The 53rd Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK; Geoff St. Reynard

by Geoff St. Reynard

  * * * *

  I saw no harm in answering that. “Not far. Just a background of silver-blue lines at an angle.”

  “That is it. A silver land.” Evidently they had the same color perception as we; a surprising but not wholly unthinkable fact. “Nowhere is there color or change of form or beauty, save in our own bodies. Your earth burst on our ken with such a wealth of beauty and such opportunities for pleasure as we had never dreamt of. At once we began to infiltrate, in the guise of normal humans; at first only by the route of births stemming from that original accident, then afterwards by births regulated and controlled from our plane, by methods you could not comprehend, which once discovered freed us from the necessity of waiting endlessly to be born into a body that had descended from that original fortuitous ‘sport.’ I believe that in terms of your space-time continuum, this discovery of ours has been quite recent.”

  I grew pale and cold at his words.

  For—if true—this meant that the beast-folk could make a wholesale invasion of our dimension at any time! The brute saw me, and laughed again.

  “Exactly. You are beaten. Indeed, you never had a chance, but now you have less than none. We are an advance guard, who have prepared the way for all the others of our race who will one day inhabit bodies on your plane. We have felt you out, tested your power to resist—which has been practically nil, my friend, with the exception of your own feeble and haphazard efforts—and spread out over this island until we are more numerous than you can imagine. But with the new method of coming in, there is no longer a need for infiltrating into high offices and key government positions, as we have so laboriously done before; for, my friend, D-Day is at hand.”

  * * * *

  He folded his arms and chuckled once more, icily, hideously. “Quite soon now, we will come into this dimension in one great wave that will obliterate your race as though the stars had never shone upon it at all! Every birth in the world shall be one of our robots—and then, no matter how you struggle and fume and plot, your people are doomed! Then, no matter how hard you fight, you will lose, for your species will ultimately die of old age!”

  In the silence that followed this burst of ghoulish amusement, I heard someone who was going by in Baker Street whistling the Bronze Horse Overture, one of my favorites ... oddly, irrelevantly, I considered it a good omen, and was cheered. Then Geoff spoke.

  “Just put my hands on his throat, somebody, will you?”

  “Not yet, son. Go on, ogre. Why will you murder a whole race? Just for amusement? Just so you can see colors and pretty forms?”

  “Yes. That simple a reason. And because we hate you, for that you have inherited a world of such perfections and do not appreciate it. To see colors, to revel in sounds and scents and tastes we had never imagined; to feel the vicarious ecstasy of these robots in acts you take for granted—acts of feeding, of drinking, of viewing and touching, of sex, which we do not have in our proper forms in any fashion whatever. We envy you, and hate you. We want your world, even if we must take its tactile delights vicariously—which is not so second-best as it sounds, for these robots are in a sense ourselves as much as our own bodies are. You who are born to this wondrousness—can you claim you properly appreciate it? Or will you admit that you have held it lightly and unthinkingly for as many generations as you can count?”

  “Well, I’ll be a devaluated pound,” gasped Alec. “Will you listen to the conceited son-of-a-bitch!”

  “Another question,” I said to the beast. “How do—”

  It was done almost before I could blink. He made a sudden break for the windows, one arm raised to smash the glass so that he could shout down to the street. Two feet short of his goal he ran into Alec’s good right hand, swung round like the head of a short-hafted axe. He dropped with a crash.

  “No use inspecting the body,” I said. “His real shape blew up like a paper bag and went blam. I guess you broke his neck. He’s dead.”

  Geoff stood up and said matter-of-factly, “Well, we’d best be going, what? If someone will just find my pipe for me, I’m ready.”

  “Wail till I toss a few things into my purse,” said Marion. “Can’t expect a gal to flee without a lipstick, can you?”

  I stared at Alec, who nodded. It was time for us to be on the wing.

  CHAPTER XVII

  After three or four minutes of stuffing useful things into our pockets and a couple of overnight bags, we went downstairs to the ground floor; turning toward the back door, we ran smack into a sentinel of the usurpers. He wavered, then stepped aside as we strode toward him. I did not want to make a scene in The Gander, so waited until we stood in the lane behind the inn before I told them we had been seen.

