 image of the gods by Alan Edward Norse. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rebecca Zimmerman. Image of the gods by Alan Edward Norse. It was nearly winter when the ship arrived. Pete Farnham never knew if the timing had been planned that way, or not. It might have been coincidence that it came just when the colony was predicting its first real bumper crop of all time. When it was all over, Pete and Mario and the rest tried to figure it out, but none of them ever knew for sure just what had happened on earth or when it had actually happened. There was too little information to go on and practically none that they could trust. All Pete Farnham really knew that day was that this was the wrong year for a ship from earth to land on Baron Four. Pete was out on the plantation when it landed. As usual his sprayer had gotten clogged. Tarring should have been started earlier, before it got so cold that the stuff clung to the nozzle and hardened, before the spray could settle into the dusty soil. The summer past had been the colony's finest in the fourteen years he's been there. A warm, still summer with plenty of rain to keep the dirt down and let the taro get well-rooted and grow up tall and gray against the purple sky. But now the taro was harvested. It was waiting, compressed and crated, ready for shipment, and the heavy black clouds were scutting nervously across the sky, faster with every passing day. Two days ago Pete had asked Mario to see about firing up the little furnaces the dusties had built to help them fight the winter. All that remained now was tarring the fields and then buckling down beneath the windshields before the first winter storms struck. Pete was trying to get the nozzle of the tar sprayer cleaned out when Mario's jeep came roaring down the redded road from the village in a cloud of dust. In the backseat a couple dusties were bouncing up and down like happy five-year-olds. The brakes squealed and Mario bellowed at him from the road. Pete chips in, better get hoppin'. Pete nodded and started to close up the sprayer. One of the dusties tumbled out of the jeep and scampered across the field to give him a hand. It was an inexpert hand to say the least, but the dusties seemed so proud of the little they were able to learn about mechanized farming, that nobody had the heart to shoo them away. Pete watched the fuzzy brown creature get its paws thoroughly gummed up with tar before he pulled him loose and sent him back to the jeep with a whack on the backside. He finished the job himself, grabbed his coat from the back of the sprayer and pulled himself into the front seat of the jeep. Mario started the little car back down the road. The young colonist's face was coated with dust, emphasizing the lines of worry around his eyes. I don't like it, Pete. There isn't any ship due this year. When did it land? About twenty minutes ago. Won't be cool for a while yet. Pete laughed. Maybe old Schooner is just getting lonesome to swap tall stories with us. Maybe he's even bringing us a locker of T-bones. Who knows? Maybe, said Mario, without conviction. Pete looked at him and shrugged. Why complain if they're early? Maybe they found some new way to keep our fields from blowing away on us every winter. He started across the heavy windbreaks between the fields, long ragged structures built in hope of outwitting the vicious winds that howled across the land during the long winter. Pete picked bits of tar from his beard and wiped the dirt from his forehead with the back of his hand. This tarring is mean, he said wearily. Glad to take a break. Maybe Cap Schooner will know something about the rumors we've been hearing. Mario said gloomily. Pete looked at him sharply. About Earth? Mario nodded. Schooner's a pretty good guy, I guess. I mean, he'd tell us if anything was really wrong back home, wouldn't he? Pete nodded and snapped his fingers. One of the dusties hopped over into his lap and began gawking happily at the broad fields as the Jeep jogged along. Pete stroked the creature's soft brown fur with his tar-caked fingers. Maybe someday these little guys will show us where they go for the winter, he said. They must have it down to a science. Somehow the idea was funny and both men roared. If the dusties had anything down to a science nobody knew what. Mario grinned and tweaked the creature's tail. They sure do beat the winter, though, he said. So do we, only we have to do it the human way. These fellows grew up in the climate. Pete lapsed into silence as a village came into view. The ship had landed quite a way out. Resting on its skids on the long shallow groove the colonist had bulldozed out for it years before. The first year they had arrived on Baron Four. Slowly Pete turned Mario's words over in his mind, allowing himself to worry a little. There had been rumors of trouble back on Earth. Persistent rumors he had taken care to soft-pedal as mayor of the colony. There were other things, too, like the old newspapers and magazines that had been brought in by the lad from Baron Two, and the rare radio message they could pick up through their atmospheric disturbance. Maybe something was going wrong back home. But somehow political upheavals on Earth seemed remote to these hardened colonists. Captain Schooner's visits were always welcome, but they were few and far between. The colony was small. One ship every three years could supply it, and even then the tarot crates wouldn't half fill up the storage holds. There were other colonies far closer to home that sent back more tarot in one year than Baron Four could grow in ten. But when a ship did come down it was a time of high excitement. It meant fresh food from Earth, meat from the frozen lockers, maybe even a little candy and salt. And always for Pete a landing meant a long evening of palaver with the captain about things back home and things on Baron Four. Pete smiled to himself as he thought of it. He could remember Earth, of course, with a kind of vague nostalgia, but Baron Four was home to him now, and he knew he would never leave it. He had too many hopes invested there, too many years of heartache and desperate work, too much deep satisfaction in having cut a niche for himself in this dusty, hostile world. Ever to think about Earth any more. Mario stepped in front of the offices, and one of the dusties hopped out ahead of Pete. The creature strode across the rough gravel to the door, pulling tar off his fingers just as he had seen Pete do. Pete followed him to the door, then stopped, frowning. There should have been a babble of voices inside with Captain Schooner's loud laugh roaring above the excitement, but Pete could hear nothing. A chill of uneasiness ran through him. He pushed open the door and walked inside. A dozen of his friends looked up silently, avoiding the eyes of the uniform stranger in the center of the room. When he saw the man, Pete Farnham knew something was wrong indeed. It wasn't Captain Schooner. It was a man he'd never seen before. The dusty ran across the room in front of Pete and hopped up on the desk as though he owned it, throwing his hands on his hips and staring at the stranger, curiously. Pete took off his cap and parka and dropped them on a chair. Well, he said, this is a surprise. We weren't expecting a ship so soon. The man inclined his head stiffly and glanced down at the paper he held in his hand. You were Pete Farnham, I suppose. Mayor of this colony? That's right, and you? Varga is the name, the Captain said shortly. Earth's security and supply. He nodded toward the small, frail-looking man in civilian clothes, sitting besides him. This is Rupert Nathan, one of Colonial Service. You'll be seeing a great deal of him. He held out a small wallet of papers. Our credentials, Farnham. Be so good as to examine them. Pete glanced around the room. John Teagan and Hank Mario were watching him uneasily. Mary Turner was following the proceedings with her sharp little eyes, missing nothing, and Mel Dorfman stood like a rock, his heavy face curiously expressionless as he watched the visitors. Pete reached out for the papers, flipped through them, and handed them back with a long look at Captain Varga. He was younger than Captain Schooner, with sandy hair and pale eyes that looked up at Pete from a soft baby face. Clean shaven, his whole person seemed immaculate, as he leaned back calmly in the chair. His civilian companion, however, had indecision written in every line of his pink face. His hands fluttered nervously, and he avoided the colonists' eyes. Pete turned to the Captain. The papers say you're our official supply ship, he said. You're early, but an Earth's ship is always good news. He clucked at the dusty, who was about to go after one of the shiny buttons on the Captain's blouse. The little brown creature hopped over and settled on Pete's knee. We've been used to seeing Captain Schooner. The Captain and Nathan exchanged glances. Captain Schooner has retired from security service, the Captain said shortly. You won't be seeing him again. But we have a cargo for your colony. You may send these people over to the ship to start unloading now, if you wish. His eyes swept the circle of wind-burned faces. Well, Nathan and I discuss certain matters with you here. Nobody moved for a moment. Then Pete nodded to Mario. Take the boys out to unload, Jack. We'll see you back here in an hour or so. Pete, are you sure? Don't worry. Take Mel and Hank along to lend a hand. Pete turned back to Captain Varga. Suppose we go inside to a more comfortable quarters, he said. We're always glad to have word back from Earth. They passed through a dark, smelly corridor into Pete's personal quarters. For a colony house it wasn't bad. Good plastic chairs, a handmade rug on the floor, even one of Mary Turner's paintings on the wall, and several of the weird stylized carvings the Dusties had done for Pete. But the place smelled of tar and sweat, and Captain Varga's nose wrinkled in distaste. Nathan drew out a large silk handkerchief and wiped his pink hands, touching his nose daintily. The Dusty hopped into the room ahead of them and settled into the biggest, most comfortable chair. Pete snapped his fingers sharply, and the brown creature jumped down again like a naughty child, and climbed up on Pete's knee. The Captain glanced at the chair with disgust, and sat down in another. Do you actually let those horrid creatures have run of your clothes? He asked. Why not? Pete said. We have run of their planet. They're quite harmless, really, and quite clean. The Captain sniffed. Nasty things. Might find a use for the furs, though. They look quite soft. We don't kill Dusties, said Pete, coolly. They're friendly and intelligent, too, in a childish sort of way. He looked at the Captain and Nathan, and decided not to put on the coffee pot. Now what's the trouble? No trouble at all, the Captain said. Except the trouble you choose to make. You have this year's tarot ready for shipping. Of course. The Captain took out a small pencil on a chain and began to twirl it. How much, to be exact? Twenty thousand earth weight. Tons? Pete shook his head. Hundred weight? The Captain raised his eyebrows. Ah, I see, and there are—he consulted the papers in his hand. Roughly two hundred and twenty colonists here on Baron Four. Is that right? That's right. Seventy-four men, eighty-one women, and fifty-nine children, to be exact. I'd have to look it up. Margaret Singman had twins the other night. Well, don't be ridiculous. Snap the Captain. On a planet the size of Baron Four, with seventy-four men, you should be producing a dozen times the tarot you stated. We'll consider that your quota for a starter, at least. You have ample seed, according to my records. I should think with the proper equipment. Now, wait a minute," said Pete softly. We're fighting climate here, Captain. You should know that. We have only a two-planting season, and the proper equipment, as you call it, doesn't operate too well out here. It has a way of clogging up with dust in the summer and rusting in the winter. Really," said Captain Varga. As I was saying, with proper equipment, you could cultivate a great deal more land than you seem to be using. That would give you the necessary, heavier yield. Wouldn't you say so, Nathan?" The little, nervous man nodded. Certainly, Captain, with the proper organization of labour. That's nonsense," Pete said, suddenly angry. Nobody can get that kind of yield from this planet. The ground won't give it, and the men won't grow it. The Captain gave him a long look. Really," he said, I think you're wrong. I think the men will grow it. Pete stood up, slowly. What are you trying to say? This business about quotas, an organization of labour. You didn't read our credentials as we instructed you, Farnham. Mr. Nathan is the official governor of the colony of Baron Four, as of now. You'll find him most cooperative, I'm sure, but he's answerable directly to me, in all matters. My job is administration of the entire Baron's system. Clear enough?" Pete's eyes were dark. I think you better draw me a picture," he said tightly. A very clear picture. Very well. Baron Four is not paying for its upkeep. Tarot, after all, is not the most necessary of crops in the universe. It has value, but not very much value, all things considered. If the production of tarot here is not increased sharply, it may be necessary to close down the colony altogether. You're a liar," said Pete, shortly. The colonization board makes no production demands on the colonies, nor does it farm out systems for personal exploitation. The Captain smiled. The colonization board, as you call it, has undergone a slight reorganization, he said. Reorganization? It's a top-level board in the Earth government. Nothing could reorganize it but a wholesale— He broke off, his jaw sagging as the implication sank in. You're rather out on a limb, you see, said the Captain Cooley. Poor communications and all that. The fact is that the entire Earth government has undergone a slight reorganization also. The Dusty knew that something had happened. Pete didn't know how he knew. The Dusties couldn't talk, couldn't make any noise as far as Pete knew, but they always seemed to know when something unusual was happening. It was wrong, really, to consider them unintelligent animals. There are other sorts of intelligence than human, and other sorts of communication, and other sorts of culture. The Baron Four Colonists had never understood the queer perspective sense that the Dusties seemed to possess any more than they knew how many Dusties there were, or what they ate, or where on the planet they lived. All they knew was that when they landed on Baron Four, the Dusties were there. At first the creatures had been very timid. For weeks the men and women, busy with their building, had paid little attention to the skittering brown forms that crept down from the rocky hills to watch them with big, curious eyes. They were about half the size of men, and strangely humanoid in appearance, not in the sense that a monkey is humanoid, for they did not resemble monkeys, but in some way the colonists could not quite pin down. It may have been the way they walked around on their long fragile hind legs, the way they stroked their pointed chins as they sat and watched and listened with their pointed ears lifted alertly, watching with soft gray eyes, or the way they handled objects with their little four-fingered hands. They were so remarkably human-like, in their elven way, that the colonists couldn't help but be drawn to the creatures. That whole first summer, when the colonists were building the village and the landing grew for the ships, the Dusties were among them, trying pathetically to help. So eager for friendship that even occasional rebuffs failed to drive them away. They liked the colony. They seemed somehow to savor the atmosphere, moving about like solemn, fuzzy overseers as the work progressed throughout the summer. Pete Farnham thought that they had even tried to warn the people about the winter. But the colonists couldn't understand, of course, not until later. The Dusties became a standing joke, and were tolerated with considerable amusement. Until the winter struck. It had come with almost unbelievable ferocity. The houses had not been completed when the first hurricanes came, and they were smashed into toothpicks. The winds came vicious winds full of dust and sleet and ice, wild erratic, twisting gales that ripped the village to shreds, tearing off the topsoil that had been broken and fertilized, merciless, never-ending winds that wailed and screamed the planet's protest. The winds drove sand and dirt and ice into the heart of the generators, and the heating units corroded and jammed and went dead. The jeeps and tractors and bulldozers were scored and rusted. The people began dying by the dozens as they huddled down the pitiful little pits they had dug to try to keep the winds away. Few of them were still conscious when the Dusties had come silently in the blizzard, eyes closed tight against the blast, to drag the people up into the hills, into caves and hollows that still showed the fresh marks of carving tools. They had brought food. What kind of food nobody knew, for the colony's food had been destroyed by the first blast of the hurricane. But whatever it was, it had kept them alive. And somehow the colonists had survived the winter, which seemed never to end. There were frozen legs and ruined eyes. There was pneumonia so swift and virulent that even the antibiotics they managed to salvage could not stop it. There was near starvation. But they were kept alive until the winds began to die, and they walked out of their holes in the ground to see the ruins of their first village. From that winter on nobody considered the Dusties funny anymore. What had motivated them no one knew. But the colony owed them their lives. The Dusties tried to help the people rebuild. They showed them how to build windshields that would keep their houses intact and anchor to the ground when the winds came again. They built little furnaces out of dirt and rock which defied the winds and gave great heat. They showed the colonists a dozen things they needed to know for life on the rugged planet. The colonists in turn tried to teach the Dusties something about earth and how the colonists had lived and why they had come. But there was a barrier of intelligence that could not be crossed. The Dusties learned simple things but only slowly and imperfectly. They seemed content to take on their mock overseers role moving in and about the village approving or disapproving but always trying to help. Some became personal pets though pet was the wrong word because it was more of a strange personal friendship limited by utter lack of communication than any animal and master relationship. The colonists made sure that the Dusties were granted the respect to do them as rightful masters of baron for and somehow the Dusties perceive this attitude and we're so grateful for the acceptance and friendship that there seemed nothing that they wouldn't do for the colonists. There had been many discussions about them. You'd think that resent are moving in on them Jack Mario had said one day after all we are usurpers and they treat us like kings. Have you noticed the way they mimic us? I saw one chewing tobacco the other day. He hated the stuff but he chewed away and spat like a trooper. One of the Dusties had been sitting on Pete's knee when Captain Varga had been talking. And he had known that something terrible was wrong. Now he sat on the desk in the office moving uneasily back and forth as Pete looked up at Mario's dark face and then across at John Tegan and Mel Dorfman. John's face was dark with anger as he ran his fingers through the heavy gray beard that fell to his chest. Mel sat stunned shaking his head helplessly. Mario was unable to restrain himself. His face was bitter as he stomped across the room and he returned to shake his fist under Pete's nose. But did you see him? He choked. Governor of the colony. What does he know about growing tarot in this kind of soil? Did you see those hands? Soft dainty pink. How could a man with hands like that govern a colony? Pete looked over at John Tegan. Well John, the big man looked up his eyes hollow under craggy brows. It's below the belt Pete. But if the government's been overthrown then the captain is right. It leaves us out on a limb. Pete shook his head. I can't give him an answer. He said, The answer has got to come from the colony. All I can do is speak for the colony. Tegan stared at the floor. We're an earth colony. He said softly. I know that. I was born in New York. I lived there for many years. But earth isn't my home anymore. This is, he looked at Pete. I built it. And so did you. All of us built it even when things were getting stormy back home. Maybe that's why we came. Maybe somehow we saw the handwriting on the wall. But when did it happen? Mel burst out suddenly. How could anything so big happen so fast? Speed was a secret. Pete said gloomily. It was quick. It was well organized. And the government was unstable. We're just caught in the edge of it. Pity the ones living there now. But the new government considers the colonies as areas for exploitation instead of development. Well they can't do it. Mario cried. This is our land, our home. Nobody can tell us what to grow in our fields. Pete's fist slammed down on the desk. Well how are you going to stop them? The law of the land is sitting out there in that ship. Tomorrow morning he's coming back here to install his fat little friend as our governor. He has guns and soldiers on that ship to back him up. What are you going to do about it? Fight it! Mario said. How? Jack Mario looked around the room. There are only a dozen men on that ship. He said softly. We've got seventy-four. When Varga comes back to the village tomorrow we tell him to take his little friend back to that ship and shove off. We give him five minutes to get turned around and if he doesn't we start shooting. Just one little thing said Pete quietly. What about the supplies? Even if we fought them off and won, what about the food? The clothing? The replacement parts for the machines? We don't need machinery to farm this land. Said Mario eagerly. There's food here. Water we can live on. The Dusty showed us that the first winter and we can farm the land for our own use and let the machine re-rust. There's nothing they can bring us from earth that we can't do without. We couldn't get away with it. Mel Dorfman shook his head bitterly. You're asking us to cut ourselves off from earth completely but they've never let us. They'd send ships to bomb us out. We could hide and rebuild after they'd finished. Pete farnham sighed. They'd never leave us alone, Jack. Didn't you see that, Captain? His kind of mind can't stand opposition. We'd just be a thorn in the side of the new earth government. They don't want any free colonies. Well, let's give him one. Mario sat down tiredly, snapping his fingers at the Dusty. Furs, he snarled. He looked up, his eyes burning. It's no good, Pete. We can't let them get away with it. Produce for them, yes. Try to raise the yield for them, yes, but not a governor. If they insist on that, we can throw them out and keep them out. I don't think so. They'd just kill every one of us first. John Teagan sat up and looked Pete Farnham straight in the eye. In that case, Peter, it might just be better if they did. Pete stared at him for a moment and slowly stood up. All right, he said. Call a general colony meeting. We'll see what the women think. Then we'll make our