Synthetic Men

by Ed Earl Repp

  Other ships dived and strafed a mile away. Their success was no greater than Phil Burke's. They could slow the Borers, but they could not stop them. No power on Earth could do that.

  Phil wanted desperately to believe the mines they had laid far to the south would stop them. But logic told him how vain that hope was. Earth's disease was in its terminal stages, beyond the help of any medicine. They were seeing the end of civilization.

  At his elbow, Avis breathed:

  "It's hopeless, Phil. Aubyn has condemned New York by his blindness. The rest of the world, as well. It may be too late now to manufacture sufficient bronzite for a small city, even if he would agree."

  "But—there has to be another way! If we can't arrest them here, they'll go on to destroy everything, every shred of life in the country. Isn't there—some way. . . ?"

  "There is one possibility, Phil," Avis said soberly. "I hadn't mentioned it before, because it's small comfort at the most. You've only seen a fraction of the building in which you found me. Beneath the eighth level are living quarters for perhaps five thousand persons. The swiftness of the ice plague kept us from ever filling those rooms. A small colony, indeed, to give civilization a new start! Still, a start—if only we could get in touch with the type of men and women we need."

  Page had started up at her first words. Now he sank back.

  "That's it," he muttered. "It's no use picking out five thousands individuals at random. We'd be giving mankind a dowry of disease, idiocy, and laziness. God knows how we can contact a better class."

  Phil's fingers were white on the controls.

  "There's just one man who could help us," he murmured. "The kingpin of them all—General Aubyn. And I've got a feeling he'll be glad to help us—"

  "Aubyn—!" You aren't serious, Phil—?" Avis' blue eyes were big.

  "Absolutely. He'll be practically unguarded, with even the Gold Troopers in the field. If we can get next to him, make him call the head of Science Congress and round up the foremost men of science in New York—"

  "That's it!" Page yelled. "Give her the gun, mister. The big shot's going to talk turkey for once!"

  CHAPTER V

  Hegira—

  From the council room on the seventieth floor of City Hall, it was Aubyn's custom to keep in touch with his leaders by radio, during crises. Phil Burke knew this, and he had banked heavily on it in heading there. The landing dock was empty, and they reached the elevator unseen. Under his arm Page carried one of the machine guns, dismounted and ready for work.

  The elevator door slid back on the seventieth level. Down the corridor, a pair of Gold Troopers stood guard before the council room. At the sound of the door, they looked up.

  Phil hissed:

  "Ready with that gun! We'll try to act like it's official business or something—"

  Avis went between them. The guards watched them narrowly, puzzled. When they were within twenty feet, the blue-jowled Trooper on the left barked:

  "Hold it! What's the idea of the artillery?"

  Page raised the heavy caliber gun on a line with the sentries.

  "Don't get excited, boys. This is where you lie down and play dead dog. We don't want trouble, but—"

  "Get him!" the Gold Trooper roared. His rifle swung up, blasted flame and lead down the hall.

  Hot wind stung Phil's cheek. Then the corridor rocked with the hammering thunder of the machine gun. Page fired two short bursts. There were the added explosions of the shells detonating in the Trooper's bodies. The guards' rifles clattered on the floor and they went back against the wall, to slide loosely to the polished marble.

  Phil sprang past them, flung the door open. He had a glimpse of Aubyn rising from his chair with sagging features, Sudermann and the others watching from their posts at the table. Page stuck the ugly, smoking snout of the gun into the room.

  "Lift 'em high," Phil snapped. "We've got plans that include murder, if it's necessary."

  Aubyn stood there with his hands slowly lifting. The table before him was littered with maps and diagrams. His blunted features worked.

  "I thought we'd had this out before," he said slowly.

  "I guess we couldn't quite get used to your decision," Phil returned. "We're making some changes. Sudermann, you and the rest will go with Russell. One of the basement rooms should do, Page. We'll meet you there later."

  The Guardsman nodded.

