The thick lips revealed yellow broken tusks. In the shallow eyes was little sign of intelligence. Our death frowned in wonder. Was this the genius he sought? Chapter 9. Li Yang Drogear surged up in one swift motion. His hand brought out a short throwing spear which he leveled at Ardath. Li Yang, he roared, come here! Ardath had already taken pains to learn the language of the barbarian hordes. I mean no harm, he began. I merely... Peace, Lord! A new voice broke in. He comes unarmed. Wait! Someone was crouching in the shadows. Ardath peered intently into the darkness. He saw a gross lump of a man, an absurdly fat oriental who sat cross-legged in the gloom. Sharp black eyes, almost hidden in the sagging pads of the bland round face, stared back at Ardath. The tiny red lips were childlike, and the dome-like skull was bald and shining. Li Yang wore a loose robe, girt about his bulging waist by a golden cord. Drogear had also swiveled appear at the oriental. Here his words, Li Yang counseled, and picked up a lute-like instrument at his side. Idly he strummed the strings as he gave his advice. There is no harm in words. But Drogear did not release his grip on the spear. He stood with legs wide apart, watching Ardath. Well, he demanded. The Kyrian spread his hands in appeal. I come in peace. How did you get through the lines? That does not matter. I have a message for you." Drogear growled a savage threat deep in his throat. Let him speak, Lord, Li Yang whispered. Then speak, but swiftly. Finally Ardath told his story. He was still puzzled, and he grew more bewildered as he searched the dull, ferocious eyes of the chieftain. No understanding woken them, yet Ardath plunged on, explaining his purpose, asking Drogear to come with him into time. Finally he finished. There was tense silence as the lamp sputtered and flickered eerily. At last the soft twang of the lute murmured vaguely. What is your answer? Ardath asked. Drogear tugged at his beard while his hand was still clenched about the spear. Abruptly the Oriental broke in. Lord, I think this foreigner has strange powers. It would be well to make him welcome. The Oriental heaved to his feet a flabby behemoth from the furs, and the pudgy hand made a swift motion to Drogear. The chieftain hesitated. Then his face broke into a wolfish grin. Good! We are not enemies, you and I. Break bread with me! Li Yang shuffled ponderously forward, thrust a cake of mealy, unleavened bread into Drogear's paw. The chieftain broke the cake into halves and handed Ardath one, stuffing the other into his capacious mouth. The crumbs that fell were caught in his filthy beard. Warily, the Kyrian ate. Something was amiss here, though what it was he did not know. You will come with me, he asked. I am tired of using force. If you refuse I shall merely leave you and continue my search. Drink Drogear roared. He seized a hollowed horn from Li Yang and thrust it at Ardath. The Oriental gave Drogear another cup. The wine was hotly spiced and steaming. In friendship, drink! The barbarian chief lifted the horn to his lips and drained it. Ardath followed his example. Slowly he lowered the cup. Li Yang was back in his corner, strumming at the loot. His voice rose in a monotonous Oriental song. All men see the petals of the rose drift down. The jasmine fades. The lotus passes. Drogear stood motionless. Abruptly his huge hand tightened on the drinking horn and it shattered. His hair fringed mouth gaped open in agony. Only a choking snarl rasped out. But no man sees his own doom in the falling of the rose. The chieftain's body arched back. He clawed at his throat, his contorted face blindly upturned. Then he crashed down as a tree falls and lay silent on a dirty bear fur. A single shudder shook the gross form before Drogear was utterly still. Ardath caught his breath. His glance probed the Oriental sharp black eyes as Li Yang stood up hurriedly. We must go before Drogear's body is found. Most of the men are in a drunken stupor, as always after a victory. Hurry! Wait! Ardath protested. I do not understand. The Oriental's bland face was immobile but his black eyes twinkled with malicious amusement. Drogear signalled me to give you the poisoned cup. I gave him the deadly wine instead. Listen, Ardath, that is your name, I think. Your words were not for this barbarian chief. Ever since Drogear captured me years ago, I have served him with my wisdom. He spared me because I gave him good counsel. Ardath's eyes widened, startled by the simple explanation. Li Yang had been the power behind Drogear's throne. The Oriental was the genius who had inspired the invader. I am tired of being a slave, said Li Yang, frankly. Eventually Drogear would have doubted my wisdom and would have slain me. Also, I do not like this savage world. Let me go with you, Ardath, into the future." He glanced at the grease-stained furs. Where, at least, there may be more comfortable couches. Involuntarily, Ardath's solemn face relaxed in a gentle smile. He could not help liking this blandly frank Oriental who played soft music with one hand while he administered poison with the other. Very well, he agreed. Let us go. What of the guards? Can we pass through their lines? Unless Drogear's body is discovered, in that case, not even I will be above suspicion, so we must hurry. The two slipped quietly from the tents and under a swollen red moon they walked through the encampment. Only when the fires had grown dim behind them did they breathe freely once more. Li Yang pointed up to the smoke from the camp that drifted across Earth's satellite. Barbarian flames darkened the moon lantern, he said softly. In future ages the smoke may have drifted away. Not for many centuries, though, I think. Ardath did not answer, for he was concentrating on the brain of the man who walked beside him. Presently he sighed with an emotion that was close to despair. His quest was not over. Li Yang was wise, far ahead of his time in intelligence, but he was not the super-being Ardath sought. The search must still go on through the eons, but Li Yang would be a good companion to have, despite his shortcomings. After a while they came inside of the ship. The Oriental's lips quivered, though his face remained immobile. The chariot actually flies, he asked in awe. It is truly wonderful, like the fabled dragon of Stishan. On the threshold of the golden ship Ardath paused a moment. His gaze went to the blue curtain that flickered across the laboratory door. Then he looked sharply at Thordred and Jansaya, who were rising from their couches. Jansaya's elfin features betrayed nothing, though there was a hint of fear in the sea-green eyes. Thordred's beard bristled with apparent indignation. "'It is time you returned,' he growled. "'Look!' he pointed toward the laboratory. Silently Ardath entered, Li Yang at his heels. Ignoring their apparent