 CHAPTER XIII of THE CREATURE FROM BEYOND INFINITY by Henry Kuttner, read by Mark Nelson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE CREATURE FROM BEYOND INFINITY CHAPTER XIII. THE SLEEPERS AWAKE Court busied himself with the golden-haired girl. Jan Sia's feline, sophisticated green eyes and the vague suggestion of cruelty about her lips were not apparent now as she lay in cataleptic sleep. Rather she seemed some elfin creature out of Earth's myth-haunted past, a daughter of Neptune. The gossamer violet-tinted robe scarcely veiled the alluring curves of her slim form. Her lashes lay golden on the rose-pedal cheeks. She seemed so helpless, so childlike. Utterly trusting, she lay curled like a kitten on the couch. The poignant loveliness of the Atlantean girl was suddenly an aching stab in Court's heart. He felt no passion for her, no infatuation. She was too completely removed from mundane life for that. But Jan Sia curiously seemed to typify and embody for Court something he had never known. Out of the world's youth she was youth, a symbol of the dreams that most men know before they grow too old. Staring down at Jan Sia, Court realized that he had never known youth and wondrous dreams. Unexpectedly he thought of Merriam Barton, whom he had left on Earth. He put her out of his mind by working swiftly. Occasionally Thordred came to the door of the laboratory to watch, but as time wore on the giant appeared less often. Though he had learned much when the thought-transference helmet had given him the knowledge of Ardath's brain, Thordred had not acquired the Kyrian's super-mentality. Guiding the ship back to Earth was a difficult task. Besides, he was busy making certain adjustments on the thought-helmet. So he remained in the laboratory and did not see Jan Sia awaken. Court had turned away to stare curiously at the other two sleepers, Li Yang and Sipio the Carthaginian. The giant warrior puzzled him. Since the man wore only a breach-clout, Court found it hard to guess his origin. The color of his skin was negroid, but the thin, firm, harsh lips and the hair certainly were not. Li Yang, though, was obviously an Oriental. What did that mean? Had his spaceship actually come from another world? The golden-haired girl might have been born on an alien planet, perhaps even Thordred and the sleeping naked giant. But the Oriental, Court frowned and then glanced at Jan Sia as she stirred. She had been breathing regularly for some time. Now her lashes fluttered and her green eyes opened. When she looked up at Court, a soft, wordless sound of inquiry murmured from the red lips. Eth loye siavvo. Court matched the girl's language which he did not know was Atlantean with Latin. Don't try to talk yet. You are safe. The brows wrinkled in puzzlement as the cruel gaze scrutinized him. Am I safe? Of course. But where is our death? Dead. Thordred. Court paused, startled at the look on Jan Sia's face. He saw fear and incredulous amazement and a soft smile of evil triumph that repelled him. Dead, she turned her head and looked across the room. Li Yang, yes, and Scipio, but Thordred, is he dead also? No, shall I get him? Court rose but halted as a slim hand touched him. Wait, who are you? Before he could reply, Thordred's harsh voice broke in. Jan Sia, you are awake! Good! The giant strode into the room, his amber eyes intent on the girl. Briefly they flickered toward Court. We are in the atmosphere now. There is not much time. Come with me. Thordred made a quick, stealthy signal to Jan Sia, which Court failed to understand. The Atlantean girl pursed her lips but said nothing. In the laboratory Thordred pointed to a chair. Sit down, Court, put on this helmet. He picked up a bulky headpiece crowned with helical wires and extended it. Court hesitated. What is it? He asked cautiously. Nothing dangerous. It will teach you my language and teach me yours. Certain memory patterns, knowledge of our native tongue, will be transferred from my brain to yours, and vice versa. Come! Thordred placed a duplicate helmet on his own head and sat down. Some inexplicable impulse made Court resist. I'm not sure. The giant grin suddenly. I told you, I mean you no harm. If I had wanted to kill you, I could have done it long ago. I need your knowledge and you need mine. Thordred chuckled at some secret thought. And it is best that we know each other's language. All right. Court nodded and slipped the helmet on his head. Simultaneously Thordred leaned forward and touched a keyboard. There was a whining crackle of released energy. Court felt the momentary agony of intolerable stricture about his skull, then it was gone. The scene before him was blotted out by a curtain of darkness. He lost consciousness. It seemed scarcely a second later when he awoke. Painfully opening his eyes he saw that the laboratory was empty. His head ached fearfully. The helmet, however, was gone, as he discovered by investigating with his hands. Awake, eh? The words were unmistakably in English. Thordred stood on the threshold. He went to a shelf, took a flask from it, and gave it to Court. Drink this. It's a stimulant. Not like your, what was it, brandy, but equally potent. Court gulped the fluid, which was tasteless and incredibly cold. Immediately his headache was gone. He glanced up at the giant. You learned English, I see. That helmet's a handy gadget, but I didn't learn your language. No, Thordred admitted. The adjustment wasn't quite accurate. But it doesn't matter. There's plenty of time. Meanwhile, as you say, I can talk English. Only that was necessary for us to be able to discuss scientific principles. Stephen saw the common sense of that. There were no ancient Latin terms for modern scientific theories and devices. Where are we now? he asked. On earth, Thordred glanced, searchingly at him. Court, I'll be frank with you. I learned more than merely your language from your mind. The plague that worries you, for example. I acquired your memory of that. You did? Court's dark face twisted in a scowl as he felt the premonition of danger. Just how much had Thordred learned from him? He shrugged, knowing that it did not matter. The bearded giant was a friend, the only strong ally on earth. Why look for trouble where none existed? I've decided what's best to be done, Thordred said. This plague, I know no more about it than you do. I don't know its origin or its nature, nor any way of defeating it. Court leaped to his feet a sick emptiness in his stomach. Thordred, with your science in mind, we should be able to find some way of conquering it. There's only one way. Earth is doomed. Anyone who remains will eventually be destroyed. But this is a spaceship court, and it isn't necessary for us to wait for destruction. With a lifted hand Thordred forestalled interruption. Wait, there are other planets where life is possible, where the plague doesn't exist. We can carry from fifty to seventy passengers, men and women. That will be enough to start a new race and civilization on another world. No! Court scarcely knew he spoke. You mean go off and leave the world to doom? What good would it be to stay? We'd merely guarantee our own destruction. You're a strong intelligent man-court, the sort of person I want in the civilization I shall build. That's why I did not kill you. Court's eyes narrowed. There was a dead silence. Thordred's chill glance did not falter. I can kill you even now quite easily, he went on slowly. But the choice is yours. Join me, serve me with your fine brain and muscles, and you need not die. What's your answer? Court was silent, trying to analyze his feelings. Of course, his anxiety to defeat the plague was purely scientific. How could he, a super-intellect, feel any sympathy for ordinary men and women? What did it matter if Earth died, as long as a new civilization would be built on a distant, safer world? A bell rang sharply through the ship. When Thordred flicked on a vision screen, Court stared at it. The spaceship had landed in what seemed to be a park. Suddenly he recognized it as Central Park in New York. About the ship a cordon of police was keeping back a surging crowd. A small group of uniformed men huddled close to the hull using an acetylene torch to burn through the metal. Thordred grinned. Perhaps I could have landed in a less populated spot, but I'm impregnable, with the weapons at my command. One flash of a certain ray, and that crowd will be burned to cinders. You don't intend to, Court heard himself saying, but I do. The sooner Earth learns my power, the better. Thordred turned and went to a control board. Stephen Court stared at him. The emotions he had rigidly subdued all his wee were flooding up into that cold brain of his. But it was not cold now. Burning in Court's mind was the face of Merriam Barton, tender with humanity. He saw the face of old Sammy, brown and wrinkled. Sammy had sacrificed himself for an ideal in which Court did not believe. He had not believed in it till now. Court's heritage, the basic humanity in him, suddenly flooded through the artificial barriers of restraint. He had fought the plague to save men and women from horrible death, though he had not realized his true motive till now. Falsely, he had told himself that he was a scientific machine. He had almost hypnotized himself