  “Never thought we wouldn’t be,” said the Colonel. “Where’s the garage, Alec?”

  It was directly opposite the rear of the inn. We went in and, unmolested, packed ourselves into the great red Rolls. “Whither?” said I, taking over the wheel.

  “The Albany. I’ve guns there we’ll need before we’re much older.”

  “Then to the Gloucester,” said Alec, “for Johnson.”

  I swung out into the lane and nearly ran down an alien, who leaped squeaking out of the way. Now they knew what our car looked like. I didn’t care. We seemed to be in over our heads already.

  “Do you know that in an hour or two we’ll be much-wanted fugitives from the horrid vengeance of Scotland Yard?” I asked as we reared downtown. “We left a corpse on the floor of Alec’s sitting room, with enough of our gear lying around to identify us all. My God! We’re acting like a pack of heedless cretins. We should have stayed and made a plan.”

  “Hark to the Manchester Slasher!” shouted Geoff. “Why, my dear old cloth-head, the late lamented’s buddies would have been on us in force in less than two ticks. Have you forgotten that somewhere in their dimension, at a spot approximating the location of Alec’s flat, there’s a dead beast-critter? Their pony express would ha’ found him first thing. We had to run. And I didn’t hear you objectin’, when we snatched up Marion’s intimate garments and Alec’s dirty socks, to doing a bunk.”

  “My mind seems to be running ten minutes behind time,” I said, skirting a corner and just missing a little old lady.

  “Also there’s this,” put in the doctor. “We could never have gotten rid of the body, but they could, and I believe they will. They know now there’s at least half a dozen of us in this business. Do you think they’ll want us brought to trial? Granted that our story would sound like half a ton of wet fish ... would they want it spread on the front pages? After all, they can tell by our looks we’re solid citizens. We might get some credence from the police—the last thing they would want. I think they’ll quietly haul away that body, and set out on our trail by themselves. The time for worrying about the law is over, as I see it. There’s too many of us. It wouldn’t be like hauling up just one ripper with a mad story; it would mean publicity in every paper in Christendom—will they risk that?”

  “Good for you, John,” I said. “You’re right. It’s them and us now.”

  * * * *

  We drew up at the Albany. Leaving Geoff and Marion in the car, the four of us hurried to the Colonel’s rooms and began a systematic collection of weapons, even including a set of ancient Khattar daggers and a couple of pig-sticking spears which were part of a collection Bedford had made in India. Into a Gladstone we stuffed bottles of brandy and whisky, a first aid kit, such items of clothing as we’d need in our flight, and what looked like seven years’ supply of ammunition. Down again and through the lobby we went, trying to look like eccentrics who habitually carried sporting rifles, elephant guns and pig-sticking lances under our arms when we ambled through the city; piled the stuff onto the floor of the tonneau, wedged in once more, ran down to the Gloucester to get Sergeant Johnson, and took the road out of London to the east. As the sun was setting we left the last suburb behind, and came to the quiet open countryside.

  “Where now?” I asked.<
br />
  “The castle?” suggested Geoff. “It’s as good a hideout as any.”

  So, after a vote, we struck out for Exeter Castle.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  It was dark when we passed through Exeter Parva. So far as we could tell, there had been no pursuit; nevertheless I felt nervous and on edge, remembering what titanic forces were arrayed against us.

  The elms and oaks and chestnuts whispered among themselves as we unloaded our gear and hauled it through the great iron-banded door to stack it in the empty hall. I was standing in the doorway looking at the dark groves and the moors beyond, when Marion touched my arm.

  “Don’t jump like that, boy! I only wanted to ask what you’re gazing at so fiercely.”

  “The trees. They’re like so many ghosts ... darling, I feel as though we’d walked into the dim and haunted past. This might be Glamis Castle itself.”

  She seized my hand and for the first time in the whole adventure I knew she was afraid. “I think it’s a trap,” she said. “Oh, Will, I can’t say anything to the others—after all, there’s nowhere else to go—but I don’t like this place!”

