by Jerry
“You then were back of Rays Walford’s revenge?” Blackie muttered.
“Certainly. I deserted this body of Conroy’s for a time: you will recall he was apparently asleep? First I hypnotized this woman here to open the refrigerator: she imagined she had been asleep. Then I took over Walford’s murdered body. I knew from the girl’s mind all about who had killed Rays, about the minerals—everything . . . I had a dual motive in what I did. One was to exact necessary vengeance upon an unscrupulous criminal; and the other was to put the courage of the rest of you to the supreme test. Then I became Conroy again.”
“I get it,” Blackie said, after a long silence. “What you are trying to state is that you need a criminal to steal for you on Earth, and kick the proceeds in to you?”
“I thought you would understand,” Conroy nodded. “Your world indulges in such things: it is rich in treasure. You were sent to prison for trying to obtain some of that treasure. Here is your chance for supreme revenge! Become a master, under our dictates. Have this woman as your aide. In time, you might rule the Earth!”
Blackie rubbed his jaw, then he grinned.
“Can you beat it, Dots! A mental monster from Ildiban wants to become a big time crook like me! You can even find gangsters on Ildiban, sugar—No, damn you!” he blazed suddenly. “You’re dead wrong! I escaped from that blasted prison to start going straight . . . well, nearly straight. Certainly to be my own master. I don’t work for you or no guy from a two cent asteroid. See?”
“I should not like to think my work has been for nothing,” Conroy’s voice said slowly. “I eliminated the small time cowards, leaving you two. I can perhaps force you, even as I forced this girl, to do my bidding.”
“No guy can force Blackie Melrose!” Blackie retorted.
WITH that Conroy stared steadily.
To Blackie’s vision it looked as though the dull eyes came to life for a while and he felt the full appalling onslaught of battering mental commands. He even reeled under them . . . Then the muscles of his face bunched into knots of iron determination. He clenched his fists, stared back . . . and all of a sudden the strain relaxed.
“Quite a pity,” Conroy sighed. “You are too strong for me to break down. I was afraid of that. Maybe one of the others would have been better after all . . . No, no—not enough courage. This girl I could use only—No, not enough experience. You were the one, Blackie Melrose . . . You are sure you won’t take the offer?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“Then I shall have to find others.”
Conroy stopped speaking, his knees gave way and he thudded to the floor. Blackie stooped instantly, turned him over. Then he lifted an astounded face to the girl.
“That—that mental gangster, whatever it was, has withdrawn his influence,” he whispered. “Deserted him!” He digested the incredible fact for a moment.
“Give me anything but this,” he panted. “I always knew space crawled with queer things, but mental body stealers—No, sir!” He got up, whirled the girl suddenly to him. “Look, Dots, you and me are going back to Earth. Maybe when we’ve taken care of Rays Walford’s family there’ll be something left over from those rocks. How ’bout it? Feel like ringing doorbells?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded tensely. “Besides, I could use a gorilla like you now and again at that . . .”
Blackie grinned, slammed in the rocket switches, and listened to the mounting roar that drove them forward . . .
THE END.
THE SLIM PEOPLE
Wilfred Owen Morley
An Extravagant Little Story Is
VASTNESS beyond the concept of man. . . . vistas from which the Terrestrial mind would have reeled, desperately seeking escape in some comfortmaking neurosis. . . . life-spans seemingly eternal, reaching back into the unthinkable beginnings, extending into unseeable everlastings. . . .
LIGHTLY, carefully, the Child caressed the glowing outlines of a tiny sun. “And is there life here?” he asked.
“Not yet,” came the reply. “But take care, Child. There is life upon many of the little worlds wheeling around this sun. Be careful that you do not make your hand so firm that it blots out the radiations of the star, for then that life would perish.”
The Child withdrew his hand, an expression of wonder on his face. “But how can there be living things on such—thick matter? Why they wouldn’t know anything at all about half the radiations, father!” Elnon of the Bright People smiled as his glance took in the solar system of which the Earth is third planet—were it just a bit smaller, he mused, he could span it with his arms. “They; very probably don’t know of many radiations, Child. To them, this little glowing star is the source of all life—space may be to their eyes little more than darkness lit here and there by similar glows from other stars.
“Their bodies must be as thick as the worlds they live on—and no more adjustable.”
“You mean they can’t extend themselves?” Child’s voice contained a tenor of unbelieving dismay.
“I’m afraid not, Child. After all, remember how long it took you to learn how to make a small part of yourself thick enough to pick up that vagabond sun in the other galaxy. Yet this was natural to you—for
them, it is something which they would have to evolve into after many generations.” Child pondered a moment. “Do you think that there may be any people on any of these worlds who might look like us?” Elnon shook his head. “I don’t think so—though it isn’t impossible. After all, our people once lived upon a fixed world, bound to a single star. But to find other planet-dwellers formed like us—with but two eyes, two arms, two legs, and a single head—well, Child, it’s a great deal to expect.