into believing it. But all along, Court realized now, his motives had been those of common humanity. A super mentality, perhaps, but first of all he was a man. He would instinctively fight to protect those weaker than himself, even against insuperable odds. Court's breath caught in his throat as he saw Thordred push a lever in the control board. With silent desperation he hurled himself at the bearded giant. He was hurled back by a paralyzing shock. Thordred whirled, his mouth gaping. As Court tensed himself for another leap, the giant halted him with a lifted hand. You fool! You can't penetrate this force screen around my body! Stay where you are! It did not move, but his lean figure quivered with suppressed fury. You have your science, Thordred, but so have I. Your science! Thordred bellowed. He thrust out a huge hand, gripped Court. Listen to me. I told you I learned more from you than your language. That was true. I drained your brain of all the knowledge it held. Your memory is mine now. The giant went sick as the import of the word struck home. His gaze went from Thordred's face, moved swiftly about the laboratory for some weapon, but the apparatus was utterly unfamiliar to him. Yet it had to be based on rigid scientific principles that would be the same in any universe. Court's mind worked with frantic speed, trying to find some coherent pattern. Lever's, buttons, wiring, transparent tubes, each one had its definite part. On one panel several red lights were flashing on and off. Below each light, Court recognized what must have been push buttons. There were two possible answers. Either the switchboard had some connection with Thordred's death ray, of which he had spoken, or else it was part of an alarm system. It was probably an alarm system since Thordred was busy at another instrument panel. The police outside the ship were trying to burn through a port and the red light was flashing. The button beneath that light, Court decided, probably opened the door. His face was immobile as he shrugged, deliberately letting his shoulders droop despairingly. Thordred's mouth twisted into a triumphant grin. He half turned from his prisoner and his hand touched the lever again. And then Court sprang, not at Thordred. He leaped toward the panel where the red light glowed. His finger stabbed out and depressed the button. Chapter 14 The Plague Strikes Thordred's roar came too late. A burst of sound welled into the ship. Men were shouting and footsteps tramped loudly on the middle floor of the airlock. Court sped to meet them. His hands lifted above his head. He was shouting, warning. The skin of his back crawled with expectation of an attack. But Thordred did not pursue. Instead, there came a sizzling crackle from behind Court. Strong hands caught him and he found himself in the midst of a group of police. He turned. Across the door of the laboratory a veil of wavering light flickered. Court seized the arm of an officer to prevent him from moving toward the hazy glow. Wait! That's dangerous! What do you mean? Who are you? Never mind that now. Shoot through that light, but don't go near it. You may be electrocuted. The leader of the group, a gray-haired, bulky man, stared. I know you. You're Stephen Court. I've seen your pictures in the paper. What is all this about, anyhow? Court swiftly noted the insignia of rank on the man's blue sleeve. There's no time now, Sergeant. There's a killer beyond that light barrier. He's got to be stopped. But we can't shoot down a man on your word. Court sucked in his breath. Then his hand went out in a blurring motion. Grabbing a heavy revolver from one of the officers, he whirled and pumped bullets at the barrier of fire. Flame crackled and snarled. The bullets could not penetrate the barrier. Half melted, they dropped to the floor. The revolver was rested from his hand. The Sergeant eyed him in amazement, holding the smoking gun. I tell you, Court made a gesture of despair as he heard a low whine, rising in pitch and intensity, throbbing through the ship. He knew that Thordred was busy in the laboratory. He tried a new tack. This ship may be blown up at any minute. Get your men out. Keep the crowd back. He hesitated, then pointed to the unconscious forms of the Chinese and the gargoyle-faced giant on their couches. Get them out, too! Jansaya, the Atlantean girl, was nowhere in sight, and there was not time to search for her. The menace of explosion the Sergeant could understand. He issued swift orders. His men swarmed out of the ship, carrying the cataleptic men. Court followed. He could not guess what Thordred would do now, but he suspected that the killer might loose his death-rays on the mob. Orders ran from one officer to another. The crowd was pushed back, milling, asking questions, shuffling unwillingly. Standing at the Sergeant's side, Court bit his lip in indecision. But now, Thordred was impregnable behind his force-screen. Without equipment, Court could do nothing. With the right apparatus he knew, he could find the vibration-rate of the screen and neutralize it. But there was no equipment here. "'This got anything to do with the plague,' the Sergeant said. "'We're evacuating New York, you know.' "'What? Evacuating New York?' "'Yeah, the plague's hit us. The city's a death trap, with eight million people here. Martial law's been declared, though, and everything's under control. The whole city's moving out before the plague spreads,' Court nodded, staring at the ship. "'Well, clear the park and get some planes to bomb our friend here. I don't know if explosives will harm him, but it's worth trying while there's still time. As for those two unconscious men you took out of the ship, get them to a hospital. We'll—' There was a sudden interruption. From the golden hull a ray of cold green brilliance probed. As it shot toward Court he felt a wave of icy chill. All the strength was abruptly drained from his body. He felt himself falling. The ray, flamed brighter, turned yellow, then to white. It splashed in pale radiance over the Sergeant. His strong face seemed to melt, the flesh blackening incendiary horror over the bone structure. The officer dropped without a sound. Through filming eyes, Court saw the golden spaceship rise from its resting place. It shot up and hovered. Fleeing abruptly into the western skies, it was gone. When the ray touched Court it had not been strong enough to kill, only to paralyze, but the Sergeant was horribly dead. Court felt himself slipping down into the black pit of unconsciousness. His last memory was that of some small bird wheeling above him against the blue. Then darkness took him. Hearing return to him first, the sound was confused and chaotic. Court lay motionless, striving to analyze it. As if from a vast distance he seemed to hear a babble of voices, faintly mumbling what sounded like gibberish. Piercing through this was a medley of shrill whistles and siren-like noises that were utterly inexplicable. Then Court opened his eyes, looked straight up at a bare white ceiling. Sunlight made square patterns on it. He could move, he discovered. Without difficulty he sat up, found that he was in one of a row of cots that ran down the length of a long room. He was in a hospital. Court's voice cracked when he cried out. He tried again, but roused only an echo. Wonderingly he rubbed his chin and gasped in amazement. A beard? He must have been unconscious for two weeks at least. He rose, shivering in his regulation hospital nightgown. Though the windows were closed, the room was icy cold. Rocking weakly on his feet, Court looked around. The man in the next bed looked familiar. It was the obese Oriental he had last seen in the Golden Spaceship. The man lay silent, motionless, no breath lifting his huge punch. In the cot beyond lay the scar-faced giant, the man who had resembled a gladiator. He, too, was apparently dead or cataleptic. Some of the other beds were occupied, Court saw. He made a quick investigation. Strangers and dead, all of them. Some had plainly died of starvation and thirst. The blankets in most cases were tumbled and twisted, and some of the bodies on the floor where they had apparently flung themselves. One grizzled Ulster was huddled in a heap near the door. His skinny hand still outstretched for aid that could never come. The hospital must have been deserted. But what could have caused medical men to forsake their patience? Physicians do not break the Hippocratic Oath so easily. That meant the plague. His throat tight, Court stumbled to a table where a carafe of water stood. It was stagnant with long standing and half evaporated, but he gulped down a repulsive swallow. A folded newspaper on the table caught his gaze. Hastily he folded the paper to the first page. Flaring headlines greeted him. Plague strikes New York. Twenty carriers reported in Manhattan. Mayor Order's City Evacuated Hastily line-a-typed columns gave the story. All over greater New York the plague had suddenly appeared. In Queens, Brooklyn, the Bronx, from Harlem to the Battery, the shining men, harbingers of weird death had come into being. Thinking the invasion had arrived by way of Jersey and the surrounding area, the mayor had directed the evacuation to take place northward. But in the box labeled Latest News Bulletins, it