Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by James H. Schmitz

  Then Mel looked back at his guests and promptly reversed his decision. They were certainly as real as any living creatures he’d ever seen, and he felt there weren’t many human beings who would show up as well as Miss Green had done in any comparable emergency. His own unconscious fears meant only that he had run into a new and unpredictable factor in a world that had been becoming increasingly commonplace for a number of years now. He could see that once you’d got settled into the idea of a commonplace world, you might be startled by discoveries that didn’t fit that notion—and he felt now, rather hazily, that it wasn’t such a bad thing to be startled like that. It might wake you up enough to let you start living again yourself.

  He took the receiver off the phone and laid it on the floor, so there wouldn’t be any more interruptions. If he ran off now before seeing how the adventure ended, he knew he would never quit regretting it.

  He went into the bedroom and pulled his chair back up to the window. The shadowy silhouette that was Miss Green turned and sounded a few fluting notes at him. He had the immediate impression that she was worried.

  What was the matter?

  She pointed.

  Clouds!

  THE sky was still full of the pastel glowings of the sunset. Here and there were patches of black cloud, insignificant-looking, like ragged crows swimming through the pale light.

  “Rain,” the thought came. “The cold rain—the killing rain! Another storm!”

  Mel studied the sky uneasily. They might be right. “Your friends are bound to get here first,” he assured them, looking confident about it.

  They smiled gratefully at him. He couldn’t think of anything he might do to help. The princess looked comfortable on the towel he had laid along the screen, and Miss Green, as usual, looked alert, prepared to handle anything that had to be handled. He wondered about asking her to let him see how the globes were doing, and, instantly, a thought showed clear in his mind: “Try it yourself!”

  That hadn’t occurred to Mel before. He settled back comfortably in the chair and looked through the screen for them.

  Four or five fiery visualizations quivered here and there in the air, vanished, reappeared, vanished . . .

  Mel stopped looking for them, and there was only the sky.

  “Closer?” he said aloud, rather pleased with himself. It had been easy!

  Miss Green nodded, human fashion, and piped something in reply. Closer, but—

  He gathered she couldn’t tell from here how close, and that there was trouble—a not quite translatable kind of trouble, but almost as if, in their dimension, they were struggling through the radiant distortions of a storm that hadn’t gathered yet here on Earth.

  He glanced up at the sky again, more anxiously now. The black clouds didn’t seem to have grown any larger.

  BY AND by, because he had not had any awareness of going to sleep, Mel was surprised to find himself waking up. He knew immediately that he had been asleep a long time, a period of hours. There was grayness around him, the vague near-light of very early morning, and he had a sense of having been aroused by a swirling confusion of angry sounds. But all was silent at the moment.

  Her answer was instantly in his mind. The storm had caused a delay—but a great globe was almost here now!

  A curious pause followed. Mel had a sense of hesitation. And then, very swiftly and faintly, a wisp of thought, which he would have missed if that pause had not made him alert, showed and vanished on the fringe of his consciousness:

  “Be careful! Be very careful.”

  Miss Green turned back to the window. Beside her now, Mel saw the princess sitting as if asleep, with one arm across the twig basket and her head resting on her arm. Before he could frame the puzzled question that was struggling up in his mind, there was a series of ear-splitting yowls from the court outside. It startled Mel only for a moment, since it was a familiar sort of racket. The gray cat didn’t tolerate intruding felines in its area, and about once a month it discovered and evicted one with the same lack of inhibition it was evidencing right now. It must have been the threatening squalls which usually preceded the actual battle that had awakened him.

  The encounter itself was over almost instantly. There were sounds of a scampering retreat which ended beyond the garage, and, standing up at the window, Mel saw the gray shape of the winner come gliding back down the court. The cat stopped below him and seemed to turn up its head. For a moment, he felt it was staring both at him and at Miss Green, very much like a competent little tiger in the gusty, gray night; then it made a low, menacing sound and moved on out of sight. Apparently it hadn’t yet forgotten its previous meeting with Miss Green.

  Mel looked down at her. “Why should I be careful?”

  There was a pause again, and what came then hardly seemed an answer to his question. The princess was very weak, Miss Green indicated; he might have to help.

  He was still wondering about that—and wondering, too, whether he’d really had something like a warning from her—when a sudden wavering glare lit up the room behind them!

  For a moment, he thought the fireball was inside the building. But the light was pouring in through the living room window; its source was in the opposite court, out of his line of sight. There was a crackling, hissing sound, and the light faded.

  Miss Green came darting at him. Mel put his hand up instinctively and felt her thrust the basket into it. Almost instantly, she had picked up the princess and was outside the screen—

  Then the cat attacked from below in a silent, terrible leap, a long, twisting shadow in the air, and they seemed to drop out of sight together.

  MEL was out in the court, staring wildly around. In the swimming grayness nothing stirred or made sound. A cool, moist wind thrust at his face and faded. Except for the toy basket of twigs in his hand, he might have been awakening from a meaningless dream.