plans. The ship's jeeps get into a halt and a cloud of dust. Captain Varga peered through the windshield. Then he stood up, staring at the three men, blocking the road at the edge of the village. The little pink-faced man at his side turned white when he saw their faces and his fingers began to tremble. Each of the men had a gun. You'd better clear the road, the captain snapped. We're driving through. Pete Farnham stepped forward. He pointed to Nathan. Take your friend there, back to the ship. Leave him there. We don't want him here. Nathan turned to Varga. I told you, he said viciously, too big for their boots. Go on through. The captain laughed and gunned the motor, started straight for the men, blocking the road. Then Jack Mario shot a hole in his front tire. The jeep lurched to a stop. Captain Varga stood up, glaring at the men. Farnham, step out here, he said. You heard us, Pete said, without moving. Crops, yes. We'll try to increase our yield, but no overseer. Leave him here and we'll kill him. Once more, said the captain, clear the way. This man is your new governor. He will be regarded as the official agent of the earth government until the final production capacity of this colony is determined. Now clear out. The men didn't move. Without another word, the captain threw the jeep in reverse, jerked back in a curve, and started the jeep, flat tire and all, back toward the ship in a billow of dust. Abruptly the village exploded into activity. Four men took up places behind the row of windbreaks, beyond the first row of cabins. Pete turned and ran back to the village. He found John Teagan commanding a squad of ten dirty faced men. Are the women and children all out? he shouted. All taken care of. Teagan spat tobacco juice and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Where's Mel? Left flank. He'll try to move in behind them. Gonna be tough, Pete. They've got good weapons. What about the boys last night? John was checking the bolt on his ancient rifle. Hank and Ringo just got back an hour ago. If Varga wants to get his surface planes into action, he's gonna have to dismantle them and rebuild them again. The boys jammed up the launching ports for good. He spat again. Don't worry, Pete. This is going to be a ground fight. Okay. Pete held out his hand to the old man. This may be it. And if we turn them back, there's bound to be more later. There's a lot of planet to hide on, said Teagan. They may come back, but after a while they'll go again. Pete nodded. I just hope we're still here when they do. They waited. It seemed like hours. Pete moved from post to post among the men. Heavy faced men he'd known all his life it seemed. They waited with whatever weapons they had available. Pistols, homemade revolvers, ortho guns and occasional rifle, even knives and clubs. Pete's heart sank. They were bitter men. But they were a mob with no organization. No training for fighting. They would be facing a dozen of security's best-disciplined shock troops, armed with the latest weapons from Earth's electronics laboratories. The colonists didn't stand a chance. Pete got his rifle and made his way up the rise of ground overlooking the right flank of the village. Squinting he could spot the cloud of dust rising up near the glistening ship moving toward the village. And then, for the first time, he realized that he hadn't seen any dusties all day. It puzzled him they had been in the village in abundance an hour before dawn while the plans were being laid out. He glanced around hoping to see one of the fuzzy brown forms at his elbow, but he saw nothing. And then, as he stared at the cloud of dust coming across the valley, he thought he saw the ground moving. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. With a gasp, he dragged out his binoculars and peered down at the valley floor. There were thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, their brown bodies moving slowly out from the hills surrounding the village, converging in a broad, liquid column between the village and the ship. Even as he watched, the column grew thicker, like a heavy blanket being drawn across the road, a multitude of dusties lining up. Pete's hair prickled on the back of his neck. They knew so little about the creatures. So very little. As he watched the brown carpet rolling out, he tried to think. Could there be a weapon in their hands? Could they somehow have perceived the evil that came from the ship, somehow sense the desperation in the men's voices as they had laid out their plans? Pete stared, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. They were there in the road, thousands upon thousands of them, standing there waiting. For what? Three columns of dust were coming from the road now. Through the glasses Pete could see the jeeps, filled with men in their gleaming gray uniforms, crash helmets tight about their heads, blasters glistening in the pale light. They moved in deadly convoy along the redded road closer and closer to the crowd of dusties overflowing the road. The dusties just stood there. They didn't move. They didn't shift or turn. They just waited. The captain's car was first in line. He pulled up behind the line with a screech of brakes and stared at the sea of creatures before him. Get out of there, he shouted. The dusties didn't move. The captain turned to his men. Fire into them, he snapped. Clear a path. There was a blaze of fire and half a dozen dusties slid to the ground, convulsing. Pete felt a chill pass through him, staring in disbelief. The dusties had a weapon, he kept telling himself. They must have a weapon, something the colonists had never dreamed of. The guns came up again, and another volley echoed across the valley, and a dozen more dusties fell to the ground. For everyone that fell, another moved stallibly into its place. With a curse the captain sat down in the seat, gunned the motor and started forward. The jeep struck the fallen bodies, rolled over them and plunged straight into the wall of dusties. Still they didn't move. The car slowed and stopped, mired down. The other cars picked up momentum and plunged into the brown river of creatures. They too ground to a stop. The captain started roaring at his men. Cut them down! We're going to get through here! Blasters began roaring into the faces of the dusties, and as they fell the jeeps moved forward a few feet until more of the creatures blocked their path. Pete heard a cry below him and saw Jack Mario standing in the road, gun on the ground, hands out in front of him, staring in horror, as the dusties kept moving into the fire. Do you see what they're doing? He screamed. They'll be slaughtered, every one of them! And then he was running down the road, shouting at them to stop. And so were Pete, and Teagan, and the rest of the men. Something hit Pete in the shoulder as he ran. He spun around and fell into the dusty road. A dozen dusties closed in around him, lifted him up bodily, and started back through the village with him. He tried to struggle, but vaguely he saw that the other men were being carried back also, while the river of brown creatures held the jeeps at bay. The dusties were hurrying, half carrying, and half dragging him back through the village, and up a long ravine into the hills beyond. At last they set Pete on his feet again, plucking urgently at his shirt sleeve as they hurried him along. He followed them willingly, then, with the rest of the colonists at his heels. He didn't know what the dusties were doing, but he knew that they were trying to save him. Finally they reached a cave, a great cleft in the rock, that Pete knew for certain had not been there when he had led exploring parties through these hills years before. It was a huge opening, and already a dozen of the men were there waiting, dazed by what they had witnessed down in the valley, while more were stumbling up the rocky incline tugged along by the fuzzy brown creatures. Inside the cavern, steps led down the side of the rock, deep into the dark coolness of the earth. Down and down they went, until they suddenly found themselves in a mammoth room lit by blazing torches. Pete stopped and stared at his friends who had already arrived. Jack Mario was sitting on the floor, his hands in his face, sobbing. Teagan was sitting too, blinking at Pete as if he were a stranger, and Dorfman was trembling like a leaf. Pete stared about him through the dim light, and then looked where Teagan was pointing at the end of the room. He couldn't see it clearly at first. Finally he made out a raised platform, with four steps leading up. A torch lighted either side of a dais at the top, and between the torches, rising high into the gloom, stood a statue. It was a beautifully carved thing, hewn from heavy granite that made up the core of this planet, with the same curious styling as the other carvings the Dusties had done. The design was intricate, the lines carefully turned and polished. At first Pete thought it was the statue of a Dusty, but when he moved forward and squinted in the dim light, he suddenly realized it was something else indeed. And in that moment he realized why they were there, and why the Dusties had done this incredible thing to protect them. The statue was weirdly beautiful, the work of a dedicated master sculptor. It was a figure. Standing with five fingered hands on hips, had raised high. Not a portrait, but an image seen through other eyes than human. Standing high in the room, with the lights burning reverently at its feet. Unmistakably, it was the statue of a man. They heard the bombs much later. The granite roof and floor of the cavern trembled, and the men and women stared at each other, helpless and sick as they huddled in that great hall. But presently the bombing stopped. Later when they stumbled out of that grotto into the late afternoon light, the ship was gone. They knew it would be back. Possibly it would bring back search parties to hunt down the rebels in the hills. Perhaps it would just wait and again bomb out the new village when it rose. But searching parties would never find their quarry, and the village would rise again and again if necessary. And in the end, somehow, Pete knew that the colonists would find a way to survive here and live free as they had always lived. It might be a bitter struggle, but no matter how hard the fight, there would be one strange and wonderful thing they could count on. No matter what they had to do, he knew the dusties would help them. End of Image of the Gods by Alan Edward Norris. Recording by Rebecca Zimmerman. The Automaton Ear by Florence McLandberg. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Riley McGuire. The Automaton Ear by Florence McLandberg. The day was hardly different from many another day, though I will likely recall it even when the mist of years has shrouded the past in an undefined, hueless cloud. The sunshine came in at my open window. Out of doors it flooded all the land in its warm summer light. The spires of the town and the Bear College campus. Farther, the tall bearded barley and rustling oats. Farther still, the wild grass and the forest, where the river ran and the blue haze dipped from the sky. The temptation was greater than I could stand. And taking my book, I shut up the study, as the students called my small apartment, leaving it for one bounded by no walls or ceiling. The woods rang with the hum and chirp of insects and birds. I threw myself down beneath a tall, broad, spreading tree. Against its moss-covered trunk, I could hear the loud tap of the woodpecker, secreted high up among its leaves. And off at the end of a tender young twig, a robin trailed, swinging himself to and fro through the checkered sunlight. I never grew weary listening to the changeful voice of the forest and the river, and was hardly conscious of reading until I came upon this paragraph. As a particle of the atmosphere is never lost, so sound is never lost. A strain of music or a simple tone will vibrate in the air forever and ever, decreasing according to a fixed ratio. The diffusion of the agitation extends in all directions, like the waves in a pool, but the ear is unable to detect it beyond a certain point. It is well known that some individuals can distinguish sounds which to others under precisely similar circumstances are wholly lost. Thus the fault is not in the sound itself, but in our organ of hearing, and a tone once in existence is always in existence. This was nothing new to me. I had read it before, though I had never thought of it particularly. But while I listened to the robin, it seemed singular to know that all sounds ever uttered, ever born, were floating in the air now. All music, every tone, every bird song, and we, alas, could not hear them. Suddenly a strange idea shot through my brain. Why not? I? Why not hear? Men had constructed instruments which could magnify to the eye, and was it possible? Why not? I looked up and down the river, but saw neither it, nor the sky, nor the moss that I touched. Did the woodpecker still tap secreted among the leaves, and the robin sing and the hum of insects run along the bank as before? I cannot recollect, I cannot recollect anything. Only mother flints, the deaf and dumb old crone that occasionally came to beg and sell nuts to the students was standing in the gateway. I nodded to her as I passed and walked up her long, slim shadow that lay on the path. It was a strange idea that had come so suddenly into my head and startled me. I hardly dared to think of it, but I could think of nothing else. It could not be possible, and yet, why not? Over and over in the restless hours of the night, I asked myself, I said aloud, why not? Then I laughed at my folly and wondered what I was thinking of and tried to sleep. But if it could be done? The idea clung to me. It forced itself up in class hours and made confusion in the lessons. Some said the professor was ill those two or three days before the vacation. Perhaps I was. I scarcely slept, only the one thought grew stronger. Men had done more wonderful things. It certainly was possible, and I would accomplish this grand invention. I would construct the king of all instruments. I would construct an instrument which could catch these faint tones vibrating in the air and render them audible. Yes, and I would labor quietly until it was perfected, or the world might laugh. The session closed and the college was deserted, saved by the few musty students whom, even in imagination, one could hardly separate or distinguish from the old books on the library shelves. I could wish for no better opportunity to begin my great work. The first thing would be to prepare for it by a careful study of acoustics, and I buried myself among volumes on the philosophy of sound. I went down to London and purchased a common ear trumpet. My own ear was exceedingly acute, and to my great delight I found that, with the aid of the trumpet just as it was, I could distinguish sounds at a much greater distance, and those nearer were magnified in power. I had only to improve upon this instrument. Careful study, careful work, careful experiment, and my hopes would undoubtedly be realized. Back to my old room in the college I went with a complete set of tools. So days and weeks I shut myself in, and every day and every week brought nothing but disappointment. The instrument seemed only to diminish sound rather than increase it, yet still I worked on and vowed I would not grow, discouraged. Hour after hour I sat, looking out of my narrow window. The fields of barley and waving oats had been reaped, the wheat too had ripened and gone, but I did not notice. I sprang up with a joyful exclamation, strange never to have thought of it before. Perhaps I had not spent my time in vain after all. How could I expect to test my instrument in this close room, with only that little window? It should be removed from immediate noises, high up in the open air, where there would be no obstructions. I would never succeed here, but where should I go? It must be some place in which I would never be liable to interruption, for my first object was to be shielded and work in secret. I scoured the neighborhood for an appropriate spot without success, when it occurred to me that I had heard someone say the old gray church was shut up. This church was situated just beyond the suburbs of the town. It was built of rough stone, modeled and stained by unknown years. The high square tower, covered by thick vines that clung and crept around its base, was the most venerable monument among all the slabs and tombs where it stood sentinel. Only graves deserted and uncared for by the living kept at company. People said the place was too damp for use and talk to rebuilding, but it had never been done. Now if I could gain access to the tower, that was the very place for my purpose. I found the door securely fastened and walked round and round without discovering any way of entrance, but I made it my mind if it were possible to get inside of that church I would do it and without the help of keys. The high windows were not to be thought of, but in the rear of the building, lower down, where the fuel had probably been kept, there was a narrow opening which was boarded across. With very little difficulty I knocked out the planks and crept through. It was a cellar and as I had anticipated, the coal receptacle. After feeling about, I found a few rough steps which led to a door that was unlocked and communicated with the passage back of the vestry room. The tower I wished to explore was situated in the remote corner of the building. I passed on to the church. Its walls were discolored by green mold and blackened where the water had dripped through. The sun, low down in the sky, lit the tall arched windows on the west and made yellow strips across the long aisles over the faded pews with their stiff straight backs over the chancel rail over the altar with its somber woodwork. But there was no warmth. Only the cheerless glare seemed to penetrate the cold dead atmosphere. Only the cheerless glare without sparkle, without life, came into that voiceless sanctuary where the organ slept. At the right of the vestibule a staircase led to the tower. It ascended to a platform laid on a level with the four windows and a little above the point of the church roof. These four windows were situated one on each side of the tower running high up and the lower casement folding inward. Here was my place. Above the treetops and the free open air with no obstacle to obstruct the wind I could work on molested by people or noise. The fresh breeze that fanned my face was cool and pleasant. An hour ago I had been tired, disappointed and depressed. But now buoyant with hope I was ready to begin work again. Work that I was determined to accomplish. The sun had gone. I did not see the broken slabs and urns in the shadow down below. I did not see the sunken graves and the rank grass and briars. I looked over them and saw the gorgeous fringes along the horizon, scarlet and gold and pearl. Saw them quiver and brightened to flame and the white wings of pigeons whirl and circle in the deepening glow. I closed the windows and when I had crawled out of the narrow hole carefully reset the boards just as I had found them. In another day all the tools and books that I considered necessary were safely deposited in the tower. I only intended to make this my workshop. Still of course occupying my old room in the college. Here I matured plan after plan. I studied, read, worked, knowing, feeling that at last I must succeed. But failure followed failure and I sank into despondency only to begin again with a kind of desperation. When I went down to London and wandered about hunting up different metals and hard woods I never entered a concert room or an opera house. Was there not music in store for me such as no mortal ear had ever heard? All the music, every strain that had sounded in the past ages? Ah, I could wait. I would work patiently and wait. I was laboring now upon a theory that I had not tried here to four. It was my last resource. If this failed then but it would not fail. I resolved not to make any test not to put it near my ear until it was completed. I discarded all woods and used only the metals which best transmitted sound. Finally it was finished even to the ivory earpiece. I held the instrument already. I held it and looked eastward and westward and back again. Suddenly all control over the muscles of my hand was gone. It felt like stone. Then the strange sensation passed away. I stood up and lifted the trumpet to my ear. What? Silence? No. No. I was faint. My brain was confused, whirling. I would not believe it. I would wait a moment until this dizziness was gone and then then I would be able to hear. I was deaf now. I still held the instrument. In my agitation the ivory tip shook off and rolled down rattling on the floor. I gazed at it mechanically as if it had been a pebble. I never thought of replacing it and mechanically I raised the trumpet a second time to my ear. A crash of discordant sounds, a confused, jarring noise broke upon me and I drew back trembling, dismayed. Fool. Oh, fool of fools, never to have thought of this. Which a child, a dunce, would not have overlooked. My great invention was nothing, was worse than nothing, was worse than a failure. I might have known that my instrument would magnify present sounds in the air to such a degree as to make them utterly drown all others and, clashing together, produce this noise like the heavy rumble of thunder. The college reopened and I took up my old line of duties or at least attempted them, for the school had grown distasteful to me. I was restless, moody, and discontented. I tried to forget my disappointment, but the effort was vain. The spires of the town and the college camp as glittered white, the fields of barley and oats were fields of snow. The forest leaves had withered and fallen and the river slumbered, wrapped in a sheeting of ice. Still I brooded over my failure and when again the wild grass turned green I no longer cared. I was not the same man that had looked out at the waving grain in the blue haze only a year before. A gloomy despondency had settled upon me and I grew to hate the students to hate the college, to hate society. In the first shock of discovered failure I had given up all hope and the winter past I knew not how. I never wondered if the trouble could be remedied. Now it suddenly occurred to me, perhaps it was no failure after all. The instrument might be made adjustable so as to be sensible to faint or severe vibrations at pleasure of the operator and thus separate the sounds. I remembered how but for the accidental removal of the ivory my instrument perhaps would not have reflected any sound. I would work again and persevere. I would have resigned my professorship only it might create suspicion. I knew not that already they viewed me with curious eyes and sober faces. When the session finally closed they tried to persuade me to leave the college during vacation and travel on the continent. I would feel much fresher if they told me in the autumn. In the autumn I perhaps I might perhaps I might and I would not go abroad. Once more the reapers came on noticed my work progressed slowly day by day I toiled up in the old church tower and night by night I dreamed and my sleep it often seemed that the instrument was suddenly completed but before I could raise it to my ear I would always awaken with a nervous start. So the feverish time went by and at last I held it ready for a second trial. Now the instrument was adjustable and I had also improved it so far as to be able to set it very