interest in the Oriental, he lifted his brows in a question. "'Enemies!' Thordred grunted, his yellow eyes angry. They came from the forest. I—' He looked away involuntarily. I opened the door, which was wrong, I admit, but I was curious.' "'Go on,' Ardath ordered, unemotionally. "'Well, the barbarian saw us. They came toward the ship, yelling and hurling spears. I shut the port and barred it, but they hammered so hard on the metal, I feared they'd break through.' "'No spear can pierce the hull,' Ardath replied quietly. Ancaia was frightened, and I was weaponless. I thought I could find a weapon in your laboratory, but when I tried to enter, he made a quick, angry gesture toward the threshold. You do not trust us, I see.' "'You are wrong,' Ardath smiled suddenly. I take precautions against possible enemies, but you are not my enemy, Thordred. The barbarians fled.' "'They gave up at last,' Thordred blurted hurriedly. "'But if they had broken in, we would have been slaughtered like trapped beasts.' Ardath shrugged indifferently. "'It should be forgotten. We have a new companion, and soon we must sleep again for centuries.' Thordred said nothing. His eyes were veiled, but slow rage mounted within him. Again he had failed. Not completely, though, he had not betrayed himself, and as yet Ardath suspected nothing. They must sleep again, yet they would awaken.' Thordred's fist clenched. The next time he would not fail. The creature from beyond infinity. Chapter 10. The Living Death Stephen Court was in his Wisconsin laboratory home. With Marion and Sammy he had returned from Canada and plunged immediately into a desperate succession of experiments. Slowly, painfully, he made progress. "'We have two goals,' he told Marion, his dark eyes gleaming behind lids that were red with lack of sleep. "'First... First, you've got to eat something,' the girl interrupted. She brought a tray to Court's desk and set it down. Silently he nodded his thanks. Wolfing a sandwich without tasting it, he kept on talking. "'Remember what I told you about seeing a golden spaceship on an orbit around the earth? I've been checking that. I have a hunch there's some clue connected with that ship.' "'How do you figure that out?' Marion perched on a corner of the desk, her trim legs swinging under the lab smock she wore. "'The ship was obviously created by some civilization far in advance of ours. That means their science was also in advance of today's. Perhaps in that vessel I can find some weapon, some method unknown to modern science, that will help me fight the plague. The very least it can do is set me on the right track.' Marion patted her dark hair into place, though she boasted that she had lost all silly feminine habits. "'How can you reach the ship? Space travel is impossible,' Court smiled. "'It was impossible. Rockets are useless as yet, because the fuel problem's insurmountable. Balloons weren't practical, but there is a way of overcoming gravitation.' "'Good Lord!' the girl slid down from the desk and stood staring. "'You don't mean?' "'Hold on. I haven't done anything yet, except make some spectroscopic analyses. Marion, that spaceship isn't made of gold. It's a yellow metal, an unknown alloy. I haven't finished analyzing it, but I know there's magnesium there, tungsten, and other elements. The virtue of that alloy is that, properly magnetized, it becomes resistant to gravitation.' "'How?' she asked, amazed. Court tapped idly on the tray as he replied. "'I'm just theorizing, though I feel pretty certain. Earth is a gigantic magnet. You know that. Well, like poles repel, opposite poles attract. If we could set up a magnetic force absolutely identical to Earth's, we could utilize that principle. So far it hasn't been done, except by the unknowns who built that golden ship. If I can duplicate the alloy, which I think I can do, and shoot the right sort of energy into it, we'll have a spaceship.' "'Phew!' Marion breathed, and she blinked. "'Then you'll go out after? The golden vessel? Yes. It may be a wild goose chase for all I know, but the chance is worth taking. I may find scientific knowledge that will be just what I need.' The girl turned away with such haste that Court looked at her sharply. "'What is it?' he demanded. She shook her head speechlessly. Court got up swiftly and swung her around to face him. There were tears in her lovely brown eyes. "'Tell me what it is,' he commanded. "'What's wrong?' she bit her lip. "'You'll think I'm foolish. I said, tell me what it is.' "'I'm just superstitious,' Marion burst out. "'It isn't scientific at all. But for a minute I had the queerest feeling that—that—' "'Well?' he said impatiently, frowning and gripping her shoulders. "'That there's danger in that ship,' she whispered. "'Danger to you, Stephen, as though that golden ship had been waiting for ages, perhaps just for the moment when you'd enter it.' He grinned ironically and sat down again. Gulping milk he watched Marion laughingly over the rim of the glass. "'A sort of ancient rendezvous,' he teased. "'You're under a nervous tension, Marion. We all are,' he admitted, sobering. "'And there's reason enough, I'm afraid.' They fell painfully silent. Both were thinking of the man who lay alone in a lead-plated room upstairs. Sammy was already being ravaged by the frightful plague from outer space. Court got up squaring his shoulders with decision. He didn't back down, you know, and I certainly won't run from a shadow. Get my suit, Marion. It's time to check up on Sammy again.' Nervously she helped Court don the armor. "'There's something going on at the village,' she said. "'Not a... a shadow, either. Since the plague is at the newspapers, the villagers are frightened.' "'Why?' Court asked, slipping on his gloves. "'There's been only one case in this country as yet, and that was in Georgia. Europe, Africa, China, sure. But somebody's been talking. They know about Sammy. They claim that you're exposing the whole village to deadly danger by keeping Sammy here.' "'Damned idiots!' He made an impatient gesture with his lead gauntlet at hand. Sammy's completely isolated. There's no danger at all.' "'They're not scientists,' she argued. Just ordinary people, most of them fairly uneducated. But they've got families, and, well, I'm afraid. The police can't touch me. It's not that,' Marion bitter-lipped and paused. Then she shrugged. "'It doesn't matter, I suppose, but I hope nothing happens.' "'Nothing will,' he assured her. He went out, hurrying through a long corridor to a lead-plated door. When he knocked, there was no response. Making sure there were no gaps in his armor, the court entered the experimental room. It was large, yet amazingly cluttered with apparatus. The lead walls dully reflected the dim light. On white-top tables by the hospital bed lay gauges, indicators, and enigmatic-looking