  “It’s not what you’d call cheerful.”

  “It’s a great box propped up with bait under it, and now that we’ve walked under it, it’s going to drop over us. Don’t listen. I’m only scared. That awful man, this afternoon, telling us their damnable plan in that cool way—I feel like Peter Rabbit, nibbling on a cabbage leaf while the farmer cocks his shotgun.”

  “Pass me one of those cabbage leaves, Pete,” I said. “I’m hungry!” Which set her giggling, and broke the evil spell.

  Lugging our weapons and bags, we followed the Colonel up the big curved staircase and down the dank passage to our old quarters. We lit a lamp or two; the familiar furniture sprang out of darkness, and my gaze fell first on the table to which the Tower musket had once been clamped. That seemed half a century ago. I dropped my pig-stickers and rifles on the table. “Let’s hustle up some food.”

  “It’s stacked in the next room,” said the Colonel, who had been in charge of our stores during the first residence here. “There’s enough for about three weeks.”

  “I’ll get dinner,” said Marion.

  “I’ll go down to the wine bins and bring up a few bottles,” said Johnson. Luckily, Geoff’s ancestors had laid down a noble cellar full of the finest potables.

  * * * *

  We all began bustling around, Alec dusting, Marion clinking dishes in our makeshift kitchen, the doctor arranging chairs about the table, the Colonel and I stacking weapons against the walls, and Geoff lounging in an armchair whistling a militant tune. We grew quite gay, laughing and chattering, until old Johnson came in with his pale face grown chalky. The Colonel saw him first.

  “For God’s sake, man, what is it?”

  Johnson sat down heavily, by which sign I knew he was terribly upset, for he would never sit when the rest of us were standing. He passed a hand over his eyes. “I was going through the hall—downstairs, that is—and suddenly I felt as though someone were observing me. You know the sensation, sir?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Well, I looked about, and saw nothing at first, so thinking it was my nerves, I went on to the cellars. I chose two bottles of wine and a good brandy—” he held them out and automatically I took them—“and came up again. Just as I stepped through the entrance to the cellars, I happened to glance toward the front door. There, looking in at me through the dirty glass of the window beside it, was a face. I—I can’t tell you what a turn it gave me. The eyes seemed almost to glow, you know, sir. It was horrible.”

  Into the silence that followed Geoff said, “We’ve had a ghost here for ten generations, Johnson. The Stalking Man, they call him. I used to see him frequently when I was a nipper. He’s supposed to walk on the south terrace between sundown and cock-crow.”

  Johnson stared wildly at him as though Geoff had sprouted two heads. “No, no sir,” he said. “This wasn’t a man. It was a woman.”

  “What happened next?” barked the Colonel.

  “Well, sir, I’m afraid I was so startled that I stepped back into the entrance-way; and when I had conquered my aversion and returned, she was gone. I didn’t go and look out the window as I should. I fear I was badly rattled. I came straight upstairs.”

  You might have sliced the apprehension in that room with a blunt knife. Nobody moved, except to turn their heads to one another with widened eyes. I wet my lips then.

  “The barmaid from Exeter Parva,” I said. “They’ve identified Geoff from something he left behind, and sent the word down here to check on the castle. It would occur to them at once, when they knew about Geoff, that we might make for such a sanctuary. They’ve sent the word to that fearful green-horned octopus, and it’s hared out here to investigate. We’re pinpointed now, lads, like a covey of quail on an open marsh.”

  Colonel Bedford was holding a Mannlicher. He opened the bolt with a snap. “Load up, my boys,” he said. “Load ‘em all up, and then let’s have some food. The condemned may as well eat a hearty meal.”

  CHAPTER XIX

  Surprisingly, we all slept very well that night. Each of us (save Geoff and Marion) took an hour and a half at sentry-go, roaming through the monstrous old place peering out of windows and jumping at every creak; but before and after my own tour of duty I slept dreamlessly and comfortably, and found in the morning that the others had done likewise. We foregathered at the breakfast table, which was placed in the center of a broad cheerful beam of sunlight that lanced down through age-old panes of glass, and we ate tinned meat and biscuits with honey and mugs of well-creamed coffee, with as excellent appetites as one could wish for.