  "Lay your guns on the table, all of you," he directed. Phil gathered up the weapons as they appeared. He threw them all in a closet. As an afterthought, he said:

  "Better have them carry those Troopers along. They're liable to spoil things, lying there in plain sight."

  When they had left, he grinned at the general over his guns.

  "Get Arthur Volney on your private line,” he ordered.

  "Volney—! What do you want with him?"

  "He's head of Science Congress, isn't he? All right. Here's what you do. Tell him to come up here immediately. I'll be in the closet when he comes, so you might as well get used to the idea of following my directions. Have Volney round up all the leading scientists in the city, their families as well. Also, he's to get about a hundred capable physicians and surgeons together. Have him gather all the professors from the colleges, too. He's to take all these men—along with their families, understand—down to the docks and put them on a couple of ships. Give him complete directions for reaching the museum in the Catskills. Oh, yes. Give him carte blanche to the army commissary to take out enough food for five thousand people for a year. Have the soldiers take care of the loading for him. Got all that, now?"

  Aubyn's head shoved forward on its thick neck.

  "You're out of your mind!"

  "Not entirely. Just crazy enough to think we can save part of the civilization you doomed by your bullheadedness. One other thing. Tell Volney he's to take care of all that in six hours, if possible. It won't be much longer than that before the Borers reach the Catskills. Now get on that phone "

  Aubyn obeyed the menace of the weaving pistols. He called Arthur Volney at Science Congress, where he was up to the neck in plans for new explosives. Volney unwillingly agreed to come. Phil and Avis got into the closet when his footfalls were heard in the hall. Through the aperture left by the unclosed door, Phil could see him enter.

  "Yes, General?" He stood before Aubyn, a surly, almost rebellious figure.

  "I've decided to entrust you with an important mission, Volney," Aubyn began. "The most important thing you've ever attempted. We're setting up a new post which will be our last bulwark against the Borers. The fort will be located in the Catskills, near the river. Here's a map showing you how to get there. Now, here's what I want you to do—"

  He tolled off the points Phil had mentioned. There was a hopeful ring to his voice as he concluded.

  "You think you can—er—take care of this in eight or ten hours?"

  Arthur Volney showed his excitement by his nervous folding and unfolding of the map.

  "Easily, sir! I'll put my whole staff on the job and have it done in three or four hours. If you don't mind my saying so—it's about time some safeguard of this nature was taken!"

  "Thanks," the general grunted. "Now get the devil out of here."

  Volney bowed and left.

  Phil gave him a few minutes to leave the building. Then they marshaled Aubyn down the corridor to the elevators. The lift dropped them to the basement, where they walked slowly along the dark, musty tunnels until a door opened at their advance. Phil saw Page Russell beckoning them. Hurriedly they entered the room.

  The cabinet made a sullen, miserable group where they sat on boxes near a boiler. Page sat down with his machine gun.

  "Get Volney?" he asked.

  "He's our man!" Phil exulted. "Thinks he can have the ships on the move in less than four hours."

  "Good! Four more hours is about all I can stand of looking at these sniveling heel-clickers."

  "You'll have to look at them longer than that," Phil t
old him. "We'll take no chance of having them send out bombers to stop the ships. Yet we'd take that risk if we left them before Volney's had a chance to make it to the museum. We'll stay with them for six hours and give him plenty of time."

  Page made disgusted noises in his throat and settled down to wait.

  During those six hours Aubyn went from cajolery to threats and back again. The rest of the ministry relapsed into a lowering silence. But the dictator could not keep still. He was on his feet every minute, as nervous as a cat. And when Phil at last stood up and looked at his wrist watch, he started toward him with one hand clenched.

  "You'll never make it without my help," he snarled. "Come to your senses. Cot us in on it and we'll rule this new world you talk of together."

  "You misunderstand our motives," General," Avis said sweetly. "The idea of a selective draft was to cut out men like you."

  Phil chuckled and glanced at Page.

  "Got the key to this door? All we want is a ten minute head start and we're set."

  Page tossed it to him. Carefully, then, backing every step of the way, they moved to the door. They were on the point of backing into the hall when Avis uttered a choked little cry.