became apparent that the infection was spreading with fatal speed. Among eight millions of people, the plague ran like wildfire. Well, judging by his beard and the date of the paper, that had been two weeks ago. What was the country like now? Court went to the window and stared out. The bleak, snow-covered expanse of Central Park was far below. Small, irregular dark blotches lay on the whiteness. Were they bodies? Court found a telephone and jiggled the receiver impatiently. Not even the dial-tone answered him. New York must be entirely deserted, saved by the dead. Again he went to the window. This time he saw a shining oval of light, dwarfed by distance, gliding under the trees in the park. A carrier. Court knew he could not remain in New York. With a nod of decision he glanced at the two motionless figures on the cots beside his own. Hastily he began to gather equipment. He saw a use for the Oriental and the Giant. He could not leave them here, frozen in cataleptic sleep, even if he did not think that their knowledge might prove valuable. He used heat, stimulants, and artificial respiration. The stimulants were easy to procure after a trip down the corridor into adjoining wards. It was harder to find adrenaline. Court had to break down a door before locating the drug, but finally he was ready. Electricity, rather than gas, supplied the hospital. He knew there would be no current now. Court hesitated. Frowning he stared out the window. He heard again the distant din that had awakened him, the faint hooting and the low mumble of far voices. Radios, of course. Enumerable radios had been left turned on when the evacuation had taken place, and they were still broadcasting. That meant there was still electricity. Relieved, Court found heating pads and pressed them into place about his two patients. Little artificial respiration was necessary. Under the shock of the adrenaline, first the Giant and then the Oriental stirred. They wakened almost together. Court gave a gasp of relief. Till then he had not realized just how much his fortnight of hypnotized slumber had weakened him. Despite slowed and retarded metabolism, he had not eaten nor drunk for weeks. Shivering he sank down on a cot and watched his patients slowly and gradually awaken. There was so much to do. He must communicate with these two. But what language did they speak? Would they be able to understand Latin? After that there would be so many things. Find out what had happened. Leave New York safely. But the first thing, Court murmured, is to stow some food under my belt. No, he resolved, glancing down at his nightgown. The first thing I need is a pair of pants. Chapter 15. Under the Plague. It was nearly an hour later when Court finally finished his story and learned from Li Yang and Sipio their own tale. Luckily both understood Latin. When Court's knowledge of the language failed he pieced it out in Greek, which Sipio knew. I am familiar with all the tongues spoken around the middle sea, the Mediterranean, the huge Carthaginian stated. This English of yours sounds like a hybrid language, a mixture of Latin, Greek, Goth, and Zeus knows what else. However, I will learn it. We had a saying that those in Helvetia had best do as the Helvetians do, though all they generally did was freeze. Sipio chuckled deep in his barrel-chest. We have a saying that Jackass is bray at inopportune moments, said Li Yang blandly. Therefore hold your tongue, Sipio, while we make some plans. He sighed ponderously. So our death is dead, eh? Eh you? He was a wise man, and a good one. Also, I have lost my loot, so I grieve. I scarcely knew our death, Sipio confessed, though he saved my life, of course. But the nymph girl, Jhansaya, I needed only a glimpse of her to lose my heart and soul. The gargoyle face twisted in pained memory. What can we best do, Court? Get out of New York. After that we can make our plans. I want to get back to my laboratory. But first, well, come along. Court rose and led the others into the corridor. Li Yang shivered as the chill wind rustled under his scanty gown. The world has grown colder, he mourned. Not even on the northern steps did I feel such a knife-like blast. Court was unavailingly pressing the elevator buttons. Guess they're not working, he said, wryly. That means we'll have to walk all the way down. It'll keep us warm, anyway. Watch out for any carriers. Sipio shook his head, as the three hurried down the stairs. I do not understand this plague. Civilizations change, of course. New gods and new magic spring up. But what you tell me of this plague, smacks of the Vrykrolokas, the Vampire. The others had no breath for talking. Sipio continued to muse aloud as they descended. When they reached the street, though, he was the only one who was not panting. Zeus, Apollo, Kronos, and Neptune, he roared, staring up at the skyscrapers. Surely the gods must have reared these buildings. Would gods build the Nylotic Pyramids, Lian asked with breathless irony? Men learn always, and always they build higher. But my poor toes will be frozen. He danced about grotesquely in the slush. You are a hardy race, Court, to walk about in these skimpy togas. Court was glancing about swiftly. Come in here, he said. He hurried toward a nearby shop. He had seen that the window was broken and a burglar alarm was clanging loudly from within. That explained the medley of noises he had heard from the hospital. Hundreds of burglar alarms all over New York were screaming. The mobs must have looted during their flight. This men's clothing shop had certainly been looted, judging by its appearance. Court could understand why property rights didn't mean much just now. He guided Li Yang and Sipio to the various departments and helped them outfit themselves with suitable clothing. Breaches and boots will be best, I think, he suggested. We may have hard going. Pick out large-sized boots or you'll blister your feet in an hour. It was difficult to find clothing that fitted the gigantic Carthaginian and even harder to equip Li Yang, but at last the task was finished. Completely clothed, even to fleece-lined gloves, the three returned to the street. Now they needed food and drink. Down the avenue a little way was an automat. Court led them into it, pausing at the entrance to examine a motionless, shrunken body that lay there. It was the corpse of a man, emaciated and pallid, frozen rigid. It was oddly shriveled, which Court recognized as the stigmata of plague victims. Though the man had certainly been dead since the evacuation of New York, there was no sign of decomposition. Draining of vital energy means absolute sterility, no germs or microbes. That's logical, Court muttered. At least there would be no danger of a pestilence. He smiled crookedly. Pestilence, there was nobody to be harmed by it anyway. A radio in the automat was humming noisily. Court hesitated, still inhibited by a lifetime of conditioning. But he went to the change desk and appropriated a handful of nickels. Supplying the others with trays, he carefully selected foods that appeared still edible. The coffee spigot ran a tar-colored, icy fluid, but it was somewhat better than the sour milk and stale water. Court went to the radio and adjusted it. Then he joined the others at one of the round little tables. "'News,' he said, nodding at the box that was strange to them. I'll translate.' "'Static is becoming increasingly troublesome as the plague grows,' the radio blared. The electrical energy emitted by she-carriers interferes with broadcasting. European short-wave transmission is impossible. The trans-oceanic cables have failed. From Washington, D.C. comes the latest European news, brought by Clipper across the Atlantic. The plague seems to have concentrated its force so far in the Western Hemisphere, though its strength is increasing gradually in Europe. Ports are crowded as mobs try to storm their way onto ships outward bound. There is a feeling that on the high seas is safety. This is untrue. The Hozima Maru, a passenger ship, was to-day washed upon the coast at Point Reyes above San Francisco. Spectators reported that the only living beings aboard were several carriers. In grim undertones, Court translated. The eastern seaboard is still being evacuated, the voice went on. The United States is under martial law, as yet the plague remains a mystery, though all over the world scientists are working night and day to check it. A scientific Congress has been called at the Hague to convene tomorrow at noon. We are still receiving reports about the mysterious Golden Airship which first appeared in Central Park, New York, two weeks ago. Since then it has landed eight times, always in a sparsely populated area. Unconfirmed reports state that men and women have been forced to enter the ship. Two hours ago, according to San Francisco's station KFRC, the ship landed in the Berkeley Hills. Court's voice rose excitedly as he translated. Scipio sat back with a grunt and the Oriental pursed his red lips. So, Thordred's still on earth, Li Yang rubbed his fat hands together. Good, Court, there are marvels of science in that Golden ship, all the wonders of our death's great civilization, if you can get your hands on them. Court frowned. As soon as Thordred finishes recruiting the people he needs