  When the meal was done, Johnson picked up one of the long pig-sticking spears and hefted it, trying the balance.

  “Going to stab us a shoat, Sergeant?” asked Alec.

  “No sir. It’s that I can’t abide firearms, while fifty years ago I was rather good with one of these, if I may say so without boasting. A number of us used to go out on the veld and try our luck at riding down small antelope, on days when the Boers left us alone, you know, sir. I think I could still wield one with the best of you young ‘uns—begging your pardon, I’m sure, sir.”

  The Colonel bounced out of his chair. “Line up for weapons issue,” he cried. “Who’s tough enough to handle my elephant gun?”

  “Will Chester,” said Marion, with a grim nod.

  I was then presented with the heaviest piece of Bedford’s artillery and two pocketfuls of shells. Doctor John drew the Mannlicher and the Colonel himself took a murderous old 450-400 with which he’d once hunted big game. Marion had a light sporting rifle. Geoff and Alec, who styled themselves the Hamstrung Brigade, could obviously not handle rifles; but Alec thrust two Colt .45s through his belt, and Geoff was allowed to wear a long hunting knife—“just in case.” The Colonel outfitted each of us others with one or two revolvers apiece, and we parceled out plenty of ammunition. Even Johnson had to add a .22 target pistol to his brace of spears.

  * * * *

  “Now then,” said Colonel Bedford, “here’s how I see it. We’re in as good a place as any for hanging on: the place is unburnable, and we can hold it against successive waves—first fighting on the ground floor, then retreating to this one, hall by hall and room by room, and finally when things really grow hot we can get onto the roof and make a fight there. We’re far enough away from any settlement that the noise of a battle won’t carry except by a freak of the wind. We can have a nice private war.”

  “But,” interrupted Marion, “do we want a nice private war? I think we should want publicity for it, because they don’t. D’you see? I’m for dragging the whole mess into the open.”

  “And end in a loony bin,” said Alec. “No, the Colonel’s right as far as he goes: this is the place to make a stand, and since we know we can’t escape to anywhere in this island that’ll be safe, we may as well stop here to make our fight. They aren’
t going to bring down a blooming brigade to eliminate us, mind you; they’ll think, ‘Ha, there’s only seven, we’ll just send round a score or so to pip ‘em.’ They don’t know we’ve an arsenal here.”

  “And meanwhile,” said Geoff excitedly, waving his pipe, “Arold Smiff in Birmingham will be gathering his crew. If we give him—how long would you say, Will?”

  “Another couple of days, maybe. He’s got to treat each of those thugs to a drink or two and sound him out before he hires him. It will take a few days. Besides, he thinks he’s got a week at least. I’m supposed to be meandering over England getting names. And I’m afraid that scheme’s out, too.”

  “P’raps, p’raps ... well, say we give Arold a couple of days, and then phone him—from Exeter Parva, let’s say—to bring his outlaws down here a-whoopin’ and a-cussin’ in a bunch. How’s that? They roar in, mop up practically all the usurpers in sight, then we catch a few of the aliens and tell ‘em. ’This is a sample. We can see you, so there’s no use your sticking. Scram!’ How’s that?”

  “Dandy, dandy. Except for the little matter of getting out of here to phone Arold. What if we’re surrounded?”

  “Oh, hell’s tinkling bells! Where’s your red Injun blood? But if you like, one of us can leave now, before they arrive. He can contact Arold, have him hurry it up, and in a day or two catch the besiegers in the rear.” Geoff was jubilant, and some of his fervor rubbed off on me. I said. “Right! We’ll draw straws.”

  “You’re the logical choice, Will,” said Alec. “You know this Smith, after all. The plan is your pigeon. You go.”

  The Colonel was standing by the window, glancing out now and again as we talked. He said, “One minute chaps. Come here.”

  We crowded to the window. He pointed down to the drive. Shortly we saw a man run stooping across an open space in the old stone balustrade. The substance of the alien body seemed to float about him like a flimsy cloak of many colors.