devices. The figure on the bed was completely unrecognizable. The metamorphosis had come so swiftly that Sammy was horribly inhuman in appearance. His skin emitted a silvery radiance. His face was a mere bag of loosely wrinkled skin hanging repulsively about the jutting nose. His mouth was invisible below eyes that were gleaming but blind. Court fought down the sick horror that tore at his stomach. He dared not give way to sentiment, nor even admit its existence. Before him was a test case, a laboratory subject, that was all. He must forget that he had ever known the old man, that the faithful regenerated tramp had been his only friend, his entire family. "'Hello, Sammy,' he said in a voice that would not lose its choked quality. How do you feel?' There was no motion perceptible in the shrunken body on the bed, but a remarkably clear voice murmured a reply. "'Hello, Stevie.' "'Any change?' "'None. I'm just hungry.' Court took a rabbit from a lead-lined box beside the bed and placed it gently in the malformed talons that once had been Sammy's hand. Instantly there was a change. The small beast kicked convulsively and was still. The glow emanating from Sammy's skin brightened slightly. "'That better?' "'Yes. Thanks, Stevie.' Court drew up a chair and clumsily sat down in it. Through the lead infiltrated goggles his eyes probed. With gloved fingers he made adjustments on the apparatus and carefully checked the readings on certain gauges. "'The change is progressive,' he muttered under his breath. Drawing a microscope toward him he took a sample of the patient's skin cells and prepared a slide. "'Yes, entropy. Incredible. I still can't understand.' "'What is it, Steve?' Sammy asked weakly. "'Nothing new, but I'll find a cure yet. You can depend on me, Sammy.' The hideous folds of wrinkles twitched in a ghastly semblance of amusement. "'Your cure won't help me. I'm hungry again.' Court gave the old man another rabbit. Then he took pencil and paper, set a stopwatch on the table, and began the usual word association test. Though simple it had proved surprisingly effective in checking on the patient's mental metamorphosis. But now Court was due for a surprise. The test proceeded normally, Sammy responding without much hesitation, though over two words, man and we, he paused perceptibly. Then Court said, food, and immediately Sammy responded, human. Court had made a great effort to control himself. He read the next word and the next, but he did not even hear Sammy's responses. He was battling down the gorge that rose in his throat, yet this should have been expected. Sammy was absorbing life energy from living beings, and the human brain contained the highest form of such energy. But what would be the result? Sammy's replies lagged as he seemed to grow weaker. Court left him at last with a few encouraging words, but when he hurried out he was feeling worried and depressed. It was past sunset and he switched on the light in his lab. Removing the lead armor he sat down to think matters over. Sammy was no longer entirely human, for the change was progressing rapidly. His basal metabolism was tremendously increased. As Court had discovered the very matter of his body was changed. Entropy, he whispered, nervously folding and unfolding his hands. That's the answer, of course, but what it means... Entropy, the rate of the universe is running down. A human body is composed of atoms and electrons, like a universe. If the entropic value of a life organism is increased, what is the result? Court was angry with himself because he did not know. He should have been grateful for not being able to see the future. Sammy's changing into another form of life, that's certain, and he absorbs energy directly through contact. I must take more precautions. He may be dangerous later. Abruptly there was an interruption. The door flew open and Mary and burst in. Her brown hair was in disorder under her white cap. Stephen, she cried through padded lips. There are men coming up the road. What about it, he asked, without interest. From the village, with torches, I'm afraid. Those damned fools, he snapped angrily. Rouse out the men, give them rifles, tell them to spread through the house and keep its front covered from inside. When I give the word, they can fire. Mary and stared at him in horror. You'd murder those men? Court's eyes were icy as he returned her stricken gaze. Why not? They're afraid I have a contagious case here, but they're afraid for their own precious skins. They'd be willing to burn down the house and kill Sammy. Well, it's lucky I've taken precautions. Do what I say. His tone sent Mary and racing out. Growling an oath, Court went to the front door. He opened it and stepped out on the front porch. A bright moon revealed the scene. Before him the road sloped steeply down to the village, with a few trees that were blots of shadow on either side. Torches flamed along the road. Twenty-five or thirty men, possibly more, were advancing in ominous silence. Court put his back against the door and waited. The ignorant fools, he was trying to save their lives. Quickly the mob formed a crescent about the porch. They were mostly villagers and farmers. Under other circumstances they would have dreamed and worked away their lives without ever embarking on such a hazardous venture as this. But now their work-worn faces were grim and their sharp eyes narrowed with deadly purpose. Court unfolded his arms. Though he held no weapon, the mob drew back slightly. Then one man, a lean, grizzled-haired oldster in overalls, stepped forward. What do you want? Court asked quietly. The old man scowled. We want some questions answered, Mr. Court. Are you harboring a case of the plague? Yes. The word was flatly emotionless, yet a mutter went up from the crowd. I suppose you know that's contagious. There can't nothing stop it. There is no danger of contagion, Court replied. I have taken care of that. He gestured at the flickering flames of the torches. What do you wish to do? Kill my patient? Nope, the spokesman stated. We want you to send him away from here, to a hospital. The paper say there ain't no way of stopping the plague. I got two kids myself, Mr. Court. The rest of us were family men. How would you like it if I tell you there's no danger?" Court snapped. His nerves, already tense with overwork and sleeplessness, were frayed beyond endurance. Get out, all of you, or you'll regret it. An ominous low roar went up from the mob. They surged forward, paused only when Court lifted his hand. Wait! I have a dozen men in the house, stationed at the windows, with guns aimed at you right now, submachine guns some of them, and rifles. We can protect ourselves from lynch law. The crowd wavered uncertainly. The ulcer yelled a shrill protest. We ain't lynchers, Mr. Court. We just aimin' to protect our folks. We got a car down