to start a new life on a different planet, he'll vanish forever. The worst of it is, he's drained my mind, taken all my knowledge. Everything I know, I share with him now. But I've got to get back to my Wisconsin lab. I have apparatus there that will enable me to construct a weapon or two that might give me a chance against Thordred. But till I get to the lab, I can't even locate the Golden ship. Then why do we wait here? Scipio thrust back his chair and stood up, towering incongruously in the gleaming shininess of the automat. Let us hurry. They went out, behind them, the radio blared. Shall keep broadcasting as long as we are able. The city is entirely evacuated. We are barricaded in this station and shall remain here until our power fails, or until. This is W.O.R., Newark, New Jersey. All listeners are warned to leave their homes immediately and— Fifth Avenue lay silent under a white mantle. Snow had fallen within the past twenty-four hours. The sky, however, was blue and cloudless. Singularly eerie was the silence that lay over New York, made more horrible by the mutter of radios and the distant jarring of alarms. These, too, would die when the power failed. There were bodies in the streets, most of them white-mounted hummocks under the snow. Hundreds of automobiles had been wrecked. A huge bus lay on its side beside an overturned garbage truck. Twice they saw carriers, shining pallid ovals of glowing radiance floating toward them. Each time, Cort led his companions into buildings and threw a roundabout course of passages and stairways that led them to safety. The subway might be safer, he mused, but there may be carriers down there, and the power is still on, of course. Cort did not mention his fear of the carnage he might discover underground. Yet, curiously, the plague had left little horror in its wake. It was far too fantastically unreal. The bombs and shrapnel of war would have left blood and ruin. But this, there was only white silence, and bodies that were less like corpses than cold statues of marble. Here, Cort halted by a parked automobile. No, there's no gas. He frowned, after a glance at the dashboard gauge. Come on! Scipio was peering into a window. Abruptly he kicked nigh and the glass fell in clattering shards. The Carthaginian reached through the gap and brought out a cavalry sabre in its scabbard. It's light enough, he grunted, balancing the weapon in his hand. But it's sharp. We may need this. He fastened it to his belt while Lee Yang was peering down the street. Cort, the Oriental called. What is it? A carrier. I see it. Swiftly Cort guided his companions around the corner. They turned west from Fifth Avenue into Fifty-Eighth Street. Half a block down they paused at sight of two more carriers coming toward them. Cort glanced around. On his right was a street blocked with a mass of automobile wreckage. The tower of Rockefeller Plaza rose into the sky. On his left was the entrance of an office building. But through the glass doors Cort could see that the lobby was strewn with bodies, struck down as they tried to escape the onrushing plague. Cort wondered with a strange twinge of pity how many of them had been ready for death. Probably none. He came to himself abruptly. There was no time for philosophizing. The carriers were closing in upon them from both sides. Scipio pointed to the side street. There we can climb over. Wait! Cort's sharp command halted the others on the curb. Here's a car! A large black sedan was parked a few feet away. Two bodies lay near it, a man's and a woman's. The girl, scarcely more than a child, lay in a pitiful little huddle on the running-board, her blonde hair whitened with snow. The man, a bulky, dark young fellow, lay with his face in the gutter, a cigar still drooping from one corner of his mouth. But the keys were in the ignition. Hasteily Cort sprang into the car, turned the key, and pressed the starter. He really expected no response. To his surprise the battery painfully turned the cold engine over. Cort dared waste no more time. He glanced around. With a gasp of relief he saw that the shining bodies of the carriers had halted. They were at least a hundred feet away and there might still be time. He kept his foot down on the starter. The motor caught and abruptly died. Viciously he manipulated the choke. Get ready to run, he warned. But again the motor caught and Cort gunned it with great care. The echoes boomed out thunderously in the canyon of the street. Li Yang and Scipio sat tensely beside Cort, more afraid of this noisy invention than the incomprehensible carriers. They are coming toward us, Scipio reported in an undertone, kneeling for his sabre. I shall get out and hold them back till... No! Cort let out the clutch. Stay where you are! The car jerked into motion. There was a sickening moment when the motor sputtered, coughed, and almost stopped. Cort jammed down the gas, heard the exhaust pipe crack open with a deafening roar. Then they were plunging forward. But the carriers were ominously close. Into Cort's mind came a weird, illogical thought. Pillars of fire and smoke. Was that it? It didn't matter, for two of them, directly ahead, were gliding toward the car. He spun the wheel, skidded on the slushy pavement. He shot between the two monsters, missing them by a hare's breath. The sedan rocketed on, gathering speed. Cort swallowed hard and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Narrow squeak. This is a one-way street, he added with rye humor, and were going the wrong way. But I doubt if we'll get a ticket. They crossed Sixth Avenue, then Seventh, and turned left on Broadway. Cort headed for the Holland Tunnel. Before he reached the tube, he sighted a tangle of wreckage which told him that the route was closed. Hasteily he turned north along the Hudson, hoping he could get through at the George Washington Bridge. The ice-bordered river flowed past silently, unruffled now by any boats. In the distance the Jersey Palisades were traceries of frost. No smoke at all rose on the skyline. "'God's,' Scipio observed. "'This is a world of wonders, Cort. What is that?' "'Grant's tomb,' said Cort. "'Let's see what the radio says.' He switched it on, but got only static. He turned the switch off, for he did not know the battery's strength. He had almost a tank full of gas, he saw, and was grateful for that. Yet it would not take him to Wisconsin.' He would take the straight western route toward Chicago, and then cut northwest, unless he could find an airplane. But in this disorganized area Cort doubted whether one would be available. They all must have been commandeered. The bridge was open, they shot across, disregarding the glaring speed limit signs. Cort found the highway he wanted. He sped on, seeing no sign of me. He was reminded of the last time he had driven across the Wisconsin hills with Marion at his side. It almost seemed as though nothing had happened since then, for the landscape was still incongruously peaceful. Only one thing betrayed the existence of the plague, the occasional wrecks seen beside the highway and the absence of traffic. An airplane startlingly roared overhead against the blue. But Marion was not here. Cort realized that he missed her. She was the perfect compliment for his mind, the ideal assistant. There was something else, too, but Cort subconsciously steered away from the thought, refusing to let himself realize why he missed Marion so profoundly. He could see her clearly. A slim, brown-eyed girl. Rot! Such thoughts wasted time, and there was no time to waste. Sitting beside Cort now, crowded uncomfortably in the front seat, Cipio and the huge Li Yang writhed uneasily. They typified the whole new set of factors which Cort must integrate into the problem facing him. His mind began to work at lightning speed, analyzing, probing, discarding. Swiftly, he went over the problem as he drove the car instinctively through New Jersey. Cipio crawled over into the back seat and went to sleep. Li Yang stretched luxuriously, holding out his plump fingers to the car-heater. Great magic, he said with satisfaction. Not that I believe in magic, but the word is a handy one. The sedan thundered westward. END OF CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 OF THE CREATURE FROM BEYOND INFINITY THE CREATURE FROM BEYOND INFINITY CHAPTER 16 THORDRID STRIKES During the two weeks of Cort's unconsciousness a great deal had happened. Many large cities, like Manhattan, had been evacuated. If many carriers had appeared at once, chaos might have been the result. But the plague came with comparative slowness at first. Martial law, of course, had been declared, resulting in less indirect mortality than might have been expected. The refugees faced neither starvation nor epidemic. With well-oiled speed the federal government had swung into action. All over the country the evacuated populations of such cities as New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and New Orleans were billeted in hospitable homes. But the danger remained. More and more of the carriers appeared. Shining, nebulous clouds of glowing fog they slew by touch alone. There was no possible protection, for even lead armor was not always certain. Moreover, nobody knew the nature of these dread beings. Cort racked his brain