  Then a lurid round of light like a big, wavering moon came out over the top of the building, and a sharp humming sound drove down through the air at him. Instinctively again, he held out the basket and felt it plucked away. He thought it was Miss Green, but the shape had come and gone much too swiftly to be sure of that.

  The light grew brilliant, a solid white—intolerable—and he backed hurriedly into the shelter of the garage, his heart hammering in excitement and alarm. He heard voices from the other court; a window slammed somewhere. He couldn’t guess what was happening, but he didn’t need Miss Green’s warning now. He had an overwhelming urge to keep out of sight until the unearthly visitor would be gone—

  And then, running like a rabbit, the gray cat appeared from behind a box halfway down the court and came streaking for the garage. Mel watched its approach with a sort of silent horror, partly because it might be attracting undesirable attention to him—and partly because he seemed to know in that instant exactly what was going to be done to it.

  It wasn’t more than twenty feet away when something like a twisting string of fiery white reached down from above. The animal leaped sideways, blazed and died. There was a sound very like a gunshot, and the court was instantly dark.

  Mel stayed where he was. For half a minute or so, he was shaking much too violently to have left his retreat. By the end of that time, he knew better. It wasn’t over yet!

  Pictures forming in the moist, dark air . . . delicate, unstable outlines sliding through the court, changing as they moved. Elfin castles swayed up out of grayness and vanished again. Near the edge of his vision other shapes showed, more beautiful than human . . .

  Muttering to himself, between terror and delight, Mel closed his eyes as tightly as he could, which helped for a moment. But then the impressions began drifting through his mind. The visitors were still nearby, hanging somewhere outside the limits of human sight in their monstrous fireball, in the windy sky. They were talking to him in their way.

  Mel asked in his mind what they wanted, and the answer showed immediately. The table in his living room with the pattern of glassy sand and pe
bbles Miss Green had constructed. The pattern was glowing again now under the cloth he had thrown over it. He was to go in and look at the pattern . . .

  “No!” he said aloud. It was all terror now.

  “Go look at the pattern . . . Go look at the pattern . . .” The pictures burst round him in a soundless wild flowering of beauty, flickering rains of color, a fountain of melting, shifting forms. His mind drowned in happiness. He was sinking through a warmth of kindness, gratitude and love . . .

  ADRIFT of rain touched his cheek coldly—and Mel found himself outside the garage, moving drunkenly toward the apartment door. Then, just for a moment, a picture of Miss Green printed itself on his mind.

  She seemed to be standing before him, as tall now as he was, motionless, the strange wings half spread. The golden unhuman eyes were looking past him, watching something with cold malice and contempt—and with a concentration of purpose that made a death’s mask of the perfectly chiseled green face!

  In that second, Mel understood the purpose as clearly as if she had told him. In the next, the image disappeared with a jerky, complete abruptness—

  As if somebody were belatedly trying to wipe it out of his memory as well! But he knew he had seen her somehow—somewhere—as she actually was at that moment. And he knew what she had been watching. Himself, Mel Armstrong, staggering blindly about in his other-dimension, down in the court!

  He hadn’t stayed in the court. He was back in the garage, backed trembling against a wall. She—they—weren’t trying to show him gratitude, or reward him somehow; before they left, they simply wanted to destroy the human being who had found out about them, and whom they had used. The table and the pattern were some sort of trap! What he couldn’t understand was why they didn’t simply come down in their fireball and kill him as they had the cat.

  They were still pouring their pictures at him, but he knew now how to counteract that. He stared out through the garage window at the lightening sky—looked at, listened to, what was there, filling his mind with Earth shapes and sounds!

  And he promptly discovered an ally he hadn’t been counting on. He hadn’t really been aware of the thumping wind before, and the sketchy pattering of raindrops, like a sweeping fall of leaves here and there. He hadn’t even heard, beyond the continuous dim roar of surf from the beach, the gathering mutter of thunder!

  They couldn’t stay here long. The storm was ready to break. They weren’t willing to risk coming out fully into the Earth dimension to hunt him down. And he didn’t have to go to their trap . . .

  Rain spattered louder and closer. The sweat chilled on Mel’s body as his breathing grew quieter. They hadn’t left him yet. If he relaxed his eyes and his mind, there was an instant faint recurrence of the swirling unearthly patterns. But he could keep them out by looking at what was really here. He only had to wait—

  Then the rain came down in a great, rushing tide, and he knew they were gone.

  FOR a few seconds, he remained where he was, weak with relief. Over the noise of the storm, he heard human voices faintly from the other court and from neighboring houses. That final crash must have awakened everybody—and someone had seen the great globe of fire when it first appeared.

  There should be some interesting gossip in the morning!

  Which concerned Mel not at all. After drinking in the sweet certainty of being still alive and safe, he had become aware of an entirely unexpected emotion, which was, curiously, a brief but sharp pang of grief at Miss Green’s betrayal. Why, he must have been practically in love with that other-dimensional, human-shaped rattlesnake! Mulling it over in moody amazement at himself, it struck Mel suddenly then that one could interpret her final action somewhat differently, too.