the road a bit, and we aimed to take your plague victim to a hospital. Court laughed, ironically. You poor idiot! You just said the plague is contagious. Sure it is, but we got rubber gloves, and cotton pads soaked in antiseptic to tie over our mouths, and we'll wash in Karbalik afterward. We just don't want our folks to run any risks. Rubber gloves, Court snorted. Only thick lead can protect you from the plague. If you won't leave instantly, we'll use guns to convince you. And I warn you, I won't hesitate to do that if it's necessary. He ain't bluffing, one of the mobs said nervously. I saw a muzzle up there in that window. Don't worry about it, the spokesman said. We're coming in, Mr. Court, unless you bring the man out to us. As the crowd surged forward, Court raised his pistol and took steady aim at the leader. You set foot on the first step, he gritted, and I'll put a bullet through your head. The old man walked slowly, quietly up the steps. Behind him came the others. Court's finger tightened on the trigger, yet he did not fire. His face grew terrible at the conflict that raised within him. Stephen Court, man of ice and iron, torn by pure emotion. Shoot! That was the logical thing to do. Shoot! To save Sammy, to save the experiment from those ignorant fools. But the mob did not want to kill. Court knew that they were honest, hardworking men who loved their families and wanted to protect them from danger. The nearest was only a few steps from him, but Court did not fire, nor give the word that would have brought a searing blast from the upper windows. His lips twisted and agonized in decision. From within the house came a scream, the door flung open and Marion Barton fled out, her face chalk white. Stephen, quick! Court whirled, ignoring the besiegers. What is it? Sammy came into the lab. He was— A startled gasp came from the old man. He drew back, staring. A rippling wave of fear shook the crowd that had shuffled to the porch. With one arm around Marion, Court dragged her back. Just then something came out of the door. He knew it was Sammy, but the metamorphosis had been incredibly accelerated. Sammy was not even as human as he had been half an hour before. His body could not be seen. A white shadow, with flickering, nimbus edges paused on the threshold. The pallid glow emanating from Sammy's flesh had become so brilliant that his lambet light entirely hid the frightful body. Staring at him was like looking into the heart of an electric light bulb, though the illumination was not strong enough to be blinding. A shining, roughly man-shaped shadow it stood on the threshold. And it whispered. A vague, wordless, suceress murmured out, like the hum emitted by some electric contrivance. It was enigmatic and unhuman. The shadow lurched forward. Its shimmering arms went around the old man in overalls. The spokesman shrieked as though the soul had been wrenched from his body. Then he fell, his body oddly shrunken, pale, and lifeless. Panic struck the mob. In all directions they fled back. The thing that had been Sammy seemed to glide down the steps in pursuit. Oh, my God! court whispered. His face was drawn with pain as he slowly took aim with his pistol. Sammy, he did not finish. The shot snarled out in the night. The glowing bulk was unharmed. With his breath catching in his throat court pumped bullet after bullet at it. It stumbled down the lawn while the mob vanished along the slope. No use! court gritted between his teeth. It absorbs every kind of energy, including kinetic. He led out a shout. Glancing up he pointed. From the windows above him came a burst of sound. Submachine guns and rifles rattled lethally, concentrating their fire on the shining horror that moved into the night. It vanished behind a tree and was gone. The alien gripped court's arm. Poor Sammy! Can't we go after him? That isn't Sammy, court said grimly. Not now. It's... it's a horror. An alien thing out of another universe, perhaps. Yes, I'm going after it, Marion, but not till I've put on my lead suit. I'm not sure I can capture it even then. He blew across the smoking muzzle of his gun. A creature whose touch means instant death is loose in the countryside. And I don't even know if it can be killed. CHAPTER XI. THE MAN FROM CARTHAGE Scipio Agricola Africanus sat in a dungeon beneath the circus arena. Through a barred grading he watched one gladiator disembowel another. The stroke, he thought, was clean and good, for the men from Gaul were like wolves, dark, feral, and quick. Scipio rather hoped he would be matched against them rather than against lions or an elephant. There was something about the feel of steel matched against your own sword that put heart into a man. An armored guard coming along the corridor pushed open the door of Scipio's cell. His hawk faced peered in. Your turn soon, he said. Good! replied Scipio with a pleasant oath. I grow tired of battling fleas. The soldier chuckled as he bent to adjust a grieve. By my larries you have courage. Too bad your dream failed, I would not have objected to serving under such a man as you. I failed because none of my men had the courage of a rabbit, Scipio spat and disgust. Faith we could have taken Carthage almost without bloodshed. Had your army not fled, leaving you to face the imperial guard alone, the soldier shook his head, grinning riley. Nothing but trouble since you came to Africa, Scipio. It was bad enough with those damned Romans yelling that Carthage must be destroyed, but at least they had not tried to destroy it. And what did you do? Scipio's eyes lighted. He was a huge, swarthy man with a scarred face of a gargoyle. His nose had been broken so often that it sprawled shapelessly awry. Atop that monstrous face the ringlets of short, curly black hair were incongruous. What did I do? the adventurer asked. Faith, I tried to serve your king, but he would not let me. The guard choked and spluttered his outrage. Jupiter, you got drunk and dragged the king off to some low, gambling hell. No wonder you had to flee to the mountains after that. Then you got some insane idea about creating an independent city of your own. That might have worked if you had gone far enough into the Nubian country with your followers. But you decided to take Carthage. Carthage! The soldier made an infuriating roar of merriment. Come within the reach of my manical hands, Scipio invited pleasantly, and I'll tear off your head with considerable joy. Save that for the arena, said the soldier, moving back slightly. Tonight the cries will announce that the Carthaginian Scipio is no more. Only you are not a man of Carthage, come to think of it, are you? Why not, the giant captive shrugged. Rome is a melting pot, the blood of a dozen races mix in my veins. I am a citizen of Carthage now, at least for a while. By the way, how do I die? Elephant. They have a huge tusker