as he furiously drove on. Parts of the pattern were falling into place. Entropy, he thought, was the clue. The most puzzling problem was the apparent existence of an utterly alien element, the mysterious X. In a sane universe this could not exist. It could not be alien. For a time he pondered the Heisenberg uncertainty factor, but discarded it as a new idea came to him. The catalyst angle was perhaps the most logical one. Absently he reached into the dashboard compartment expecting to find cigarettes. There was a pack in it, nearly full. Cort pressed in the dashboard's cigarette lighter. Li Yang watched with interest. Cort took the glowing lighter and held it to his cigarette. Abruptly he paused, staring at the lighter. He whistled startedly under his breath. The Oriental blinked in astonishment. What an idea! Just an idea! A parallel! Like conduction! Listen, Li Yang, if you take a red hot chunk of steel and put it next to a cold piece, what'll happen? The cold piece will be warmed. Yes, the heat will be transmitted. Only it isn't heat in this case. It's X. X is being transmitted to living beings. Cort rubbed his forehead. What is X? Energy? Sure, but... I've got it. He almost lost his grip on the wheel in his excitement. I've got it, Li Yang. Entropy. Life. Energy. Cosmic evolution! Words, said the Oriental, shrugging indifferently. What do they mean? Cort began to talk slowly, carefully, picking his way along the new theory. Evolution goes on constantly, you know. From the day the first amoeba was born, evolution kept on steadily. It'll always do that, all over this universe, and in other ones, too. Well, what's the ultimate evolution of life? To what man is it given to know that? Li Yang replied fatalistically. There have been lots of theories. Plenty of science fiction writers have speculated about it, people like Vern and Wells. Some of them say will evolve into bodyless brains. Well, that isn't quite logical. Rather, it doesn't go far enough. Brains are made of cellular tissue, and therefore can die. But thought, life energy, is the ultimate form. The final evolution is toward bodyless energy, life without form or shape. A gas, perhaps. The Oriental nodded. I think I see. Well? Cort swung the sedan around a curve, taking it wide to avoid an overturned roadster. Enterby goes on regardless. Eventually, a universe is destroyed. Matter itself breaks up. But this life energy isn't matter. It's left unchanged. It floats on through the void, like a dark nebula. His eyes widened. Perhaps that's the explanation for dark nebulae, like the coalsack, for example. Well, that doesn't matter. This cosmic cloud of life energy drifts through space. If it happens to reach a newly formed planet, like Earth billions of years ago, life is generated in the seas, and the cycle starts again. But if we already exists? As on Earth now? Yes, the chunk of hot steel warms the cold one. Only, it isn't heat that's transmitted. It's pure life energy. The super life, to which we'll all evolve at the end of our universe. We're not ready for that yet, but it's come of its own accord. I am not sure I understand, Li Yang said thoughtfully. Take a familiar parallel. We know today that there's a hormone which causes growth. A hormone is a glandular extract. If we inject an overdose of that into an infant, he'll grow enormously. But he'll probably be an idiot, with little control over his huge body. He should have been left to grow naturally, for he wasn't ready for the hormone in such a large dose. Neither is the Earth ready for so large a step forward in evolution. But we've got an overdose of pure life energy, and it's transforming human beings into another form of life. Demons, Li Yang said quietly. Perhaps, at least into poor devils. Well, that's the answer. But it still does not help matters. Here's a town. I think it has an airport. The field was a flurry of brightly lit activity. No carriers had yet appeared in this New Jersey city, but the air of tension was inevitable. By dint of argument, threats, pleas, and coercion, Court managed to charter a plane, though he would have no success in getting a pilot. Their services were difficult to obtain because of the national emergency. It was lucky that Court knew how to fly. He took time to drink black, scalding coffee at the airport restaurant, where curious glances were cast at his strange companions. There was little information he could gain from the scattered scraps of conversation. No one could guess where the plague might strike next. At the first sign of it, evacuation must take place, with the aid of every automobile, railroad, and plane that could be pressed into service. A few local residents wandered in to stare curiously at the unusual activity. Their lives would continue in normal routine until the plague actually arrived on their doorsteps. Refreshed, Court took his companions into the plane, a speedy gyrocraft cabin ship. He felt grateful that he would not have to drive by car to Wisconsin. The trip would have necessitated a stop for sleeping, but in the plane he could reach his destination in six hours or so. Li Yang and Scipio were not startled by the air journey, for the Golden Spaceship had accustomed them to aerial travel. They watched with interest the countryside below. There was little chance to talk. The plane swept over Chicago, a desolate, evacuated metropolis. Chicagoans, Court had learned, were quartered all over Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, and even Ontario. Canada, of course, had thrown open its border. For days crowded boats had been plying between Chicago and Benton Harbor in Michigan. The plague had not struck Milwaukee, however, though transportation facilities were held in readiness there. Actually, only a few cities had been disrupted, and plague deaths had been surprisingly few. The real peril, which not many knew, lay in the future, if the plague spread and remained incurable. At Madison, Court landed and rented a car. The headlights were pale spears, stabbing through the gloom as the highway unrolled monotonously. Court was beginning to feel sleepy, but he had purchased some benzodrine sulfate in Madison. He gulped some of the stimulant which refreshed him. In the back seat Scipio polished his saber with an oiled rag he had found. Li Yang slept, choking and snoring, his head rolling ponderously in collars of fat. Now and again Court caught sight of carriers, shining blobs of radiance that flashed toward them and were gone. What would happen if the car struck one? Would it rush through an impalpable glow, or would there be a catastrophic explosion of liberated energy? Court's mind felt so blurred that he could not think clearly. His hands ached and trembled on the wheel. His elbow joints were throbbing. The soles of his feet seemed to be on fire. But he could not stop and rest. Home was not far now, and even then there would be no peace. The road was familiar to him. Wisconsin lay under yellow moonlight and beside the road the river flowed along silently. They topped a rise and came inside of the village. It seemed unchanged, but as they swept through it Court noticed the absence of lights and movements. The street was completely deserted. From the general store a radio crackled inaudibly. On the store's porch was the body of a man in overalls, grotesquely sprawled. A dog slunk into view stood frozen for a second and then fled. Court thought with alarm of Marion Barton. Had she returned to the laboratory? Probably, but had she fled with the general exodus? Court's heart jumped as he saw a shining shapeless glow drift into view from around a corner. A carrier. Another of the horrors was joining the first, but they made no effort to molest the speeding automobile. Court sucked in his breath. Once he reached the laboratory all the weapons of his scientific career lay ready to his fingers. Then, knowing as he did the secret of the plague, he could fight, perhaps destroy the plague, and finally, thordred. Marion could help. Her aid would be invaluable, if... How much farther, Scipio grunted from the back seat, Li Yang woke up and sleepily rubbed his eyes, yawning. Almost there, Court said, a queer breathlessness in his voice. Just over this rise, hold on. A glowing shadow had loomed up sinisterly before the car, blocking the road. It was a carrier, silent, motionless, menacing. Court made a swift decision. He could drive straight at the thing, but that was too long a chance. Going so fast, though, he had little choice. He jammed on the brake at the same time twisting the wheel. The car's tires rasped and screamed as the vehicle slid sideward. It rolled ominously on two wheels, right at itself, and plunged off the road. The occupants were jolted and flung about as the sedan lurched across a plowed field. A tire blew out with a deafening report. Suddenly Court fought the wheel. Bang! Another tire had gone, but Court jammed his foot on the accelerator. In the rear mirror he could see that the carrier was still standing in the same place. It was not pursuing them. He got the car back on the road, picked up speed. As it limped on, the carrier was left behind. Court drew a deep breath. God's, Scipio bellowed, I almost stabbed myself with this blade! Li Yang gurgled with amusement. You are not as