accurately for any particular period thus rendering it sensible only to sounds of that time. All heavier and fainter vibrations being excluded. I drew it out almost to its limits all the maddening doubts that had haunted me like grinning specters died. I felt no tremor my hand was steady my pulse beat regular the soft breeze had fallen away. No leaf stirred in the quiet that seemed to await my triumph again the crimson splendor of sunset illumined the western sky and made a glory overhead and the dusk was thickening down below among the moldering slabs but that mattered not. I raised the trumpet to my ear hark the hum of mighty hosts it rose and fell fainter and more faint than the murmur of water was heard and lost again as it swelled and gathered and burst in one grand volume of sound like a hallelujah from myriad lips out of the resounding echo out of the dying cadence a single female voice arose clear pure rich it soared above the tumult of the host that hushed itself a living thing higher sweeter it seemed to break the fetters of mortality and tremble in sublime adoration before the infinite my breath stilled with awe was it a spirit voice one of the glittering host in the jasper city that had no need of sun neither of the moon to shine in it and the water was at the river clear as crystal flowing from the great white throne but no the tone now floated out soft sad human there was no sorrowful strain in that nightless land where the leaves of the trees were for the healing of the nations the beautiful voice was of the earth and sin stricken from the sobbing that mingled with the faint ripple of water it went up once more ringing gladly joyfully it went up inspired with praise to the sky and hark the Hebrew tongue the horse and his rider half he thrown into the sea then the noise of the multitude swelled again and a crash of music broke forth from innumerable timbrels i raised my head quickly it was the song of Miriam after the passage of the Red Sea i knew not whether i lived i bent my ear eagerly to the instrument again and heard the soft rustle the breathing as of a sleeping forest a plaintive note stole gently out more solemn and quiet than the chant of the leaves the mournful lay forlorn frightened trembled on the air like the piteous wail of some wounded creature then it grew stronger clear brilliant it burst in a shower of silver sounds like a whole choir of birds in the glitter of the tropical sunlight but the mournful wail crept back and the lonely heartbroken strain was lost while the leaves still whispered to one another in the midnight like the light of a distant star came to me this song of some nightingale thousands of years after the bird had moldered to nothing at last my labor had been rewarded as sound travels and waves and these waves are continually advancing as they go round and round the world therefore i would never hear the same sound over again at the same time but it passed beyond and another came in its stead all night i listened with my ear pressed to the instrument i heard the polished well studied compliments the rustle of silks and the quick music of the dance at some banquet i could almost see the brilliant robes and glittering jewels of the waltzers and the sheen of light and the mirrors but hush a cry a stifled moan was that at the no the music and the rustle of silk were gone mother put your hand here i am tired and my head feels hot and strange is it night already that it has grown so dark i'm resting now for my book is almost done and then mother we can go back to the dear old home where the sun shines so bright and the honeysuckles are heavy with perfume and mother we will never be poor anymore i know you are weary for your cheeks are pale and your fingers are thin but they shall not touch a needle then and you will grow better mother and we will forget these long long bitter years i will not write in the evenings then but sit with you and watch the twilight fade as we used to do and listen to the murmur of the frogs i described the little stream our little stream mother in my book hark i hear the splash of its waves now hold me by the hand tight mother i am tired but we are almost there see the house glimmers white through the trees and the red bird has built its nest again in the cedar put your arm around me mother mother then single echoless the mother's piercing cry went up oh my god great heaven it would not always be music that i should hear into this ear where all the world poured its tails sorrow and suffering and death would come in turn with mirth and gladness i listened again the long drawn ahoy ahoy of the sailor rang out in slumberous musical monotone now free now muffled gone the gleeful laugh of children at play than the drunken boisterous shout of the midnight reveler what was that a chime of bells strange sublime swimming in the air they made a cold solemn harmony but even over them dashed the storm blast of passion that sweeps continually up and down the earth and the harmony that bound them in peace broke up in a wild angry clamor that set loose shrill screams which were swallowed up in a savage tumult of discord like a mad carnival of yelling demons then as if terrified by their own fiendish rage they were treated shivering remorseful and hushed themselves in hoarse whispers about the gray bell fry it was the caroliner matias van der gen playing at louvain on the first of july 1745 yes my invention had proved a grand success i had worked and worked in order to give this instrument to the world but now when it was finished strange to say all my ambition all my desire for fame left me and i was anxious only to guard it from discovery to keep it secret to keep it more jealously than a miser hordes his gold an undefinable delight filled my soul that i alone out of all humanity possessed this treasure this great ear of the world for which kings might have given up their thrones ah they dreamed not of the wonders i could relate it was a keen intense pleasure to see the public for which i had toiled live on deaf forever safe to the few transient sounds of the moment while i their slave reveled in another world above beyond theirs but they should never have this instrument no not for kingdoms but i give it up not for life itself it exerted a strange fascination over me and in my eager desire to preserve my secret a tormenting fear suddenly took possession of me that someone might track me to the tower and discover all it seemed as if the people looked after me with curious faces as i passed i went no longer on the main road that led to the church but when i left my room took an opposite direction until out of sight and then made a circuit across the fields i lived in a continual fear of betraying myself so that at night i closed my window and door lest i might talk a lot in my sleep i could never again bear the irksome duties of my office and when the college reopened i gave up my situation and took lodgings in town still the dread of detection haunted me every day i varied my route to the church and every day the people seemed to stare at me with a more curious gaze occasionally some of my pupils came to visit me but they appeared constrained in my presence and were soon gone however no one seemed to suspect my secret perhaps all this was merely the work of my imagination for i'd grown watchful and reticent i hardly ate or slept i lived perpetually in the past listening to the echoing song of the alpine shepherd the rich uncultivated soprano of the southern slave making strange wild melody i heard grand organ fugues rolling sweeping over multitudes that kneeled in awe while a choir of voices broke into a gloria that seemed to sway the great cathedral the thrilling artistic voices of the far past rang again making my listening soul tremble in their magnificent harmony it was music of which we could not dream then suddenly i determined to try the opera perhaps i was prejudiced i had not been inside of a concert room for more than a year i went down to london it was just at the opening of the season i could hardly wait that evening until the curtain rose the orchestra was harsh and discordant the house hot and disagreeable the gas painfully bright my restlessness had acquired a feverish pitch before the prima donna made her appearance surely that voice was not the one before which the world bowed mally brown song stood out in my memory clearly defined in complete like a magnificent cathedral of pure marble with faultless arches and skillfully chiseled carvings where the minarets rose from wreaths of lilies and vine leaves cut in bar relief and the slender spire shot high glittering yellow in the upper sunlight its golden arrow burning like flame pointing towards the east but this prima donna built only a flat clumsy structure of wood ornamented by godly painted lattice i left the opera amid the deafening applause of the audience with a smile of scorn upon my lips poor diluted creatures they knew nothing of music they knew not what they were doing i went to st paul's on the sabbath there was no worship in the operatic voluntary sung by hired voices it did not stir my soul and their cold hymns did not warm with praise to the divine creator or sway the vast pulseless congregation that came and went without one quickened breath all this time i felt a singular inexpressible pleasure in the consciousness of my great secret and i hurried back with eager haste in london i had accidentally met two or three of my old acquaintances i was not over glad to see them myself as i've said i'd grown utterly indifferent to society but i almost felt ashamed when they offered me every attention within their power for i'd not anticipated it nor was it deserved on my part now when i returned everybody in the street stopped to shake hands with me and inquire for my health at first although i was surprised at the interest they manifested i took it merely as the common civility on meeting but when the question was repeated so particularly by each one i thought it appeared strange and asked if they had ever heard to the contrary no oh no they said but still i was astonished at the unusual care with which they all made the same inquiry i went up to my room and walked directly to the glass it was the first time i consciously looked into a mirror for many weeks good heavens the mystery was explained now i could hardly recognize myself at first the shock was so great that i stood gazing almost petrified the demon of typhus fever could not have wrought a more terrific change in my face if he had held it in his clutches for months my hair hung in long straggling locks around my neck i was thin and fearfully haggard my eyes sunken far back in my head looked out from dark deep hollows my heavy black eyebrows were knit together by wrinkles that made seams over my forehead my fleshless cheeks clung tight to the bone and a bright red spot on either one was half covered by thick beard i had thought so little about my personal appearance lately that i had utterly neglected my hair and i wondered now that it had given me no annoyance i smiled while i still looked at myself this was the effect of the severe study and loss of sleep and the excitement under which i had labored for months yes for more than a year i had not been conscious of fatigue but my work was done now and i would soon regain my usual weight i submitted myself immediately to the hands of a barber dressed with considerable care and took another look in the glass my face appeared pinched and small since it had been freed from beard the caverns around my eyes seemed even larger and the bright color in my cheeks contrasted strangely with the extremely shallow tint of my complexion i turned away with an uncomfortable feeling and started on a circuitous route to the church for i never trusted my instrument in any other