whom they've driven must with rage and hunger. You are to face him on equal terms, both of you, unarmed. He glanced cautiously over his shoulder. I am to accompany you to the arena gate, and if you happen to seize my sword and take it with you, well, such things have happened. Scipio nodded. Too bad you're not carrying a lance. However, a sword must do. I can spill the behemoth's blood before it tramples me. Thanks, soldier. If you let me escape now, I'll make you a prince of the nation I intend to establish. Listen to the lunatic, the guard said, with rapt admiration. In chains, penniless, and offering to make me a prince, a prince of dreams may happen. Anyway, my vows are to seize her and not the Roman Imperator anyway, so you must remain a captive. The filthy straw rustled under Scipio as he shrugged. A death cry drifted in from the arena, then the triumphant roar of some ferocious beast. Well, said the soldier, your time has come. I wonder. There was a curious look in Scipio's deep-set eyes. Lately I have had a queer feeling, as though the gods were watching me. Perhaps. He did not finish. More guards came and the Carthaginian was unfettered and escorted along an underground corridor. Almost naked his brawny body gleamed like mahogany in the sharp contrasts of light and shadow that filtered in through bars. Then the arena opened before them. Scipio was thrust forward. He saw it aside the friendly soldier turn so that his sword-hilt was exposed. With a grin and a quick movement, Scipio clutched the weapon and whipped it out. Before the startled guards could move he ran forward into the hot sands of the arena. The soles of his feet burned, then cooled, as he halted in a patch of reddened sand. The blazing African sun flooded down in blinding whiteness. Scipio had only a vague impression of the crowd that filled the circus. He could pick out no individuals. He felt as though one vast entity, surging, whispering, watching, surrounded him, and the head of the entity was the canopied box of the lord of Carthage. Scipio shifted his grip on the sword. He brushed the curly hair from his eyes with one hand and stood warily on the balls of his feet. A must-elephant, eh? Well, no man could resist such an enemy, yet a man could die fighting. Alas for my dreams of empire, the Carthaginian murmured, with a crookedly sardonic smile. Faith, I might have ruled the world given time, and now I must water the sand with my blood. He turned to the imperial box, lifting his hand in salute. The emperor nodded, expecting to hear the usual, we who are about to die, of the gladiators. Scipio disappointed his host. At the top of his voice he howled the words that would most enraise the onlookers. Carthage must be destroyed! A wave of fury, a gasp of astonishment and rage rippled around the arena. The emperor made a quick, angry gesture. Grinning, Scipio turned to see a barred gate far across the sanded arena rise slowly. For a few heartbeats there was silence throughout the circus. The blinding white heat was oppressive. Steam curled up from the blood stains on the sands. Then the must-elephant pounded to the gate. Huge, monstrous, a gray, walking vastness of animated dull savagery. He lurched through the gate and stood motionless. Only his blood shot little eyes, alive with hatred. The trunk did not move, say for the tip, which swayed back and forth slightly. A shadow darkened the arena as a cloud crossed the sun and then was gone. Scipio hefted the sword he held. It was a short-bladed weapon, useless unless he could hurl it like a javelin. It was even too broad to pierce an elephant's eye, the most vulnerable spot of the monster. Briefly Scipio thought of slicing off the elephant's trunk as far up as he could reach, but that would still leave the tusks and mighty tree-trunk limbs that could squash a man into red pulp. Well, Scipio said with grim amusement, at least they had to use their biggest elephant to kill me. His gargoyle face twisted into a fearless grin. In the glaring light he resembled a teakwood statue, spewed like a colossus. The elephant came forward slowly, its red eyes questing viciously until it saw Scipio. It paused and the trunk lifted, waving snake-like in the air. It snorted angrily. Again the shadow darkened the sun, and this time it did not pass. The Carthaginian had no time to look up. He bent slightly from the knees, holding the sword high like a javelin. The elephant broke into a lumbering trot. Its speed increased. Like the juggernaut it bore down on him. Scipio had a flashing glimpse of the monster, flapping ears, murderously upheld trunk, gleaming tusks. The thunder of its approach was growing louder, booming in his ears. It loomed above him. From the skies sprang a thunderbolt. Flaming with pale brilliance the crackling beam raved down. It caught the behemoth in mid-stride, bathing it in shining radiance, and the monster vanished. It was gone without a trace. The deep craters of its rush ended in the sand a few yards from where the shocked Scipio crouched. From the spectators arose a roar, terrified, unbelieving. A golden ball of enormous size plunged down into the arena. Lightly as a feather it grounded. A port in its hull sprang open. Scipio saw a thin, pallid man with the ascetic face of a Caesar. He was clad in odd garments and was beckoning urgently. Beyond him Scipio glimpsed a fat Chinese whose round cheeks were quivering with excitement. A spear flashed through the air, rang impotently against the golden hull. Almost paralyzed with amazement, Scipio ran forward, leaped into the ship. What this miracle might be he did not know, but had seemed to provide a means of escape. Whether the pallid man was a god or a devil, at least he seemed friendly. More important to remain in the arena met death. The port slam shut behind Scipio. He bounded through the inner lock and stood, wide-legged, staring around. The sword was still gripped in his hand. Past him the pallid man strode and entered an inner chamber. A quiver of movement shook the ship as it lifted. The Oriental waddled into view and beamed at Scipio. Relax, friend, he said, lisping the unfamiliar tongue. You speak Latin? Naturally, Scipio stated, all the world does. Are you a god? I doubt it, for only Bacchus and Silenus are obese and their skins are not yellow. The Oriental shook with laughter until he had to hold his heaving belly. I have heard of this Bacchus, a new god, but he is a good one. Sit down," he waved toward a couch. My name is Li Yang. Do you wish food?" Scipio shook his head and sat gingerly on the soft cushions. You called me friend, he asked. I might have better called you comrade. Our death saw the hidden possibilities in you, dragon-face. He read your mind while you slept. Ah, but you have dreams of empire, poor fool! Li Yang shook his head and his yellow cheeks swung pendulously. Ill