“It would be interesting, though—if we should find such a people, we might be able to catch one of them, then you look through him and see how our people were myriads of aeons ago—although you must remember, Child, that we were never as tiny as any of the dwellers of these worlds would be.”
The Child was about to ask another question when a gleam caught his eye—“Look, father!”
“What is it?”
I saw something jump away from one of the planets.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes—see, there it is.”
Elnon bent forward, his eyes piercing through what to him were the many-hued twilights of this galaxy. Ah yes, I see it. A very pretty creature, Child.”
Brilliant in the glow of the tiny star, the slim creature reflected all the iridescent colors contained in the system’s sun. Gracefully it darted along between the little worlds.
“So, life in this system is not insignificant,” mused Elnon. “The slim people are not bound to any particular world—that is good. They are adapted to space and yet are so formed that they can enter planet atmospheres at high speeds without harming themselves. They propel themselves in much the way of the maranoid creatures of the water worlds—see that faint flash from their tail?”
Child nodded, his happy eyes shining. “Do you think they live mainly between the worlds?”
“That’s hard to say. It may be that—again like some of those maranoids who are amphibious—they breathe space-substance but feed upon the worlds. That would mean that they have to emerge from planet-atmospheres every now and then.
“Or it may be that they spawn upon the worlds—lay their eggs deep within the atmospheres, or even on the surface of the worlds themselves.”
“I’m going to see if I can catch one, father.”
Elnon smiled approvingly. “Good. But be careful. Cup your hand around it and make your fingers thick very slowly lest you become too thick and crush it. And don’t cover up the tail, the nose, or any of those venticles—that might harm it.”
Child nodded understanding, and swept his eyes over the panorama of space. The slim one had disappeared, but there must be others. His whole being thrilled with joy then at what he saw.
“Look, father—there’s a big one!”
This slim creature was indeed
large—and more inclined to fullness than the others. It moved no less swiftly than the first creature they had seen, but many flashes appeared from an enormous tail. And the creature was equipped with large fins as well.
“It must be a female,” said Elnon. “Perhaps it is seeking a world upon which to lay its eggs.”
“Oh, look out!” cried Child to the slim creature, forgetting that the being obviously could not hear his warning. For a considerably large bit of vagrant matter was heading straight for the beautiful slim one. Desperately she tried to turn aside, jet-matter flashing from her glowing tail and from her fins, but it was too late.
Child cried out as the matter struck the helpless creature and it rolled over as if in mortal agony; the matter had pierced its body and it careened off at a tangent.
Now from the venticles along the slim one’s sides appeared tiny darting shapes which flashed for an instant and then were gone.
“I was mistaken,” said Elnon. “The slim ones do not lay eggs—they carry their young within their own bodies; they are more advanced than I thought.”
It was much later when Elnon, seeking the Child, found him in the system of slim people. There was an expression of sadness upon his face.
“What is it, Child?”
“The slim people. I cannot have them for pets.”
“Why not?”
“They die. I cannot discover what they eat and so be able to feed them. When I pick them up, they breathe upon me with their flashes, as if they thought it would make me set them down again.
“I’ve tried to find their minds, but there is no answer. If I let them go, and I have not waited too long, they dart away after a while, but I can never make them come back. Their only response is to try to get away and keep from being captured again.” Elnon nodded understandingly. “They must be a very high form of life indeed so to value liberty.” He glanced at Child’s neck around which hung a chain with a curious pendant. “What is that?”
“A slim one—it was so beautiful—I didn’t want it to die, but there was nothing I could do.” His brow wrinkled. “You know, father, I think they must go to the worlds to die—I’ve never found any dead ones between the worlds.”
“That well may be. But come, now; your mother is worried because you have been gone so long.”
And on the way back to the galaxy where the Bright People dwelt, the Child told of what he had learned about the slim people, of their graceful sweep from world to world, of their love-making and play, how the young males would sidle up to the beautiful females and caress them with thin tendrils, then draw the shy creature close, and of the times he had seen them helping a fellow creature which had been hurt by a vagrant matter.
“It takes them a long time to grow, father. I’ve not seen any signs of aging in any of them—even though several times I saw young ones leaving their mother, and coming back to feed later.”
And as he spoke, his fingers caressed the iridescent form of the dead creature about his neck, perfectly preserved in the cold of space. Fondly his eyes ran over the curious markings upon it, markings which to an Earthman would have been intelligible as IPV Orion.
MIMIC
Donald A. Wollheim
It is less than five hundred years since an entire half of the world was discovered. It is less than two hundred years since the discovery of the last continent. The sciences of chemistry and physics go back scarce one century. The science of aviation goes back forty years. The science of atomics is being born.
And yet we think we know a lot.
We know little or nothing. Some of the most startling things are unknown to us. When they are discovered they may shock us to the bone.