place it was a sober autumn day everything looked dreary with that cold gray sunless sky stretched overhead the half-naked trees shivered a little in their seared garments of ragged leaves occasionally a cat walked along the fenced top or stood trembling on three legs sometimes a depressed bird suddenly tried to cheer its drooping spirits and uttered a few sharp discontented chirps just in front of me two boys were playing ball on the roadside as i passed i accidentally caught this sentence they say the professor ain't just right in his head for a moment i stood rooted to the ground then wheeled around and cried out fiercely what did you say sir what was that you said just now i repeated still more fiercely the terrified boys looked at me an instant then without answering turned and ran as fast as fright could carry them so the mystery now was really explained it was not sick the people fought me but crazy i walked on with a queer feeling and began vaguely to wonder why i had been so savage to those boys the fact which i'd learned so suddenly certainly gave me a shock but it was nothing to me what did i care even if the people did think me crazy ah perhaps if i told my secret they would consider it a desperate case of insanity but the child's words kept ringing in my ears until an idea flashed upon me more terrifying than death itself how did i know that i was not insane how did i know that my great invention might be only an hallucination of my brain instantly a whole army of thoughts crowded up like ghostly witnesses to affright me i'd studied myself to a shadow my pallid face with the red spots on the cheeks and the blue hollows around the eyes came before my mental vision afresh the fever in my veins told me i was unnaturally excited i had not slept a sound dreamless sleep for weeks perhaps in the long long days and nights my brain like my body had been overwrought perhaps in my eager desire to succeed in my desperate determination the power of my will had disordered my mind and it was all deception the sounds the music i had heard merely the creation of my diseased fancy in the instrument i had handled useless metal the very idea was inexpressible torture to me i could not bear that a single doubt of its reality should exist but after once entering my head how would i ever be able to free myself from distrust i could not do it i would be obliged to live always in uncertainty it was maddening now i felt as if i might have struck the child in my rage if i could have found him then suddenly it occurred to me for the first time that my invention could easily be tested by some other person almost instantly i rejected the thought for it would compel me to betray my secret and in my strange infatuation i would rather have destroyed the instrument but the doubts of my sanity on the subject returned upon me with tenfold strength and again i thought in despair of the only method left me by which they could ever be settled in the first shock when the unlucky sentence fell upon my ear i turned after the boys and then walked on mechanically towards the town now when i looked up i found myself almost at the college gate no one was to be seen only mother flints with her basket on her arm was just raising the latch half bewildered i turned hastily round and bent my steps in the direction of my lodgings while i absently wondered whether that old woman had stood there ever since since when i did not recollect but her shadow was long and slim no there were no shadows this afternoon it was sunless as i reached the stairs leading to my room my trouble which i'd forgotten for the moment broke upon me anew i dragged myself up and sat down utterly overwhelmed as i have said i would sooner destroy the instrument than give it to a thankless world but to endure the torturing doubt of its reality was impossible suddenly it occurred to me that mother flints was mute i might get her to test my invention without fear of betrayal for she couldn't either speak nor write and her signs on the subject if she attempted to explain would be altogether unintelligible to others i sprang up in wild delight then immediately fell back in my chair with the horse laugh mother flints was deaf as well as dumb i had not remembered that i sat quietly a moment trying to calm myself and think why need this make any difference the instrument ought to at least it was possible that it might remedy loss of hearing i too was deaf to these sounds in the air that it made audible they would have to be magnified to a greater degree for her i might set it for the present and use the full power of the instrument there certainly would be no harm in trying at any rate and if it failed it would prove nothing if it did not fail it would prove everything then a new difficulty presented itself how could i entice the old woman into the church i went back towards the college expecting to find her but she was nowhere to be seen and i smiled that only a few moments ago i had wondered if she did not always stand in the gateway once i could not exactly recall the time i had passed her hut i remembered distinctly that there was a line full of old ragged clothes stretched across from the fence to a decayed tree and a bright red flannel petticoat blew and flapped among the blackened branches it was a miserable frame cabin set back from the spring road about half a mile out of town there i went in search of her the blasted tree stood out in bold relief against the drab sky there appeared no living thing about the dirty besmoked hovel except one lean rat that squatted with quivering nose and stared a moment then retreated under the loose plank before the door leaving its smellers visible until i stepped upon the board i knocked loudly without receiving any reply then smiling at the useless ceremony i had performed pushed it open the old woman dressed in her red petticoat in a torn calico frock with a faded shawl drawn over her head was standing with her back towards me picking over a pile of rags she did not move i hesitated an instant then walked in the moment i put my foot upon the floor she sprang quickly round at first she remained motionless with her small piercing gray eyes fixed upon me holding a piece of orange and black spotted muslin evidently she recognized me for suddenly dropping it she began a series of wild gestures grinning until all the wrinkles of her skinny face converged in the region of her mouth where a few scattered teeth long and sharp gleamed strangely white her rim of grizzled hair stood out around the edge of the turban shawl and set off the withered and watchful countenance of the speechless old crone the yellow shriveled skin hung loosely about her slim neck like leather and her knotted hands were brown and dry as the claws of an eagle i went through the motion of sweeping and pointed over my shoulder making her understand that i wished her to do some cleaning she drew the seams of her face into a new grimace by way of ascent and putting the piece of orange and black spotted muslin round her shoulders in lieu of a cloak proceeded me out of the door she started immediately in the direction of the college and i was obliged to take hold of her before i could attract her attention then when i shook my head she regarded me in surprise and fell once more into a series of frantic gesticulations with considerable trouble i made her comprehend that she was merely to follow me the old woman was by no means dull and her small steel gray eyes had a singular sharpness about them that is only found in the deaf mute where they perform the part of the ear and tongue as soon as we came inside of the church she was perfectly satisfied i walked up to the main entrance turned the knob and shook it then suddenly felt in all my pockets shook the door over and felt through all my pockets again this hypocritical pantomime had the desired effect the old bedlam slapped her hands together and poked her lean finger at the hole of the lock apparently amused that i had forgotten the key then of her own accord she went round and tried the other doors but without success as we passed the narrow window in the rear i made a violent effort in knocking out the loose boards the old woman seemed greatly delighted and when i crawled through willingly followed i gave her a brush which fortunately one day i discovered line in the vestibule and left her in the church to dust while i went up in the tower to prepare and remove from sight all the tools which were scattered about i put them in a recess and screened it from view by a map of the holy land then i took my instrument and carefully adjusted it putting on its utmost power in about an hour i went down in motion to mother flints that i wanted her upstairs she came directly after me without hesitation and i felt greatly relieved for i saw that i would likely have no trouble with the old woman when we got into the tower she pointed down to the trees and then upward meaning i presume that it was high i nodded and taking the instrument placed my ear to it for a moment a loud blast of music like a dozen bands playing in concert almost stunned me she watched me very attentively but when i made signs for her to come and try she drew back i held up the instrument and went through all manner of motions indicating that it would not hurt her but she only shook her head i persevered in my endeavor to coax her until she seemed to gain courage and walked up within a few feet of me then suddenly stopped and stretched out her hands for the instrument as she did not seem afraid provided she had it herself i saw that she took firm hold in my impatience to know the result of this experiment i was obliged to repeat my signs again and again before i could prevail upon her to raise it to her ear then breathlessly i watched her face a face i thought which looked as if it might belong to some mummy that had been withering for a thousand years suddenly it was convulsed as if by a galvanic shock then the shriveled feature seemed to dilate and a great light flashed through them transforming them almost into the radiance of youth a strange light as if some serif had taken possession of the wrinkled old frame and looked out at the gray eyes making them shine with unnatural beauty no wonder the dumb countenance reflected a brightness inexpressible for the spirit of sound had just alighted with silvery wings upon a silence of 70 years a heavy weight fell unconsciously from my breast while i stood almost odd before this face which was transfigured as if it might have caught a glimmer of that mystical mourn when in a moment in the twinkling of an eye we shall all be changed my instrument had stood the test it was proved forever i could no longer cherish any doubts of its reality and an indescribable peace came into my soul like a sudden awakening from some frightful dream i had not noticed the flight of time a pale shadow hung already over the trees yes and under them on the slime covered stones i and a heavier shadow then the coming night was even then gathering on scene in its railess folds the drab sky had blanched and broken and the sinking sun poured a fading light through its ragged fishers the old woman as if wrapped in an enchantment had hardly moved i tried vainly to catch her attention she did not even appear conscious of my presence i walked up and shook her gently by the shoulder and pointing to the setting sun held up my hand for the instrument she looked at me a moment with a singular on earthly beauty shining through every feature then suddenly clutching the trumpet tight between her skinny claws sprang backward toward the stairs uttering a sound that was neither human nor animal that was not a whale or a scream but it fell upon my ears like some palpable horror merciful heaven was that thing yonder a woman the shriveled fleshless lips gaped