  Because she could have planted that apparently revealing picture of herself deliberately in his mind, to stop him from stumbling into the trap the others had set for him! She might have been planning to save him from the beginning, or merely relented at the last moment. There was no way of ever really knowing now, but Mel found he preferred to believe that Miss Green’s intention was good.

  In the driving rain, he hesitated a moment beside the blackened lump that had been the cat, but he couldn’t force himself to pick it up and remove it. If someone else found it, it might add to the gossip, but that wasn’t any business of his any more. Everyone knew that lightning did funny, selective things. So far as he was concerned, the matter was all over.

  He opened the duplex door and stood staring.

  His apartment door was open and the room beyond was dark, as he had left it. But down the little stairway and out of Maria’s upstairs apartment, light poured in a quiet flood.

  SHE must have returned during the night while he was sleeping, probably drunk as a hoot-owl. The commotion downstairs hadn’t been enough to arouse her. But something else had—she’d come down following swirling, beautiful, unearthly pictures, hunting the pattern that would guide her straight into a promised delight!

  Mel didn’t have to reach into the apartment to switch on the light. Lightning did funny, selective things, all right, and from where he stood, he could smell what had happened. They hadn’t wasted that final bolt, after all!

  Oddly enough, what was uppermost in his mind in those seconds, while he continued to put off seeing what he was going to have to look at very soon, was the final awareness of how he must have appeared in their eyes: A stupid native, barely capable of receiving training and instruction enough to be a useful servant. Beyond that, they had simply had no interest in him.

  It was Maria they had worried about. The mental impressions he’d picked up in the court had been directed at her. Miss Green had been obliged to stop him finally from springing a trap which was set for another.

  For Maria, who might have endangered their leaving.

  END

  1960

  THE ILLUSIONISTS

  The three Bjanta scouts were within an hour’s flight of the yellow dwarf star of Ulphi when the Viper’s needle-shape drove into their detection range, high up but on a course that promised almost to intersect their own.

  It didn’t exactly come to that point, though the unwary newcomer continued to approach for several minutes more. But then, with an abruptness which implied considerable shock on board at discovering Bjanta ahead, she veered off sharply and shot away at a very respectable speed.

  The scout disks swung about unhurriedly, opened out in pursuit formation and were presently closing in again, with leisurely caution, on the fugitive. Everything about that beautifully designed, blue-gleaming yacht suggested the most valuable sort of catch. Some very wealthy individual’s plaything it might have been, out of one of the major centers of civilization, though adventuring now far from the beaten path of commercial spaceways. In which case, she would be very competently piloted and crewed and somewhat better armed than the average freighter. Which should make her capable of resisting their combined attack for a maximum of four or five minutes—or, if she preferred energy-devouring top velocity, of keeping ahead of them for even one or two minutes longer than that.

  But no Bjanta was ever found guilty of impulsive recklessness. And, just possibly, this yacht could also turn out to be another variation of those hellish engines of destruction which Galactic humanity and its allies had been developing with ever-increasing skill during the past few thousand years, against just such marauders as they.

  As it happened, that described the Viper exactly. A Vegan G.Z. Agent-Ship, and one of the last fifty or so of her type to be completed, she was, compared with anything else up to five times her three-hundred-foot length, the peak, the top, the absolute culmination of space-splitting sudden death. And, furthermore, she knew it.

  “They’re maintaining pattern and keeping up with no sign of effort,” her electronic brain reported to her pilot. “Should we show them a little more speed?”

  “The fifteen percent increase was plenty,” the pilot returned in a pleasant soprano voice. Her eyes, the elongated silver eyes and
squared black pupils of a Lannai humanoid, studied the Bjantas’ positions in the vision tank of the long, wide control desk at which she sat. “If they edge in too far, you can start weaving, but remember they’re sensitive little apes! Anything fancy before we get within range of our cruiser is bound to scare them off.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then the ship’s robot voice came into the control room again.

  “Pagadan, the disk low in Sector Twelve is almost at contact beaming range. We could take any two of them at any moment now, and save the third for the test run!”

  “I know it, little Viper,” Pagadan said patiently. “But this whole job’s based on the assumption that the Bjantas are operating true to form. In that case, the Mother Disk should be somewhere within three light-years behind us, and the cruiser wants to run two of these scouts back far enough to show just where it’s lying. We need only the one for ourselves.”

  Which was something the Viper already knew. But it had been designed to be a hunting machine more nearly than anything else, and at times its hunting impulses had to be diverted. Pagadan did that as automatically as she would have checked a similar impulse in her own mind—in effect, whenever she was on board, there was actually no very definite boundary between her own thoughts and those that pulsed through the Viper. Often the Lannai would have found it difficult to say immediately whether it was her organic brain or its various electronic extensions in the ship which was attending to some specific bit of business. Just now, as an example, it was the Viper who had been watching the communicators.

  “The Agent-Trainee on the O-Ship off Ulphi is trying to talk to you, Pagadan,” the robot-voice came into the room. “Will you adjust to his range?”

  The Lannai’s silver-nailed hand shot out and spun a tiny dial on the desk before her. From a communicator to her left a deep voice inquired, a little anxiously: