A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  The man at the table shook his head. When he spoke there was a brittle quality to his voice that was obviously foreign to it for Witson jerked around at the sound and looked keenly into Norton’s face as if he feared that the other’s mind had given way under the blows it had taken. But a single glance at the squared jaw and narrowed eyes told him otherwise.

  Norton said:

  “What is the date?”

  Witson looked his surprise.

  “Date?” he asked hesitantly. “Why—why, I think it’s the fifth—yes, the fifth of September.”

  NORTON’S eyes widened. Two weeks had passed, two weeks that were taken from him and of which he had no memory. He looked at the bodies of his friends and turned quickly away. Perhaps he was better off that it was so? He came right to the point, then:

  “What happened on August twenty-first?”

  Witson closed his eyes and recited in voice, slow and heavy with hidden passion, the events which had come to pass since that day:

  “The United States were invaded by a people from outer space. Yes, from a universe far beyond the confines of any we know. And in a single day they accomplished that which we thought would be the impossible. They conquered us!”

  “No!” Norton burst out.

  Witson thrust out a frail, blue-veined hand to halt the other’s pent up words.

  “Yes!” he continued. “They did. With machines and weapons beyond any of our devising. First, and I must confess that how, is a mystery to me; they spread through these machines an over-powering compunction to every human mind within their reach the desire to kill. I don’t know how many millions were killed in the first night. I am afraid to guess.

  “They came in immense space ships. Hundreds of ships containing thousands of men in each ship. That night, every radio set in the country went out. Every means of communication went dead. We were completely isolated from the rest of the world. And. that reminds me. The radio in this cabin was on. I wonder . . .” He moved to the wall and snapped at the light switch. Nothing happened. “H’m. Now that’s odd,” he said in a low tone. “Radio goes on, yet there’s no light.”

  A ghost-smile flickered on Norton’s lips. He remembered that little oddity of Witson’s The ruminative, whispered speculations he held with himself. It somehow brought an air of reality to the whole fantastic and terrible situation. Norton explained the phenomena:

  “Nothing very mysterious in that, Jarvis. The set doesn’t need any electrical current to operate.”

  Witson’s right eyebrow raised. It gave him an odd pensive look. “And how do you know that, my friend?” he asked.

  “I built that set. A couple of months back,” Norton replied.

  “I see. Another one of your experiments, I presume?”

  “Right. Electronics. But too complicated to explain. At least right now. The important thing, to get back to it, is what do we do now?”

  Witson looked oddly pleased.

  “Right to the point, eh Norton? I’ve always admired you for that faculty, as you remember. It was the reason why I told you to go in for research, when you were taking my course in anthropology. The dust of the ages was not meant for you. Yet the dust has come to settle on the present.”

  “Elaborate.”

  Witson looked to the outside before he went on. The familiar pattern if a new day’s birth was beginning to unfold. He brought his glance back to Norton.

  “Those space ships bore the symbol of the four forces! Mu and Lemuria! Perhaps Atlantis also. Those fabled lands did exist!”

  Suddenly Norton had a vivid memory of a bygone day. A half dozen undergraduates lounging about the bachelor apartment of Jarvis Witson, head of the Archeology department of the university. And Witson expounding his theories. He even remembered some of the conversation, “There are as many reasons to believe that the civilizations of Mu and Atlantis did not perish, as there are to the affirmative,” Witson had said. “After all, it is all in the approach. I like to think that I am open minded. Research has brought many things to light about these lands. And the scientist has not answered any of the questions involved. Instead, many of them, in particular those whose names are considered the great, passed off the discoveries as either not genuine or too minute in themselves to present a worthwhile problem for investigation.”

  THERE had been some further talk about books, and about references which could be found to substantiate Witson’s theory, even in the Bible. Then it had broken up.

  “Still riding that horse, Witson?” Norton asked.

  Anger flamed in the frail man’s eyes. Words blazed from his lips:

  “Horse! I know! I heard them talk of it. The one they call, Jetto. I even know why they are here.”

  Norton’s chin dropped. Then his eyes narrowed. Had Witson lost his senses? No! The old man was angry, yes, but a sane anger, directed at the disbelief shown his words.

  “Sorry,” Norton apologized. He became aware that day was breaking. And the problem of what they were going to do was still unanswered.

  “Look,” he said. “The sun’ll be up in a few minutes. And I imagine that the patrol which chased us has reported that we are somewhere in the vicinity. We’ll be sitting ducks here. Do you know of any place where we will be safe, for a while?”

  Witson nodded that he did. But when Norton started for the door, he stopped him.

  “Can’t go out like that,” he said. “Got to get some clothes—h’m. Should be some here.”

  Norton gulped. Fred Antolini and his wife had been very dear friends of his. The thought of wearing some of the dead man’s apparel gave him a sick feeling. Swinging about, Norton made for the clothes closet and after rummaging around came out with a pair of slacks and a heavy, flannel shirt. They fit him fairly well. He was even luckier with the shoes and socks. They fit perfectly.

  Witson stopped on the threshold. He turned to Norton and said, apologetically:

  “I—I hope you know how to get out of this?”

  “You mean the forest preserve?”

  “Yes. Once I have oriented myself, then—”

  Norton laughed heartily. It did him good. Somehow the laugh helped to dispel some of the gloom.

  “Just tell me where you want to go,” he suggested. “I’ll get us there.”

  “Well, you know that little college near the village of Rook Park? I’ve been hiding out in the basement of the school.”

  Norton took the lead. He struck straight for the forested center of the park. Fifteen minutes of walking and they had reached the outskirts of the preserve. Norton proceeded with a greater caution, then. The trees were cut off sharply at the edge of one of the streets. He did not want to come into the open before he made sure that there was no one around. They lay on the ground behind the protecting foliage of a large bush. The street was deserted.

  He peered between the close-pressed branches and saw the pointed spire of the school chapel. It wasn’t far off. But there was the whole of a city block to traverse before they reached it. Once more he surveyed the situation. There was little choice. They were at the farthest edge of the preserve. They had to come out into the open!

  SLOWLY, the two men walked down the deserted street. They looked neither to the right nor left. There was something odd to their walk. As if they were walking tip-toe, expectant of disaster. Then the chapel was before them.

  Witson scurried in between the boundary walls of the chapel and the adjoining building. Norton followed.

  Their goal proved to be a narrow, squat building.

  Witson turned a face that was an odd mixture of weariness and elation in Norton’s direction.

  “This is it,” he said, turning the knob and entering.

  “Aye, said a strange voice. “This is it!”

  A strangled sound came from Witson’s lips.

  “Mio!” he gasped.

  The man facing them smiled. His lips made a deep V in his face. Norton found time to notice that the V motif was carried out throughout; in the shape
of the ears and the way the hair lay. Then Mio spoke again:

  “Did you think us fools? We knew all along that you were using this place for a hide-away. So that when you got away from the patrol last night we simply waited here for your return.” Norton didn’t have to turn to know that there were men behind them. He heard movement of shod feet on the tile floor. He turned his head casually and saw ten men standing about in watchful attitudes. The door was still open, just as when they had stepped inside. He gave their captors a curious look. It was obvious that they came from a land or place beyond his knowledge.

  They were all dressed alike, in close fitting jackets of some metallic substance. Covering their limbs were skintight doublets, the ends of which were tucked into ankle-length boots. Facially, they all looked alike. He noted the absence of interest they showed and thought it odd.

  Mio gave an order:

  “Truss them up!”

  Norton would have attempted to fight. But he saw that several of the men had taken a pistol-like weapon from a holster on their belt. The memory of what had happened to the tree when the charge it contained struck it, still stuck. He remained lax as they bound his arms.

  They walked through one of the two halls and out a door leading to a side street. Drawn up at the curb was a strange vehicle. Slim, cigar-shaped, it was about thirty feet long and perhaps ten feet thick.

  There were no wheels on the vehicle. A door, set flush into the curved wall, opened and they stepped within. No sooner were they seated than the car started. Norton’s eyebrows lifted when he noticed the complete absence of motion. He turned to remark on it to Witson, and Mio said:

  “Outside!”

  Norton went, “huh?” And one of the guards nudged him heavily. There was no mistaking the implied command. Norton stepped out. They were in front of the city hall.

  All seemed confusion. There was a constant parade of armed men coming in and out of the building. The two men were quickly herded through the swinging doors and into an elevator, manned by one of the now familiar outsiders. In the hurried glimpse Norton had of the street, he noticed the fewness of people.

  The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and they marched in quick step to an office at the end of the hall. Two men stood to either side of the glass-fronted door. One of them swung the door wide and Norton and Witson followed Mio and two of the others into the office.

  A man sat at a wide desk. He was the only one in the room.

  Mio bowed his head in a sharp nod and said:

  “These are the two the guards saw last night.”

  “Good!” said the man at the desk. “All right you two, step forward.”

  Norton looked down at the man. He could feel Witson’s body tremble as it pressed against his. The man behind the desk said nothing. He looked very much like Mio. And Norton saw then, that there was more than a similarity of looks. There was a cruelty to the set of their lips and to the high arch of their eyelids, a cruelty which needed the smallest of excuses only to come into the open. The two looked at each other with the same degree of intensity. Then the man behind the desk said:

  “How was it you escaped our patrols on the first night?”

  Norton snorted aloud.

  “Perhaps because they were too stupid to find me?” he suggested ironically.

  THE other’s eyelids crinkled in a smile. And Norton went to his knees as one of the guards struck him from behind. Blood trickled from his nostrils. He shook his head, clearing it from the cobwebs of shock and rose to his feet. The smile had reached the other’s lips.

  “Aren’t you going to suggest that I remove your bonds? It seems to be a common complaint among your countrymen that we are bullies and cowards,” he said.

  Norton smiled a crooked smile. The blood dribbled down and past the corner of his mouth. Passion had boiled in his breast for the barest second, after the blow, but now he was filled with a cold curiosity about these people. Anger and the consequences of it would avail him nothing, he realized.