apart and a small pointed tongue lurked behind five glittering fang-like teeth the wild beast had suddenly been developed in the hag like a hungry tigress defending its prey she stood hugging the trumpet to her glaring at me with stretched neck and green eyes a savage fierceness roused within me when i found she would not give up the instrument and i rushed at her with hands ready to snatch back the prize i valued more than my life or hers but quicker than a hunted animal she turned and fled with it down the stairs making the tower ring with the hideous cries of her wordless voice swiftly it seemed as if the danger of losing the trumpet gave me wings to fly in pursuit i crossed the vestibule she was not there everything was silent and i darted with fleet steps down the dusky aisle of the church when suddenly the jarring idiotic sounds broke loose again echoing up in the organ pipes and rattling along the galleries the fiend sprang from behind the altar faced about an instant with flashing eyes and gleaming teeth then fled through the vestry room into the passage the sight of her was fresh fuel to my rage and it flamed into a frenzy that seemed to burn the human element out of my soul when i gained the steps leading into the coal room she was already in the window but i cleared the distance at a single bound and caught hold of her clothes as she leaped down i crawled through but she clutched the instrument tighter i could not prize it out of her grasp and in her ineffectual efforts to free herself from my hold she made loud grating cries that seemed to me to ring and reverberate all through the forest but presently they grew smothered gurgled then ceased her clasp relaxed in a convulsive struggle and the trumpet was in my possession it was easily done for her neck was small and lean and my hands made a circle strong as a steel band the tremor died out of her frame and left it perfectly still through the silence i could hear the hiss of a snake in the nettle weeds and the flapping wings of some night bird fanned my face as it rushed swiftly through the air in its low flight the gray twilight had deepened to gloom and the graves seemed to have given up their tenets the pale monuments stood out like shrouded specters but all the dead in that churchyard were not underground for on the wet grass at my feet there was something stark and stiff more frightful than any phantoms of imagination something that the daylight would not rob of its ghastly features it must be put out of sight yes it must be hid to save my invention from discovery the old hag might be missed and if she was found here it would ruin me and expose my secret i placed the trumpet on the window ledge and carrying the grim burden in my arms plunged into the damp tangle of weeds and grass and alone some corner far back from the church in the dense shade of thorn trees among the wild brambles were poisonous vines grew slippery with the mold of forgotten years on salt uncared for by any human hand was a tomb its sides were half buried in the tall underbrush and the long slab had been broken once for a black fissure rend zigzag across the middle in my muscles that night there was the strength of two men i lifted off one half of the stone and heard the lizards dart startled from their haunt and felt the spiders crawl when the stone was replaced and covered more than the lizards or the spiders in the dark space between the narrow walls as i have said the instrument possessed a singular fascination over me i had grown to love it not alone as a piece of mechanism for the transmission of sound but like a living thing and i replaced it in the tower with the same pleasure one feels who has rescued a friend from death my listening ear never grew weary but now i drew quickly away it was not music i heard or the ripple of water or the prattle of merry tongues but the harsh grating cries that had echoed in the church that had rattled and died out in the forest that voice which was not a voice i shivered while i readjusted the instrument perhaps it was the night wind which chilled me but the rasping sounds were louder than before i could not exclude them there was no element of superstition in my nature and i tried it over again still i heard them sometimes sharp sometimes only a faint rumbling had the soul of the deaf mute come in retribution to haunt me and cry eternally in my instrument perhaps on the morrow it would not disturb me but there was no difference i could hear only it though i drew out the trumpet for vibrations hundreds of years old i'd rid myself of the withered hag who would have stolen my treasure but now i could not rid myself of her invisible ghost she had conquered even through death and come from the spirit world to gain possession of the prize for which she had given up her life the instrument was no longer of any value to me though cherishing a vague hope i compelled myself to listen even with chattering teeth for it was a terrible thing to hear these horse haunting cries of the dumb soul of the soul i had strangled from its body a soul which i would have killed itself if it were possible but my hope was vain and the trumpet had become not only worthless to me but an absolute horror suddenly i determined to destroy it i turned it over ready to dash it in pieces but it cost me a struggle to crush this work of my life and while i stood irresolute a small green and gold beetle crawled out of it and dropped like a stone to the floor the insect was an electric flash to me that dispelled the black gloom through which i'd been battling it had likely fallen into the instrument down in the churchyard or when i laid it upon the windowsill and the rasping of its wings magnified had produced the sounds which resembled the strange grating noise uttered by the deaf mute instantly i put the trumpet to my ear once more the music of the past surged in voices leaves water all murmured to me there a changeful melody every zephyr wafting by was filled with broken but melodious whispers relieved from doubts relieved from fears and threatening dangers i slept peacefully dreamlessly as a child with a feeling of rest to which i had long been unused i walked out in the soft clear morning everything seemed to have put on new life for the sky was not gray or sober and the leaves if they were brown trimmed their edges in scarlet and if many had fallen the squirrels played among them on the ground but suddenly the sky and the leaves and the squirrels might have been blotted from existence i did not see them but i saw i saw mother flints come through the college gateway and walk slowly down the road the large faded shawl pinned across her shoulders nearly covered the red flannel petticoat and the orange and black spotted muslin was wrapped into a turban on her head without breathing almost without feeling i watched the figure until at the corner it turned out of sight and a long dark outline on the grass behind it ran into the fence the shadow then it was not a ghost had the grave given up its dead i would see at the churchyard the briars tore my face and clothes but i plunged deeper where the shade thickened under the thorn trees there in the corner i stooped to lift the broken slab of a tomb but all my strength would not avail to move it as i leaned over bruising my hands in a vain endeavor to raise it my eyes fell for an instant on the stone and with a start i turned quickly and ran to the church then i stopped the narrow fissure that cut zigzag across the slab on the tomb was filled with green moss and this window was nailed up and hung full of heavy cobwebs and my instrument suddenly while i stood there some substance in my brain seemed to break up it was the fetters of monomania which had bound me since that evening long ago when by the river in the oak forest i had heard the robin trill no murder stained my soul and there beside the black waves of insanity through which i had passed unharmed i gave praise to the great creator praise silent but intense as myriam song by the sea and of the automaton ear by florid's mclandeburg recording by riley mcquire rex x machina by frederick max this is a lebervox recording all lebervox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit lebervox.org recording by dale growthman the domination of the minds of tractable man is not new many men have dreamed of it certainly some of them have tried this man succeeded rex x machina by frederick max one final lesson a dying man's last letter to his only son that completes the young man's education my dear son the doctors have left and i am told that in a few hours i shall die in my lifetime the world has progressed from the chaotic turmoil of the early atomic era to the peacefulness and tranquility of our present age and i die content for ten years i have instructed you in all that you will need for the future one final lesson remains to be taught on the wall of my bedchamber hangs a citation from a grateful government for services too secret to be herein set forth in past years you have asked me repeatedly about this citation but each time i have taken pains to avoid a direct answer now it is proper that you should know 40 years ago i was an obscure army captain stationed at the arm forces language school in monterey california i had at that time just completed a tour of duty in korea a minor skirmish of that era and despite an excellent reputation for resourcefulness i had drawn monoray as my next assignment an aptitude for foreign languages had led to an instructor ship in the russian department with additional duties instructing in the slavic tongues my life was pleasant and uneventful and it was with mixed emotions that i received orders to report to washington for a new duty assignment the chain of events which precipitated those orders were to change the world for while you and i were playing on the lawn of our monoray home an unknown hungarian physicist working under russian supervision had made a startling discovery within a matter of days alarming rumors of his work reached washington our embassies in moscow and belgrade reported furious activity in the field of psychic research and large-scale experiments in mass hypnosis four of us were selected to investigate the rumors before we could commence our undertaking word reached washington that the rumors were now actualities a device capable of the mass hypnosis of great segments of the world's population was rapidly reaching perfection after three months of intense grooming in the fields of physics and psychology we four agents set out individually with orders to track down and destroy both the scientists and his machine i never saw the other three again during the three months of schooling other members of our vast intelligence organization had been engaged in laying the groundwork for our efforts in december 1955 i slipped into russia and took the place of a government official who felt that western civilization offered greater reimbursement than soviet communism i entered into my new role with trepidation but my fears were unfounded thanks to a remarkable resemblance which was the original reason for my selection and also due to a most thorough briefing i found myself making the substitution with ease i pride myself on the fact that by diligent application i was able to increase my worth to the russian government to the extent that i was shortly able to secure my transfer to the psychological warfare section of the secret police from there it was a simple procedure to have myself assigned to what was known as project part check the device was in its final stage of development only the problem of increasing its effective range remained to be solved three weeks after my assignment to the project its successful conclusion was accomplished in june 1956 the russian government ordered me to a small house