  "Phil! Behind you—!"

  Phil turned, a second late. From the shadows lunged a dozen Gold Troopers. Rifles probed his stomach and a walnut stock crashed down on his shoulder. He went to his knees as the soldiers plowed Page down and disarmed him.

  Aubyn was bellowing.

  "That's the stuff, men! How the hell did you find us?"

  Fear worked in the face of the Gold Troop Captain who answered him.

  "No one saw you leave so we knew you were in the building. We've searched every floor down to here. But, my God, sir, I'm afraid it's too late! The Borers are in the city! The subways—"

  Aubyn seized the fellow by the arm. "In—the city—?" he croaked.

  "Yes, sir! They're everywhere. Empire State's down and half the city's on fire. How are we going to evacuate, with the subways blocked and the docks cut off?"

  Phil, dazed with pain, saw the swift look of craft that shot through Aubyn's face.

  "Evacuate?" he heard him cry. "Do I look like a coward to you, Captain? We'll arm every man and woman in the city and fight to the last ditch. Go tell them that. Have them open the arsenal and start doling out guns."

  The Gold Trooper saluted.

  "I knew you'd say that, sir!" he grinned. "But—these people—you'll want them executed first?"

  "No, Captain. I'll take care of them myself. Oh, yes; another thing. Is my plane on the landing dock?"

  The Trooper nodded.

  "Ready, fueled, and the bomb racks filled, General."

  "Excellent. I'm going to see if I can bomb a path to the ships, myself. If all else fails, we'll try to get the people into ships somehow."

  The Troopers saluted and left. As the sound of their running feet died, a slow smile buckled Aubyn's wide lips.

  "Now, then. I suppose the museum is locked?"

  Phil laughed harshly.

  "Knew there was something wrong!" he mocked. "So you're going to fight to the last ditch, eh? And the last ditch for you is the museum. To hell with the people, eh, General?"

  Aubyn's eyes blazed.

  "Later on there'll be time to teach you respect. For the time being I may need you. Out that door now, all of you. Make a suspicious move and you'll died in your tracks."

  Phil took Avis' hand as they left the room. She smiled up at him, a smile to which fear had no claim. Reaching the roof, Aubyn rushed them into the giant bomber in which they had flown in to the Catskills the time before. The dictator himself took the pilot's place and started the motors. Before the sputtering roar broke out, they heard other ominous sounds.

  Women's screams, and the shriller cries of children; the dull kettle-drumming of falling masonry, the rattle of guns and expansive roars of grenades; and over it all the clash-clashing of the Borers' hungry jaws.

  Then Aubyn had lifted the craft into the air. They sped up-river, closing their eyes to the horror below. Nearing the museum, they saw another sight to terrify them.

  The Borers had crossed the river several miles above the bronze shell and were sweeping cross-country on a tangent that would carry them across it. About an equal distance from the museum was a dark mass of running, walking, crawling humanity. It was not the danger to the scientists that started Aubyn cursing. It was the possibility that they themselves would not make it to the repository from the meadow.

  With his frightened hands on the controls, the ship almost ended things for them in the meadow's deep grass. Striking a rock, it bounded twenty feet into the air and came down in a grinding skid. The ship's dozen passengers landed in a heap against the dashboard. Phil's one thought was for the bombs in the racks—but they failed to detonate. Aubyn shook himself and barked orders. The men crawled out of the wrecked ship.

  Aubyn tore open a locker and began passing out small crates of hand grenades.

  "We may need these to hold them off!" he shouted. "It's going to be a dead heat if we make it."

  Even Phil and Page were made to lug boxes. It was man-killing work, that uphill struggle through the rocks to the museum. They reached the hummock above the great pit that hid the shell, and the men in the lead let out a cry.

  "We're too late! They're a hundred feet from the pit!"

  "Too late, hell!" bawled General Aubyn. "Start heaving those grenades. Keep them in the air as you run. We'll blast 'em out until we can get inside."

  The leader allowed his prisoners to hurl grenades along with the rest, knowing they could not harm him without killing themselves. In the late dusk, the red flashes broke out blindingly among the mass of Borers wriggling down the walls of the pit. Heads, fragments of bodies, and loose earth flew hundreds of feet through the trees. The worms were legion, but for a moment they were hurled back from the museum.

  They broke into a dead run, after that. Phil glanced off through the trees and saw the flash of moving bodies. Volney and his strange collection of humanity were not far off. Now Aubyn was plunging down the sloping dirt incline. He gained the bottom and began shouting to Avis.

  "Get this door open! We can't hold them off much longer!"

  The girl turned to Phil.

  "What shall I do? He'll only save himself and kill the rest of us."

  Phil grinned, a wild, mirthless grin.

  "Pretend to open it. Stall along, I'll do the rest."

  Avis left his side to run to the combination box. After she had toyed with the dials a moment, she said something to Aubyn. The dictator cursed.

  "Keep at it!" he panted. "We'll hold them off."

  He ran to where the others had formed a short line twenty-five feet from the door. Up and down their arms flailed, in that queer, overhand grenade throw. The tide of Borers was on the lip of the crater. Up there, the ground boiled and smoked, churned to life by constant explosions. Now and then a wriggling monster would come rolling down the hill, to start its blind rush after its tormentors. Then one of the men would pump bullet after bullet into its head until nothing was left of it.

  But the minutes inched by. The Borers were piling up. A dozen of them at a time would roll down the hill. It was no longer possible to keep up with the massacring of those that gained the bottom. Aubyn turned desperately.

  "Will you hurry!" he shouted. "We can't—" Then he saw them; the men led by Arthur Volney.

  At a stumbling run, they poured down the incline. Avis had opened the door and the first of them were entering the museum. Aubyn said not a word. He jerked the pin from a grenade and his arm went to throw it into the mass of men, women and children.

  Phil was on him like a mastiff. His knuckles landed on the general's jaw. Aubyn reeled, sat down. Still he clutched the grenade. Phil dived on him. He tore the bomb from his fingers and threw it. The Guardsman chopped another fist into his face and Aubyn's jaw went slack and he fell back.

  Phil jumped up and shot a
measuring glance up the slope. The Borers seemed poised like a breaking comber. He began to throw again. The rest of the men had not seen the by-play. Their bombs still fell among the monsters.

  Phil's shoulder muscles burned. The pain seemed to steal into his brain. He lost track of everything but the need to keep on fighting. He was still hurling grenades when Page grabbed his arm.

  "Come on!" he cried. "They're all inside. We're ready to close up '"

  "To close up." Words Phil had thought never to hear. He stumbled along at Page's side until the dome loomed above him.

  He looked back to see the dictator struggling to his feet. Aubyn shrieked and flung up an imploring hand. It was in Phil's heart to show him the pity he didn't deserve. But at that moment the ground between them split open and an ugly green head, the size of a washtub, burst from the earth. Aubyn screamed and turned to run. But behind him were thousands of other Borers. Phil turned away.

  The coolness of the metal structure was about him, then, and the door thundered shut.

  "It's over, Phil!" Avis whispered. "There's death outside, but in here there's life. And hope for your people to rebuild their world again."

  Phil went toward her, until he was standing tall above her, his hands on her waist.

  "Our people," he corrected. "This is the Ark of covenant, and it's going to be guided by you. You'll bring us back to a saner world than we ever knew. A world in which dictators are classed lower than the Borers."

  "How can I fail?" Avis smiled. "With everything to work for—and you to help me!"

  The End

  [1] Obviously the carrot-shaped instrument is a type of "radio" pickup machine which is capable of picking up the delicate emanations of the electric waves of the mind in the process of thinking. Mental telepathy is deemed a possibility, and ESP experiments have shown that in many persons the ability to detect thought waves is greater than that which can be accredited to chance. Avis, apparently, is able to detect them by means of some mental power which is fully developed, and which she can transmit to another by means of contact. This indicates that the nerves act in some way as a conductor of waves from the brain.—Ed.