luck dogs me," Scipio said, lightly grinning. The gods hate me, so I wear no crown. Nor will you. You are not ruthless enough. You could carve out an empire for yourself, but you could not sit upon a throne. Under all thrones the snake coils. You are too honest to be a king, Scipio." The Carthaginian had been about to answer, but he paused. His dark eyes widened and a flame sprang into them. Ponderously Li Yang turned. Two figures stood on the threshold. One was thordred, but Scipio had no place for even that gigantic form. He was staring with a burning fixity on the Atlantean priestess. She looked lovely indeed. Her delicate figure was veiled by a girdled robe, from the hem of which her tiny toes peeped. Her golden hair hung loosely about her shoulders and framed the elfin features that showed interested admiration. Jove's thunderbolt, Scipio gasped. Nay, but this is a goddess. This is Venus herself. Zhencaia preened herself. Under her lashes the sea-green eyes watched Scipio slumberously. She bashed in the frank, open gaze. This is Scipio, the priestess asked. She came forward and put a small, shapely hand on the Carthaginian's brawny arm. He looked down at her, his gargoyle face alight with wonder. You know me? But who are you? Zhencaia, the girl glanced over her shoulder. And this is thordred. Scipio saw the giant for the first time, apparently. His gaze met and locked with thordred's smoldering glare. The two men stood silent. Scipio did not notice when Zhencaia took her hand from his arm. Liang's red lips pursed as he glanced from one to the other. It was a sight worth seeing. Thordred was huge, elephant-thued, hairy as a beast, with jutting beard and aquiline-handsome features. Scipio, though slightly shorter, was almost as huge. His gargoyle face grew stone hard. Thordred's cat-eyes glittered, a silent enmity flamed in those glares that met without speech. Our death broke the deadlock by coming out of the laboratory. We are moving out toward our orbit, he said, smiling. Soon it will be time to sleep again. Perhaps next time, he sighed. Meanwhile, though Scipio is not the super-mentality I need, he is a genius in his way. Let me explain, warrior." Scipio nodded from time to time as Ardath told his story. The Carthaginian's quick brain grasped the situation without difficulty. "'You will come with us,' Ardath asked at last. "'Why not?' Scipio replied, shrugging. "'The world is not ready for such a man as I. In later ages countries will recognize my worth and kneel at my feet.' The granite face cracked into a grin and he glanced at Jansaya. "'Besides, I shall be in good company. To how many men is it given to know a goddess?' Thordred growled under his breath while Lee Yang chuckled. The fat oriental picked up his lute and strummed softly upon it. His voice raised mellowly. "'My love has come down from the moon lantern. In the heart of the lotus she dwells.' "'And now,' Ardath turned toward the laboratory, "'I must adjust my controls. We shall automatically fall into orbit. For two thousand years we shall sleep, and then revisit the earth.' He vanished into the next room. "'Fragrant are her hands as petals,' Lee Yang sang. In her hair the stars dance.' Jansaya smiled. Scipio grinned a silent, confident reply to Thordred's dark scowl. Humming power throbbed through the ship, swiftly grew louder. Lee Yang clambered awkwardly on a couch, gesturing for Scipio to follow his example. Sly poured from the monotonous sound. Idly Lee Yang touched the strings of his lute. "'Give me sweet dreams, dear goddess,' he murmured. Jansaya reclined on a couch. When Scipio turned his head to watch her, her green eyes met his. Thordred moved stiffly forward. His hand was hidden from view behind him as he stood beside the laboratory door. The languorous humming grew louder, more compelling. Jansaya slept. Lee Yang's pudgy hand fell from the lute. Scipio's eyelids drooped. Footsteps sounded softly. Through the doorway came Ardath, smiling his gentle smile. Perhaps he was dreaming that, when he awoke, he would find his quest at an end. Not noticing Thordred beside him, he turned and fumbled over the wall with rapidly slowing fingers. The skin around Thordred's eyes wrinkled as he fought to remain awake. His hand came up with the slow motion of encroaching torpor, and he gripped a heavy metal bludgeon. He crashed it down on Ardath's head. Without a sound the Kyrian crumpled and fell, lay utterly motionless. Blood seeped slowly through his dark hair. Instantly Thordred lunged through the doorway and reeled toward an instrument panel. If he could throw a single switch, the sleep-inducing apparatus would be shut off. Louder the humming grew. Its vibration shuddered through every atom of Thordred's body. In the next room was absolute silence. Thordred fell without feeling that he was doing so. The shock awakened him. He dragged himself to his knees and crawled on, his hand clawing desperately. One finger touched the switch and helplessly slipped down. The giant earthman crouched, shaking his head slowly. Then he collapsed and sprawled out, silent. The yellow eyes were filmed with cataleptic sleep. The humming rose to a peak that gradually began to die away. Inside the golden ship nothing stirred when it reached its orbit and robot controls made swift adjustments. Around the earth the vessel hurtled. The loot fell from Liyang's couch. A string snapped. Chapter 12 The Man From Earth Stephen Court raced his roadster along a Wisconsin road as he peered through sunglasses at the lonely countryside. Beside him, Mary and Barton huddled like a kitten in the seat, the collar of her white blouse open for coolness. How long, she asked. Couple of hours, Court grunted. We passed through Madison first, the drone's fifty miles south of there. Mary and drew a notebook from her purse and thumbed through it rapidly. Everything's checked, I think, she reported absently. Except the test flight. I don't believe the Tara was thoroughly inspected. Damn silly name the papers gave the ship, Court said, Riley. It didn't need a name. It'll make the flight all right. And if it doesn't? He shrugged indifferently without glancing at her. Nothing much left for more than a month now. I've been working on the plague since Sammy got away, and I'm still at sea. Earth science just isn't advanced enough. But perhaps I can find some more advanced alien science in that golden ship. Anyhow, we'll see. Why must you go alone, she insisted, her voice not quite steady. Because there's only room for one. We can't take chances. There will be little enough air and supplies as it is. I'm the best man for the job. So I'm the one to go. But suppose something happens. I can't stop the plague by myself. X is still unknown as far as I'm concerned. The only real clue so far is entropy. I know that X is catalyzed by some element in Earth's