well padded as I, but I am glad our journey is almost over. It is, is it not, Court? Yes, this is home. Court's voice died away as he jerked the car to a halt. They were at the huge rambling structure that had housed the laboratory. The building was gone. It had been raised to the ground in an irregular splotch of blackly charred ruin. A crater yawned among the debris. The laboratory was destroyed, and with it the chance to save the earth. Sick hopelessness was so strong in Court that for a long, dreadful moment his heart was numb. He seemed to be dissociated from his body. As if he were a distant onlooker, he stared at the sharp clarity of the ruins under the moon. His shadow stretched out before him on the ochre pathway. On one side was the taller shadow of Scipio. On the other was the obese, dark blotch thrown by Li Yang's form. The grasses rustled dryly in the cool night wind. The embers were still warm, for smoke coiled up lazily from the dying coals. Apparently the work of destruction had occurred lately. Was it an accident? No, Thordrid must be responsible. Court might have expected this. When Thordrid acquired his memory pattern he had also become familiar with the laboratory and all its potentialities. Naturally he would wish to destroy it, lest use of its powers be used against him. But why had he waited two whole weeks? Perhaps because he had not been able to locate the laboratory until now. Despite having acquired Court's memories, Thordrid was a stranger in this new, complicated civilization. Steve! The scream cut through the air bringing Court around sharply. It was Marion's voice. Number 17. Marion. The cry came from the hillside beyond the house. For a second Stephen caught the glimpse of a white figure running toward him in the bright moonlight. He raced to meet the girl. She collapsed in his arms, panting and disheveled. Her hair was a tumbled brown mass of ringlets. For several minutes she could only gasp inarticulately. Steve, thank God you're safe. I saw the headlights of a car, but I didn't know it was you. But I thought if you were alive you'd come back to the lab. Looking down into her eyes, Court felt a queer tightness in his throat. He interrupted in a voice that was scarcely audible. Marion, I... I love you. The girl caught her breath as she stared. Then suddenly she smiled with dazzling brilliance. I'm glad," she whispered, and pressed her head against Court's chest. I'm glad you're human after all. Yes, Court thought to himself he was human. For years he had refused to admit it. But now, a chuckle started behind his lips. He gloried in it. The others came running up, staring at Marion. She drew away from Court. Thordred wrecked the lab, she explained. Who are these men? She eyed them inquisitively. No time for introductions now, Court snapped. Tell me what's happened. You've seen Thordred, or you wouldn't know his name. She nodded. He came here two hours ago and destroyed the house. I was the only one who got out alive. I saw the ship not far away. When I started to run, a beam of light flashed out and I was paralyzed. A huge bearded man came running and carried me into the ship. He seemed to know who I was. Of course, Court agreed. He acquired all my memories with his damned machine. There was a girl named Jan Sia. She didn't say anything. She just watched. Thordred showed me dozens of men and women in the ship, asleep, cataleptic. He said he had captured them to start a new civilization. He was going to another planet, and he decided to take me, too. Since I'd been your assistant, Steve, he figured I'd be a good assistant for him. My scientific training would be invaluable to him. He told me you were dead, that he'd killed you with a ray in New York. So he thinks I'm dead, Court observed. That means he didn't know the ray only paralyzed me. Marion didn't look at him as she continued. I pretended to fall in love with Thordred's wishes, said I'd go with him. So he didn't bother to put me into catalepsy. He started the motors and the ship began to rise. Then I—I— Go on, Court said gently. He wasn't watching me. I saw what he was doing at the instrument panel, and I jumped at it. Somehow I pushed all the levers and buttons before he grabbed me. The ship crashed. I wanted to kill Thordred, Steve, because I thought he'd killed you. If you were dead, I didn't want to keep on living. For an answer, Court drew the girl closer. She went on talking hurriedly. The ship was wrecked completely. It's right over the ridge. All the prisoners were killed, and Jan Sy was hurt. I tried to help her, but Thordred dragged me away. I don't know how he got me out alive. He was like a madman. He salvaged some weapons from the wreck and made me go with him. I don't know why or what he intended. I think he wanted to kill me later, Steve, slowly. Court's face was chalk-white. Clipping his words, he gave his orders. Let's find the ship. We may be able to salvage something, too. Li Yang, Scipio, watch out for Thordred, though I don't think he'll bother us now. The four mounted the slope. At the top of the ridge they halted. In the valley before them lay the vast golden bulk of the spaceship, near a streamlet that made a winding ribbon of quick silver between its banks. There was no sign of life near the vessel. They descended the slope. Suddenly Marion cried out softly and gripped Court's arm. The four halted abruptly. A shining oval drifted into view from behind a bush. It was a carrier, a glowing fog, fading toward its edges into invisibility. With more than human speed it moved toward the group. Court instinctively thrust the girl behind him. Scipio lifted his hard fist in futile defiance. Then he remembered the sabre and drew it. But there was no defense against a carrier, Court knew. He opened his mouth to shout a command to flee, but for some reason that not to fine he waited. The shining thing halted. It was motionless, and Court was conscious of an intent regard. The creature was watching him. Why? Such a thing had never happened before. Always the carrier had leaped eagerly, avidly upon then pray. Why did this horror wait? Court inexplicably felt something stir and move in his brain. Briefly the image of old Sammy, with his brown wrinkled face and his mop of white hair, rose up vividly in his mind. Behind him Marion's voice whispered like a prayer. Sammy! The shining thing seemed to hear. It hesitated and drew back. Suddenly it turned, speeding up the slope and vanished over the ridge. Good God! Court whispered through dry lips. Marion, do you think that was Sammy? White faced, the girl nodded. Yes, Steve, and I think he knew us, remembered us. That's why she could not go on. Well, Scipio broke in roughly. Why do we wait? Let's go on. In silence, Court led the way down the slope. Presently he shivered a little, and Marion glanced sharply at him. Do you feel that too? What? Wait a minute. Yes, some radiation. There, Lee Yang said, pointing. Court followed the gesture, saw the spot of light. Blazing like the heart of a blue sun, flaming with a fierce and terrible radiance, the light speck glowed upon the hull of the ship. Instantly Court guessed what it was. The atomic energy that powered the huge motors had broken free. No longer prisoned by its guarding, resistant sheath, it was sending its powerful vibrations out like ripples widening on a pool. Don't go any closer, Court clutched Scipio's arm, halting him. That's dangerous. It can fry us to a crisp. God's, the Carthaginian stared. Is that true? A mere glow of light? In theory, Court knew something of atomic energy, though it had never been achieved practically on earth. In the old days men had feared that unleashed atomic energy would destroy the whole planet, its fiery breath spreading swiftly like a poisonous infection. But Court knew there was no sign of that. The rate of matter consumption was far too slow. In a thousand years the valley might be eaten away, but not in five years, or five minutes. Scipio! The faint cry came from nearby, startling them. The Carthaginian's hand flew to his sword as he whispered, Janssaya! And again came the cry, plaintive, gull's sweet, infinitely sad. Help me! With a muttered oath, Scipio whirled and ran. Court followed at his heels. A mound of bushes clustered a hundred feet away, and in its shelter lay Janssaya. The fading moonlight washed her hair with gold. She lay broken, dying. Janssaya, Scipio said tonelessly. He dropped to his knees beside the girl and lifted her in his mighty arms. With a tired sigh she let her head fall on his bronze shoulder. My, my back! After Court completed a hasty examination his eyes met Scipio's. He did not need to speak, for the Carthaginian nodded slowly. Janssaya's torn gown and bruised limbs told how she had dragged herself toward safety. Thordred left you, Scipio asked in a queer, hoarse voice. The strangely beautiful green eyes misted with pain as she held herself close to Scipio's barrel chest. The Carthaginian's gargoyle face was the color and hardness of granite in the moonlight. I, I think, I might have loved you, warrior! Janssaya murmured. Then she sobbed restrainedly with unbearable agony. The golden lashes drooped to shield the sea-green eyes. The tender lips scarcely moved as the girl whispered. There was not ever any pain in