on the outskirts of braley a hungry where i was to attend a private showing of the device by design i arrived one day early and made my way to the laboratory immediately dr michael parcheck the inventor stood facing me as i entered on a table between us lay a small complicated mechanism resembling a radio transmitter but it was infinitely more than that the device was a thought generator capable of hypnotizing every thinking creature on the face of the earth the power of infinite goodness or evil which the machine embodied was terrifying to consider i listened to parchex boasting with revulsion although he had the ability to work for the ultimate good of mankind this creature intended instead to use his newly found power for self aggrandizement i drew him out let him explain the inner workings of his device and killed him my orders were to destroy the machine i disobeyed them utilizing machine to make good my escape i left hungry and returned to the united states the citation which you have seen was only one of the many honors which were bestowed upon me a few weeks later i resigned my commission and retired to a country hideaway to experiment further with the device i was supposed to have destroyed the peace and tranquility in which we of earth now live mark the successful culmination of my experiments you will find the machine walled up in the north alcove of my bed chamber your education is now complete my son use it well be kind to our slave peoples the world is yours your affectionate father the end of rex x machina by frederick max pleasant journey by richard f theme this is a leber vox recording all leber vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit leber vox.org recording by dale growthman it's nice to go on a pleasant journey there is however a very difficult question concerning the other half of the ticket pleasant journey by richard f theme what do you call it the buyer asked jenkins i named it journey home but you can think up a better name if you want to i'll guarantee that it sells though there's nothing like it on any midway i'd like to try it out first of course ellenby said tri-star uses only the very best you know yes i know jenkins said he had heard the line before from almost every carnival buyer to whom he had sold he did not do much business with carnivals there weren't enough to keep him busy with large or worthwhile rides and features the amusement parks of the big cities were usually the best markets ellenby warily eyed the entrance a room fashioned from a sideshow booth a rough red curtain concealed the inside over the doorway he include dark blue paint was lettered journey home behind the doorway was a large barn-like structure newly painted white where jenkins did his planning his building and his finishing when he sold a new ride it was either transported from the inside building through the large pull-away doors in the back or taken apart piece by piece and shipped to the park or carney that bought it six thousands a lot of money the buyer said just try it jenkins told him the buyer shrug okay he said let's go in they walked through the red curtain inside the booth entrance was a soft cushioned easy chair also red secured firmly in place it was a piece of salvage from a two-inch and commercial airplane a helmet looking like a flash gordon accessory hair dryer combination was set over it jenkins flipped a switch and the room became bright with light i thought you said it wasn't a thrill ride ellenby said looking at the helmet-like structure ominously hanging over the chair it isn't jenkins said smiling sit down he strapped the buyer into place in the chair hey wait a minute ellenby protested why the straps leave everything to me and don't worry jenkins said fitting the headgear into place over the buyer's head the back of it fitted easily over the entire rear of the skull down to his neck the front came just below the eyes after turning the light off jenkins pulled the curtain closed it was completely black inside have a nice trip jenkins said pulling a switch on the wall and pushing a button on the back of the chair at the same time currents shifted and repattern themselves inside the helmet and were fed into ellenby at the base of his skull at the mandala the occurrence of alternating ions mixed with the currents of his varied and random brain waves and the impulses of one became the impulses of the other ellenby jerked once with the initial shock and was then still his mind and body fused with the pulsating currents of the chair suddenly roger ellenby was almost blinded by bright naked light ellenby's first impression was one of disappointment at the failure of the device jenkins was reliable usually and hadn't come up with a fluke yet ellenby got out of the chair and called for jenkins holding on to the arm of the chair to keep his bearings hey where are you jenkins he tried to look around him but the bright intense light revealed nothing he swore to himself extending his arms in front of him for something to grasp as he groped for a solid the light became more subdued and shifted from white into a light pleasant blue shapes and forms rearranged themselves in front of him and gradually became distinguishable he was in a city or on the top of a city a panoramic view was before him and he saw the creations of human beings obviously but a culture far removed from his a slight path of white began at his feet and expanded as it fell slightly ramp-like over and into the city the buildings were whiter than the gate of false dreams that panellope sung of and the streets and avenues were blue not gray people wore white and milled around in the streets below him they shouted as one their voices were not cries but songs and they sang his name he started walking on the white strip it was flexible and supported his weight easily then he was running finding his breath coming in sharp gasps and he was among the crowds they smiled at him as he passed by and held out their hands to him their faces shown with a brilliance of awareness and he knew that they loved him troubled frightened he kept running blindly and abruptly there were no people no buildings he was walking now at the left side of a modern super highway against the traffic auto sped by him too quickly for him to determine the year of model across the divider the traffic was heavier auto speeding crazily ahead in the direction he was walking none stopped he halted for a moment and looked around him there was nothing on the sides of the road no people no fields no farms no cities no blackness there was nothing but far ahead there was a green etched around the horizon as the road dipped and the cars sped over it he walked more quickly catching his breath and came closer and closer to the green allenby stopped momentarily and turned around looking at the highway that was behind him it was gone only bleak black and gray hills of rock and rubble were there no cars no life he shuddered and continued on toward the end of the highway the green blended in with the blue of the sky now closer he came until just over the next rise in the road the green was bright not knowing or caring why he was filled with expectation and he ran again and was in the meadow all around him were the greens of the grasses and leaves and the yellows and blues of the field of flowers it was warm a spring day with none of the discomfort of summer heat jubilant roger spun around in circles inhaling the fragrance of the field listening to the hum of insect life stirring back to awareness after a season of inactivity then he was running and tumbling barefoot his shirt open feeling the soft grass give way underfoot and the soil was good and rich beneath him he saw a stream ahead with clear water melodiously flowing by him he went to it and drank the cold good water quenching all his thirst clearing all the stickiness of his throat and mind he dashed the water on his face and was happy and felt the coolness of it as the breeze picked up and swept his hair over his forehead with a shake of his head he tossed it back in place and ran again feeling the air rush into his lungs with coolness and vibrancy unknown since adolescence no nicotine spasms choked him and the air was refreshing then up the hill he sped pushing hard as the marigolds and dandelions parted before him at the top he stopped and looked and smiled ecstatically as he saw the green rolling land and the stream curving around from behind the house his house the oaks forming a secret lair behind it and he felt the youth of the world in his lungs and under his feet he heard a voice calling from the house his house calling him to saturday lunch i'm coming he cried happily and was tumbling down the hill rolling over and over the hill and the ground and the sky blending blues and greens and nothing had perspective the world was spinning and everything was black again he shook his head to clear the dizziness well jenkins said how was it all and be looked up at him as jenkins swung the helmet back and unhooked the seatbelt he squinted as jenkins flipped the light switch and the brightness hit him his surroundings became distinguishable again very slowly and he knew he was back in the room where was i he asked jenkins shrug i don't know it was all yours you went wherever you wanted to go wherever home is jenkins smiled down at him did you visit more than one place he asked the buyer nodded i thought so it seems that a person tries a few before finally deciding where to go the buyer stood up and stretched could i please see the barn he asked meaning the huge workshop where jenkins did the construction work sure jenkins said and opened the door opposite the red curtain into the workshop it was empty you mean it was all up here i didn't move at all he tapped his cranium with his index finger that's right jenkins said anxiously do you want it or not alanby stood looking into the empty room yes yes of course he said how long did the whole thing last about 10 seconds jenkins said looking at his watch it seems much longer to the traveler i'm not sure but i think the imagined time varies with each person it's always around 10 seconds of actual time though so you can make a lot of money on it even if you only have one machine money alanby said money yes of course he took a checkbook from his inside pocket and hurriedly wrote a check for six thousand dollars when can we have it delivered he asked you want it shipped the usual way no alanby said staring at the red cushion chair send it air freight then bill us for the expense whatever you say jenkins said smiling taking the check you'll have it by the first of the week probably i'll put the complete parts and the assembly manual inside the crate good good but maybe i should test it again you know star time can't really afford to make a mistake as expensive as this no jenkins said quickly then i'll guarantee it of course if it doesn't work out i'll give you a full refund but don't try it again today don't let anyone have it more than once in a day stamp them on the hand or something when they take the trip why jenkins looked troubled i'm not sure but people might not want to come back too many times in a row and they might be able to stay there in their minds of course of course well it's been a pleasure doing business with you mr jenkins i hope to see you again soon they walked back to alanby's not very late model car and shook hands alanby drove away on the way back to the hotel and as he lay for a long time in the bathtub letting the warmness drift away from the water the thought ran over and over in his mind they might be able to stay there alanby said to himself they might be able to stay there he smiled warmly at a crack in the plaster as he thought of the first of the week and the fragrant meadow the end of pleasant journey by richard f theme