atmosphere. It speeds up the entropy of a living organism. Changes it into some form of life that might exist normally a billion years from now. But it's so alien. He switched on the radio. A news commentator was talking excitedly. Around Pittsburgh, martial law has been declared. WPA workers are blasting out a deep trench around the city and pouring deadly acids into it. Whether this will form an effective barrier, no one knows. The rivers are filling with floating corpses. The contagion is spreading with great speed. Nearly a hundred of the carriers have been seen in Pittsburgh and the bridges are choked with refugees. So there was still more of the shining monsters. Sammy had been one of the first and he was still wandering at large since he could capture or destroy him. The carriers kill instantly by touching their victims. Lead-plated suits are being issued to the guardsmen, but these do not always work. It depends on the quantity of energy emitted by a carrier. Dynamite has been placed at the New York bridges and tubes. The mayor is ready to isolate Manhattan, if necessary, for protection. The war is at a stand still. Troops are mutinying by the thousands. Every metropolis is being vacated. We estimate about 3,000 carriers now exist, widely scattered over the earth. From Buenos Aires, with an impatient gesture, court shut off the radio. No hope, he said. The plague is steadily on the increase. I must get to the Golden Ship and back as soon as possible. They sat in silent despair as the cars swept along the deserted highways. The landscape was incongruously peaceful. The green rolling hills of Wisconsin stretched around them. A broad lazy river flowed quietly beside the road. The only sound in the stillness was the humming of the motor. Marion leaned her head back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. All she could do now was let her thoughts drift. Suppose the plague had never come to earth. She and Stephen might be driving along together under the same sky, and perhaps—she blinked out of her reverie and lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers. Thanks, court said, and took it gently from her. She lit another for herself. Funny, she said. Court nodded grimly, staring ahead. Yes, I know. All this changing, giving place to the new. But God knows what the new order will be. A world peopled by beings of pure energy, eventually consuming all then-natural food and dying off. Then there will be only a dead planet. Will it still be as lovely, she asked softly? Lovely, court frowned, seemed to notice the landscape for the first time. His gaze swept out over the rolling hills and the placid river. Yes, he said, finally, in a curious voice. It is rather lovely. I wasn't aware of it before. I didn't think you ever would be, she said. He flushed. I have had so little time. It wasn't that. You never looked at the world or at human beings. You looked through microscopes and telescopes. He glanced at the girl, and his hand went out in a gesture that was somehow pathetic. Then his lips tightened. He drew back, again clutching the wheel firmly. He looked ahead grimly without speaking, not seeing the tears that hung on Marion's lashes. They reached the airfield soon after. The terra had been wheeled out, a shining golden cylinder eight feet in diameter and twenty feet long. Its ends were slightly tapered and bluntly rounded. It gleamed in contrast to the rich black loam on which it lay. Small, Cort criticized, thought we had no time to make a larger one. It'll have to do. He helped Marion from the car, and together they went toward the terra. A group of mechanics and workers approached. All set, the foreman stated. She's warmed up and ready, Mr. Cort. Thanks, he halted at the open port. Well, good luck, Marion Breathe. Cort stared at her. Curious lines that had never been there before now bracketed his mouth. He looked away at the green hillside and then back at the girl. His lips parted involuntarily, but with an effort he controlled himself. Thanks, he said. Goodbye, Marion. I'll see you soon. He entered the ship and closed the port behind him. Marion stood quite silent, her fingers blindly shredding her handkerchief to rags. The terra rose smoothly, swiftly mounted straight up. Smaller and smaller it grew, a glittering nugget of gold against the blue sky. Then it was merely a speck and it was gone. Marion turned and walked slowly back to the car. Her lips were bravely scarlet, yet they quivered against the pallor of her face. Cort sat before the control panel, peering ahead through a porthole. Wonder what effect radiation in space will have, he murmured. It's leaded Polaroid glass, of course, but the other ship had no portholes at all. They probably used some sort of televisor equipment that's beyond our contemporary science. He could see nothing but the blue of the sky. It grew darker, shading to a deep purple. Faint stars began to twinkle until countless points of light were glittering frostily. Sinus, Jupiter, Mars, Quartzide. With the secret of space travel mastered, man could reach all the planets. With sufficient power the interstellar gulfs might even be bridged, but how long would man continue to exist on Earth? Hours merged into an unending monotony of watchful, weary vigilance. The terror plunged on, gathering speed. Meteors might be a menace, Cort mused, unless the magnetic field deflects them, but that would work only on ferrous bodies. But still nothing's happened so far. He changed his course slightly. I'm doubtful about that space armor. Spatial conditions can't be duplicated on Earth. Well, I've taken other precautions. He had had the door made to fit exactly the port that had been telescopically visible on the Golden Ship. A queer excitement grew stronger within Cort as he neared his destination. He could not keep away from the transparent ports, for he was desperately anxious to see the Golden Ship. Some subtle instinct told him that the rendezvous might even be more important than he had realized. How long had the spaceship maintained its orbit beyond the atmosphere? Whence had it come? What strange secrets might it hold? When Cort found that his fingers were trembling slightly on the controls, he grimly repressed his nervousness. But he could not help wondering. Centuries, eons perhaps, might have passed while the Golden Vessels circled the planet. And now, Stephen Cort, man of Earth, was questing out to what destiny. He did not know, but some premonition of the incredible future must have come to him, or he shuddered. Somebody's walked over my grave, he muttered, with a sardonic smile at the whimsy. Well, it won't be long now. Again he turned to the port and his breath caught in his throat. The Golden Ship hung there, a mysterious gleaming cylinder against the star-bright background of black space. Swiftly it grew larger. As