  “I’m afraid you have the wrong man for that,” he answered mildly. “Stupidity is not one of my vices.”

  “Very well put,” the other said. “Perhaps we can use you—in a capacity more fitted to your intelligence.”

  “Perhaps? Would you permit me a small allowance of curiosity?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why have we been brought here? What is your purpose?”

  Norton didn’t expect an answer. The other did, however.

  “To use you as a laborer. The hidden city will be found and when we have, there must be several hundred thousand of you people put to work. Simple, isn’t it?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, yes. But why the old man?”

  “He was agile enough to lead us a merry chase. Then he’s capable of doing labor.”

  “Since when do the men of Mu use men of science as slaves?” Witson asked unexpectedly.

  The man behind the desk stiffened in surprise. His mouth opened loosely then closed in a thin lipped vise.

  “What do you know of Mu, old fool?” he snapped out sharply.

  “As much . . .” Norton began to explain when the other broke in:

  “Be still! Let the old one answer Ribal.”

  “I know that it still lives,” Witson answered.

  There was an interval of silence. Then Ribal arose and said:

  “Perhaps it were best that Jetto sees the both of you? Follow me.”

  Ribal waved the two guards and Mio from the room and opened a door which led to an inner office. They followed him as he went through the room beyond the door and then into a long corridor. At the end of the corridor was another door, this one of plain wood. It was unguarded. Ribal opened it and motioned for the two to go in.

  It proved to be just another office. But there were no desks in this one. A long, low couch ran the width of the room. Behind it, Norton caught a glimpse of the building fronting La Salle Street. Drapes made a clear view impossible. There were a half dozen men in the room. They were clustered about the couch and the man sitting on it.

  Heads turned at the sound of the door opening. As Ribal and his prisoners advanced, the men parted in front of the man on the couch to give Norton a full view of the important personage.

  HE SAW a man of average build.

  A narrow, triangular beard, started an inch below his lower lip, gave to the man an appearance of intellectuality, a look bore out by the high, though narrow forehead. He was dressed as the rest. There seemed to be no variation to the Murian’s manner of dress. There was something about this man, though, that was a little different from the rest. Some inner spirit that showed through the flesh. It showed in his eyes and the cool regard in which he looked them over.

  “The reason for this interruption had better be one of importance,” he said in a voice that was like a twanging steel wire.

  The rest of the Murians listened and looked with cold indifference at the two prisoners.

  “Aye, mighty Jetto! Ribal would not disturb the conference, if he didn’t . . .”

  “All right, man. Get on with it.”

  “These two have claim to being men of science.”

  Norton didn’t remember claiming any such distinction for himself. But he let it ride.

  The man on the couch looked the two before him up and down. It was a gesture devoid of interest.

  “H’m,” Jetto murmured in sudden appraisal. “Men of science, eh? Perhaps we can use them, Fu-ta, not that I have changed my mind from its original thought, but from sheer expediency,” Jetto threw the words to one of the men standing close to his side.

  The one called, Fu-ta, said,” the Prime Number man in the city they call, New York, has already sent word that the people there are forming groups of revolt.”

  Jetto’s dark brows drew together in sudden anger.

  “Damn them, then!” he keened in a high, passionate voice. “If they interfere, I’ll give them more than just a taste of madness. And this time it will not be accidental
!”

  “Jetto! I beg of you! We simply don’t have the men with which to war on them. Any delay can be costly!”

  Jetto’s breath whistled from his nostrils in a high, thin sound.

  “Very well,” he muttered harshly. “You two! Do you carry any weight with your people? Will they listen to you?”

  Witson answered for them:

  “About myself, I can say that I am not well known in any field other than anthropology. But Dale Norton’s name is a household word throughout the world.”

  “So?”

  “Yes,” Witson went on, “if he has anything to say, the people will listen.”

  “Good!” Jetto exclaimed. “Now before I give you your instructions, let me first tell you a thing or two. We have no interest in your planet other than what we came here for. That some things happened to have caused misery and death are a matter of regret. It was a sort of accidental slipping of a gear in our machinery. Who and what we are is no concern of yours . . .”

  “Mind if I put in my two cents?” Norton broke in.

  The thin, finely-drawn face of the man on the couch broke into lines of anger, but Norton went on as if he did not see it:

  “I think it is our concern. We pride ourselves on the fact that liberty, personal and national, is not a cloak that we can wear or not at any one’s discretion. It is part of us, like the flesh and bone of our bodies. And when that liberty has been violated, and in the manner or rather the violent willfulness of your violating, then the people will demand an accounting. What were your reasons for what has happened? Why was this violence necessary?”

  JETTO controlled himself with an effort that was plain to see. He spoke slowly, measuring each word for effect: “Very well, Norton. We have come from a far universe, beyond any of your knowledge. Once we lived on this planet. Many thousands of years ago. First in huge underground cities. Then above the ground in great communities. All these cities were colonies, established by some far-sighted ancestor of mine, against the day when his mother planet would no longer support a human population. Nor was this the only planet.