old Atlantis. Her head drooped on his arm and was motionless. Gently Scipio laid her in the shelter of the bushes. He touched her hair, her eyes. Then tenderly he touched his lips to those red, silent ones, from which even the faint hint of cruelty had gone. As he drew back, the last glow of the sinking moon failed. The eternal dark accepted Janssaya and shrouded her. The starlight was cold as glittering ice on Scipio's savage eyes as he rose. He stood towering there, motionless, staring at nothingness. Slowly he turned to face the west. Quartz he rumbled distantly. You heard her? Yes, Quartz said in a low, tense voice. He left her to die. Abruptly the Carthaginian's face was that of a blood-ravening demon, the mighty hands flexed into talons. He is mine to slay. Scipio breathed through flaring nostrils. Remember that. He is mine to slay. But Janssaya could no longer hear. She lay limp, slim and lovely, and forever untouchable now, shielded from all hurt. She slept as a child might sleep. You wish to kill me? A harsh voice asked mockingly. Well, I am waiting, Scipio. From the shadows of the bushes, Thordred's giant form rose into view. Stardal bewilderment momentarily paralyzed Quartz. He cursed himself for a fool. He might have expected this, but finding Janssaya had made him relax his vigilance. Glaring at Thordred, he stepped aside to stand in front of Marion. Li Yang's fat yellow face was expressionless. Scipio, after one horse oath, had drawn his sabre. He was walking forward, his eyes burning with blood-hunger. Thordred's hand dipped into his garments came upholding a lens-shaped crystal that shot forth a spear of green light. It touched Scipio. The Carthaginian halted in mid-stride, with the sabre lifted, a grin of fury frozen on the gargoyle face. Quartz leaped for Thordred, but the green ray caught him, too. The life was drained from him in a shock of icy cold. He stood motionless, paralyzed as the ray darted aside. From the corner of his eye Quartz saw Marion and Li Yang stiffen into immobility. The four stood helpless, while Thordred tossed his crystal from hand to hand and grinned. You fools! His harsh voice graded. So I did not kill you that other time, did I, Quartz? Well, I shall rectify that omission now. If not for the interference of all of you, I should never have lost the ship, yet I can still have my vengeance. He glanced down significantly at the lens he held. You shall die slowly, in the utmost agony. You shall burn gradually as I increase the strength of the ray. After that, I do not know what I shall do. Perhaps I can build another ship. The knowledge I have stolen should enable me to do that. But that comes after my revenge. The bearded face was murderous in the moonlight. The crystal flashed a ray that struck Quartz on the chest. The green light turned yellow. Simultaneously, blinding pain wracked the man. He smelled the odor of his own burning flesh. You shall die, Thordred gridded. All of you. This is my vengeance. CHAPTER 18 THE MAN WHO LIVED AGAIN When Thordred placed Ardath's body in the small spaceship and sent it hurtling toward the sun, he had thought the Kyrian dead. His fear of Ardath's giant intellect had been so great that he felt safe only when the solar inferno had utterly consumed it. Yet by making doubly sure that his former master would meet death, Thordred had committed a serious error. For Ardath was not dead. He awoke slowly, painfully, only vaguely conscious of his surroundings. For a time he lay quietly, blinking and striving to understand. He kept his eyes closed after a single glance at a dazzling glare. He turned his head away from the bright light and reopened his eyes. His gaze took in his surroundings. He was in a spaceship, a small one that was unfamiliar to him. Through the ports and the walls showed the starlit blackness of interplanetary space. He was incredibly weak. He sat up, massaging his limbs until his numbed circulation was restored to normal. Then he rose with a great effort and looked around. Sunlight flamed through a row of ports. Ardath instantly realized that he was falling directly into the rapidly enlarging sun. He saw the controls sprang toward them, almost collapsing in his weakness. He examined the unfamiliar apparatus, tentatively fingering the panel. Presently the puzzle of laziness was solved in his amazingly swift mind. He tried a lever, then another, and knew that he was master of the unknown ship. The vital problem just now was to escape the sun's attraction. Luckily he was not yet even close to the chromosphere. He turned the vessel in a wide arc. After staring through the ports he aimed its nose at earth. Then he locked the controls and searched for food. For seeing emergencies Court had stocked the little ship well. Much of the food was unfamiliar to Ardath, but he sampled it intelligently. Brandy stimulated him and gave him strength. As he ate he pondered the situation. How had he got here? What had awakened him from his cataleptic sleep? The last thing he remembered was emerging from the laboratory in his own ship to encounter Thordred's ruthless blow. The bearded giant had betrayed him, but how long ago had that been? How long had Ardath slept? During his last period of awakening he had arranged an automatic alarm which would react to the presence of any unusual mentality existing on earth. Ardath wished to take no chances of sleeping past the lifetimes of geniuses. But he had not had time to set that alarm before Thordred stunned him. Everyone in the golden ship should have slept on until infinity, unless awakened by some outside force. What had that been? Again Ardath went to a port and studied the constellations, noting the changes that time had made. He computed roughly that at least twenty centuries had elapsed since his last awakening. Perhaps, through his failure to set the automatic alarm, he had already slept through the lifetimes of innumerable super-mentalities. Though Ardath did not know it, of course, he had not awakened to find Moses, Confucius, Socrates, Galileo, Newton, and a dozen others. The alarm, had it been set, would have aroused him when those men appeared on earth. Ardath glanced thoughtfully toward the sun. Its powerful rays, unshielded by any atmosphere, had awakened him. He felt gratitude to the unknown builder of this ship who had installed transparent ports through which the vital radiations had poured. If the vessel had been on any other course, Ardath might have slept on to the end of time. But the sun's rays had destroyed the artificial catalepsy. Ardath rose and began to search the little ship. Its architecture was obviously terrestrial, the natural development of artforms he had seen in ancient days on earth. Moreover, the use of earth metals in the construction, and the absence of any unusual ones, confirmed this theory. Certain equipment that Ardath found interested him. The mystery of a blowtorch he solved without difficulty. An electromagnet and vials of acids made him nod thoughtfully. When he measured one of the ports carefully, he realized that it coincided exactly with the size and shape of the entry ports on his own ship. The equipment indicated that the unknown owner of this little vessel had expected to find a barrier difficult to pass. The curious similarity of the ports on both ships added up to an unescapable conclusion. Someone on earth had built this ship in order to reach and enter Ardath's craft. Obviously he had succeeded, but without the use of atomic energy. He had duplicated the alloy that coated the hull of the Kyrian vessel, yet the energy was electrical in nature. Ardath's race had used electricity once, so many eons ago, that it was mere legend when he had been born. Atomic energy had supplanted it. Yet Ardath must work with the tools at hand. He found himself experiencing difficulty in breathing. The air supply, of course, had not bothered him during his cataleptic state, but now it was becoming a problem. He examined the air renewers and purifiers, found them simple but effective. Luckily there were the necessary chemicals aboard the ship to renew the exhausted apparatus. The names on the containers meant nothing to Ardath, but the chemicals were easily recognizable. In only one case did he find a test necessary. It would be a long journey back to Earth. Meanwhile Ardath examined some maps and charts that had been in a cupboard, as well as a popular novel which one of the workmen who built the ship had left in a corner and forgotten. These would be invaluable for learning the language. Since Ardath already knew Latin from his last period of awakening, he could learn English without too much difficulty. He could even approximate the present pronunciation once he understood the letters, like W, which Romans did not have. The luckiest find of all, after all, was a newspaper. Two problems faced Ardath. He must find his own ship, and he needed a weapon. Painstakingly he analyzed the situation. Day after day dragged on while the spaceship fled toward Earth. The Kyrian study the charts, the book, and the newspaper, striving to understand. From a rubber stamp on the maps he learned that the owner of the vessel was named Stephen Court, and that he lived in Wisconsin, near a town which Ardath finally located on one of the charts. That