Cort decelerated, his face was curiously pale. The terra was easy to handle. He deftly pulled it alongside the other craft. Hull scraped against alloyed hull till finally the two ports were flushed together. Cort threw a lever and hastily spun a wheel. He was breathing unevenly and his eyes were glowing with excitement. The ships were held firmly together by an airtight rubberoid ring. He rose, donned a gas mask, and picked up a revolver. Then he went to the port and gingerly swung it open. The air remained in the ship. Facing him was a surface of yellow metal, a scarcely visible crack showing that it was an oval door. Cort pushed, but it did not yield. A blowtorch might cut it, and certainly acids would bite through. But Cort did not resort to these immediately. He fumbled with a powerful electromagnet and worked unavailingly for a time. At last, in desperation, he used acids to eat a small hull through the outer hull. The air that rushed out was thin and dead, but far from poisonous. Grunting, Cort reached through the gap and managed to open the port. What he expected he did not know. His nerves were strung to wire edge, unbearably tense, now that he was face to face with the solution of the mystery. The port opened, and for a moment Cort was weak with reaction. He saw nothing but a short corridor about six feet long, featureless and vacant. Naturally there would be an airlock for safety's sake. He should have expected one. At the farther end was another door, but this one had a lever set in it. Cort walked forward and moved the lever slightly. The port swung open. Air gusted from the terra to the golden ship. He stepped across the threshold and halted, staring around. He was in a good-sized room, apparently only one of several in this huge vessel. Opened doorways gaped in the walls. The chamber was bare, with nothing but a few couches. But on the couches lay human beings. A gigantic, gargoyle-faced man was naked, say for a clout, his unbranched body glistening in the dim illumination that came from no discernable source. Another man, Oriental, fad as a Buddha, sprawled untidily on a pile of cushions. On the floor beside him lay a loot with one broken string. And there was a girl. An elfin creature with ivory skin, her lips curved into a tender smile, she slept with her golden hair partially veiling her face. On the floor near a doorway lay another figure, face down. Cort crossed to it and turned it over. He stared at a slight form and chiseled patrician features. That face had some vague yet unmistakable touch of the alien visitor to Earth. Something caught Cort's eye beyond the threshold of the next room. A huge body sprawled there, one hand out stretched toward an instrument panel. Cort strode toward it. He halted, realizing that he was in a laboratory, but no earthly one. He blinked in astonishment at sight of the apparatus surrounding him. Then, forcing down his curiosity, he knelt beside the prone figure and turned it on its back. The man's face was handsome in an arrogantly ferocious way, though a black spade-beard judded from his pugnacious chin. The giant lay motionless, and Cort saw that no breath lifted the hairy barrel chest. Nevertheless, he made careful tests, only to realize that the man was pulseless, apparently dead. For some reason Cort was not convinced. Could Cort's's remain in such a perfect state of preservation? Was there not such a thing as catalepsy? He returned to the others and found that they were equally lifeless, equally well-preserved. There was the long chance of a wild hunch. Cort returned to his own ship and came back with heating pads and stimulants. He paused to consider. Which one should he attempt to revive first? The girl? The Chinese? Why not the bearded man? His presence in the laboratory, the heart of the ship, indicated that he was probably a scientist. With a grunt of decision, Cort went to the straight giant and put down his burden. Warmth must come first. The heating pads were arranged in armpits and thighs. He followed them with adrenaline, with brandy, artificial respiration. Cort placed his hands in the proper position and forced air from the giant's lungs. Then back and down again. Down and up. With a surge and a rush the man came back to life. He flung Cort off with a swift gesture and sprang up. His hand closed on the switch he had been striving for. But he halted and whirled, his yellow cat's eyes glouring at the smaller man. He said something Cort did not understand. Rising to his feet Cort kept one hand on his gun as he watched the giant warily. Abruptly the blackbeard strode past Cort and into the next room. When he returned he was grinning. He stopped at the door and stood with arms akimbo. After a moment he spoke slowly in Latin. It was a language that Cort, being a scientist, had studied with some thoroughness. I come from earth, he explained. The third planet of this sun. I mean no harm. I woke you. The other nodded. I am Thordred, but there is no time to talk now. Tell me, swiftly as you can, how you found us. Cort obeyed. As he talked Thordred went into the adjoining room and stood contemplating the silent figures. He stooped beside the slim body on the floor. Dead, I think. Yet, this is your ship? He pointed toward the port. Yes? Well, you will not need it. My ship is yours now. A gleam of amusement shone in the yellow eyes as Thordred lifted Ardath's body and carried him into the terra. He paused to study the controls. After making a careful adjustment he returned. The door of the terra closed behind him, then both ports of the larger ship. Cort felt a touch of apprehension. Thordred, he said with quick anger in his voice, what are you doing? The giant turned to a vision screen in the wall. He flicked it on. Look! On the screen Cort saw the terra flashing away through space. He felt a sudden pang that chilled to cold rage. What right! Thordred grinned. Slowly, Stephen Cort, I have said that this ship is yours. As for him, black hatred shone in the yellow eyes. He was a renegade and a traitor. He tried to kill us all. He is dead now, but science and magic may bring even a dead man back to life. So Ardath is going where there is neither science nor magic toward the sun. The sun? Yes. I set the controls on your ship. They are not difficult to understand. Ardath is doomed if a dead man can die again, and now we will attend to the others. He glanced at the silent figures on the couches. Do you feel awakened them? One at a time. The girl first. Thordred hesitated. Revive Gensaya, Cort, while I adjust the apparatus. We are going back to earth. Good! Cort smiled. We need your help. His throat felt achingly dry, for at last his search was at an end. With the science of this Thordred added to his own, the plague could be fought, perhaps conquered. Thordred was smiling triumphantly as he went into the laboratory.