We search for secrets in the far islands of the Pacific and among the ice fields of the frozen North while under our very noses, rubbing shoulders with us every day, there may walk the undiscovered. It is a curious fact of nature that that which is in plain view is oft best hidden.
I have always known of the man in the black cloak. Since I was a child he has always lived on my street, and his eccentricities are so familiar that they go unmentioned except among casual visitors. Here, in the heart of the largest city in the world, in swarming New York, the eccentric and the odd may flourish unhindered.
As children we had hilarious fun jeering at the man in black when he displayed his fear of women. We watched, in our evil, childish way, for those moments; we tried to get him to show anger. But he ignored us completely, and soon we paid him no further heed, even as our parents did.
We saw him only twice a day. Once in the early morning, when we would see his six-foot figure come out of the grimy dark hallway of the tenement at the end of the street and stride down toward the elevated to work—again when he came back at night. He was always dressed in a long black cloak that came to his ankles, and he wore a wide-brimmed black hat down far over his face. He was a sight from some weird story out of the old lands. But he harmed nobody, and paid attention to nobody.
Nobody—except perhaps women.
When a woman crossed his path, he would stop in his stride and come to a dead halt. We could see that he closed his eyes until she had passed. Then he would snap those wide watery blue eyes open and march on as if nothing had happened.
He was never known to speak to a woman. He would buy some groceries maybe once a week, at Antonio’s—but only when there were no other patrons there. Antonio said once that he never talked, he just pointed at things he wanted and paid for them in bills that he pulled out of a pocket somewhere under his cloak. Antonio did not like him, but he never had any trouble with him either.
Now that I think of it, nobody ever did have any trouble with him.
We got used to him. We grew up on the street; we saw him occasionally when he came home and went back into the dark hallway of the house he lived in.
One of the kids on the block lived in that house too. A lot of families did. Antonio said they knew nothing much about him either, though there were one or two funny stories.
He never had visitors, he never spoke to anyone. And he had once built something in his room out of metal.
He had then, years ago, hauled up some long flat metal sheets, sheets of tin or iron, and they had heard a lot of hammering and banging in his room for several days. But that had stopped and that was all there was to that story.
Where he worked I don’t know and never found out. He had money, for he was reputed to pay his rent regularly when the janitor asked for it.
Well, people like that inhabit big cities and nobody knows the story of their lives until they’re all over. Or until something strange happens.
I grew up, I went to college, I studied. Finally I got a job assisting a museum curator. I spent my days mounting beetles and classifying exhibits of stuffed animals and preserved plants, and hundreds and hundreds of insects from all over.
Nature is a strange thing, I learned. You learn that very clearly when you work in a museum. You realize how nature uses the art of camouflage. There are twig insects that look exactly like a leaf or a branch of a tree. Exactly. Even to having phony vein markings that look just like the real leaf’s. You can’t tell them apart, unless you look very carefully.
Nature is strange and perfect that way. There is a moth in Central America that looks like a wasp. It even has a fake stinger made of hair, which it twists and curls just like a wasp’s stinger. It has the same colorings and, even though its body is soft and not armored like a wasp’s, it is colored to appear shiny and armored. It even flies in the daytime when wasps do, and not at night like all the other moths. It moves like a wasp. It knows somehow that it is helpless and that it can survive only by pretending to be as deadly to other insects as wasps are.
I learned about army ants, and their strange imitators.
Army ants travel in huge columns of thousands and hundreds of thousands. They move along in a flowing stream several yards across and they eat everything in their path. Everything in the jungle is afraid of them. Wasps,
bees, snakes, other ants, birds, lizards, beetles—even men run away, or get eaten.
But in the midst of the army ants there also travel many other creatures—creatures that aren’t ants at all, and that the army ants would kill if they knew of them. But they don’t know of them because these other creatures are disguised. Some of them are beetles that look like ants. They have false markings like ant-thoraxes and they run along in imitation of ant speed. There is even one that is so long it is marked like three ants in single file. It moves so fast that the real ants never give it a second glance.
There are weak caterpillars that look like big armored beetles. There are all sorts of things that look like dangerous animals. Animals that are the killers and superior fighters of their groups have no enemies. The army ants and the wasps, the sharks, the hawk, and the felines. So there are a host of weak things that try to hide among them—to mimic them.
And man is the greatest killer, the greatest hunter of them all. The whole world of nature knows man for the irresistible master. The roar of his gun, the cunning of his trap, the strength and agility of his arm place all else beneath him.
It was, as often happens to be the case, sheer luck that I happened to be on the street at that dawning hour when the janitor came running out of the tenement on my street shouting for help. I had been working all night mounting new exhibits.
The policeman on the beat and I were the only people besides the janitor to see the things that we found in the two dingy rooms occupied by the stranger of the black cloak.
The janitor explained—as the officer and I dashed up the narrow rickety stairs—that he had been awakened by the sound of heavy thuds and shrill screams in the stranger’s rooms. He had gone out in the hallway to listen.