became his destination. The Kyrian's keen understanding of psychology aided him in understanding what had happened during his unconsciousness. Placing himself in the respective positions of Thordrid and Stephen Court, he applied rules of logic. When Court had entered the Golden Spaceship and found the cataleptic bodies, he would naturally have tried to awaken them. When he awoke Thordrid, what had happened? There were two possibilities. Thordrid, Ardath realized now, wanted power above all else. He had resented the Kyrian's domination. After apparently succeeding in killing his former master, he would not have been willing to obey Court. Rather, his lust for power would have been given fresh fuel. He and Court would have become either enemies or friends. In the latter case, Ardath now faced two opponents. But why should Court, having built this ingenious and expensive spaceship, have been willing to destroy it by aiming it at the sun? He would naturally have wished to retain it for later use. A logical man does not destroy valuable equipment, and only a logical and intelligent person could have built this vessel. But Thordrid, on the other hand, would have wished the smaller ship destroyed, so that he would possess the only spaceship on Earth. Such tactics would strengthen his power, unless there were already other spacecraft in existence. That was impossible. This one was obviously patterned on Ardath's own vessel. A man with sufficient knowledge to create it would have used it, first of all, to visit the original ship. That sounded logical, though not entirely certain. Court would probably have resented the destruction of his property. That indicated that he and Thordrid were enemies. But from that conclusion, Ardath could go no further. He could only wait until he had reached Earth and visited the home of Stephen Court in Wisconsin. If Court lived, he would certainly be an ally. And now Ardath concentrated on creating a weapon. Equipment was at hand and electricity. Atomic energy Ardath could not manufacture at present, but he thought it would not be necessary. Already, he had a plan for a weapon in mind. It must be able to convey a strong shock, or even a fatal one, over quite a distance. That necessitated some conductor of the current. A jet of water, a thin spray, perhaps, might do the trick. But the use of ordinary water was not quite satisfactory. Ardath began to experiment with the limited laboratory he had at his command. He worked arduously, sleeping and eating only when he found time, while the ship sped toward its destination. Earth grew from a star to a spinning globe, cloud sheathed, and then into a vast concave disk that blotted out the star he void. Ardath found the outline of North America, checked it with his maps. Then he set the vessel arrowing toward Lake Michigan, which was visible even from beyond the atmosphere. It was night before he'd landed outside the village near Court's home. He lowered the ship silently among the concealing trees, and slipped toward the lights of the settlement. His clothing would arouse curiosity he realized, but that could not be helped. Taking his new weapon, which was awkwardly bulky, he moved forward. Luck was with him. A youth, idling along the highway in a dim stretch, paused to stare at Ardath. The Kyrian took advantage of the opportunity. Mouthing the unfamiliar words carefully, he asked, Can you say where Stephen Court lives? It sounded like, can you say where Stephen Court lives? The boy blinked. Sure, you're a foreigner, ain't you? When no answer came, he went on pointing. Right up the road there, he gave explicit directions. But I wouldn't go up there if I was you. There was a fire up there just a little while ago, and folks saw some funny kind of airship hanging around. They think it crashed in the valley behind the house, but nobody's gone to look. We stay away from Court's place, since he had a case of the plague there. Without a word, Ardath left the lad and hurried on. He had understood most of what had been said. A funny kind of airship. Could that be the golden space vessel? By the gods, if it had crashed. The ruins of the house told their own story. Ardath hesitated and then skirted it to climb up the slope beyond the charred foundations. The valley behind the house, the boy had said. Ardath topped the ridge. His thin, patrician face went cold as marble at the site before him. The ship was wrecked, he saw at a glance, and he saw, too, the moonlit figures of huge thordrid and his paralyzed prisoners. As the ray flashed out from the lens in Thordrid's hand, Ardath ran swiftly down the slope, concealing himself amid the bushes. As an odor of charred flesh came to his nostrils, his eyes were suddenly remorseless as death. At last he was close enough. He rose from the shadows and called softly, Thordrid, the bearded giant world, shocked amazement in the amber eyes. The yellow ray swung wide out of his control. Simultaneously, Ardath lifted the weapon he held, and a thin jet of fluid shot from its muzzle, splashing on Thordrid's arm. The giant yelled in agony, and his lens fell to the ground. You betrayed me, Thordrid, Ardath said, emotionlessly. It is just that you die. He stepped forward. The huge bearded figure swayed and writhed in agony, striving to break free from the invisible grip that held it. Ardath's foot slipped on a rounded stone. For a second the liquid jet wavered from its mark, but swept back swiftly. Thordrid was gone. He flung himself back into the shelter of the bushes. The crashing of the underbrush told of his flight. Ardath shrugged and lowered his weapon. He is harmless now, he said, and bent to pick up the lens. Briefly he eyed the three men and the girl, still paralyzed. Scipio, Li Yang, and two strangers. He made a hasty adjustment on the crystal, sent a blue glow sweeping out to bathe the four. The paralysis fled. Ardath, Li Yang said, you came in good time. By the God's yes, Scipio roared. His voice went soft with regret. Though not in time to save Jan Sia, his eyes clouded. Lifting his saber he plunged forward. I'll be back with Thordrid's head, he promised over his shoulder, and vanished into the woods. You, you're Ardath? Court asked. The burn on his chest was aching painfully, but it was not deep, and it had been automatically cauterized. He stared at the rescuer. The Kyrian nodded. I am Ardath. You seem to know of me. Are you Stephen Court? Yes, but how did you learn English? How did you escape from the sun-trap? What? Wait! Ardath was staring down at the wrecked ship. Before all else, the atomic energy must be prisoned again. It is, he fumbled for the right word, dangerous. To approach it closely means death. Bled, Court suggested. When Ardath looked puzzled, he gave the atomic number. Only a special alloy will insulate the rays of atomic energy. Do you see that container? It looks like a speck from here, beside the spot of light. Only that can hold the power. He frowned. The power must be placed in its sheath again. But... It means death, Lee Yang broke in. Very well, I shall do it. Court clutched the fat arm. You need not sacrifice yourself. Ardath's face was expressionless as he went on in his painful, stilted English. Whoever goes must be quick. The rays killed swiftly. Hurry to the ship, slide the container over the little globe of atomic energy, and put the cover in place. That is all. After that, it will be safe to approach. Steve, Marion said unsteadily, let me go. No! Court's arm went around the girl, drawing her close. Not you. Do we need to make this sacrifice Ardath? The Kyrian nodded sorrowfully. The energy will spread out till it touches oars. Then it will expand faster, until the earth itself will be destroyed. There was a sudden interruption. From the bushes behind the group a glowing nimbus of light drifted. It was a carrier, but it did not approach the three. Instead it sped down the slope toward the ship. Ardath stared. Marion, do you suppose? Court said hoarsely. Maybe Steve, if that was Sammy, he may have heard us. They watched as the weird carrier fled toward the ship. It reached the hull, bent over, and picked up a small object from the ground. It made a swift motion, and the glare of atomic energy vanished. He did hear us! Court exalted. Good old Sammy! The light nimbus was drifting away toward the other side of the valley. Suddenly it was hidden from sight, but before that Ardath was striding down to the ship. He returned, holding in his hands an oval container of dark, lustrous metal. It was the sheath for the atomic energy. We have much to talk about, he said to Court. Your language, I must master it better. Cipio came back, cursing and swinging his saber. His deep chest rose and fell as he panted. Thordred got away. I could not catch him. Court took immediate command. Back to the road. There's plenty of room in the car. We'll head directly for Washington and make plans. I think you can help us against the plague, Ardath. Your atomic energy has already given me an idea. The plague? Ardath asked. I'll help if I can, but I am sorry you did not destroy Thordred, Cipio. I fear he will trouble us again. The Carthaginian did not answer. He grinned unpleasantly, fingering the saber-blade as he followed the others back toward the ridge. End of chapter 18