Short Stories - Metrognome and other Stories

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  "This is Major Josiah Chester. I have an emergency call for General MacGregor. He'll be at his home now, operator. "

  About an hour to have troops here, MacGregor had told him. But that had been over a month before. Were the helicopter‑borne special units still standing by?

  They'd better be, he thought grimly.

  The cluster of seven men had reached the entrance to the open, flat area in front of the house and barn. It was well lit by the steady glow from the alien device. Each man was clad entirely in black and had black streaked across cheeks, forehead, and other projecting parts of his face.

  Turning, the big man in the lead caught the attention of his companions. "If possible, no killing," he in­structed them. "If you must, do it fast."

  Someone in the back of the group spoke up. "What about using the guns? Should we‑"

  "It doesn't matter. There's no one near enough to hear, and even if there were, people here fire off guns all the time. That's one thing we don't have to worry about, but I'd prefer to avoid any killing."

  "Why?" a coldly casual voice asked.

  "It's always better to be neat than sloppy," the leader explained. He pointed toward the house, moving his gaze from one man to another. "You, you, you, and you, form­a semicircle from the front to the rear side of the house. I don't think there are any other doors.

  "You two, get out the suppressant. I can see the dogs from here, sleeping on the front porch. Move fast. They might not wake up in time to do much barking. The rest of you come with me to the barn."

  Short nods all around. This group was not given much to talking. Each was a professional, knew his job. They moved forward.

  Cotton, the setter, raised his head at the rapid ap­proach of the strange human. The scent was unfamiliar, and so was the face. As he started to growl softly, Gin also woke.

  Something went puff in the setter's face. In his dog fashion he felt an overwhelming tiredness. Quickly and quietly, both animals fell asleep again.

  Already the three men in the lead had reached the base of the barn. Like a sphere full of jewels, the alien craft shone above the foil sign, tiny, far duller decorative lights strung to either side of it.

  Hmm‑hmm‑hmm . . . buzz‑hmm‑buzz . . . tick! Hmm­hmm‑hmm . . . buzz‑hmm‑buzz . . . tick! it murmured mechanically.

  "Got the roll?" the leader inquired. One of the two men with him smiled, patted the pack on his back. It contained a fine, superstrong mesh net and equally strong cables. The rancher had clearly used the hay winch and pulley arrangement to raise the craft into the loft. It would serve conveniently for getting it down again. The other man started to assemble the tiny collapsing cart strapped to his back.

  If all went well, they would have the precious device down and set on the cart in a few minutes. The family would sleep on peacefully, hearing and seeing nothing. In the morning they would miss it, but by then it would be on its way out of the country.

  They opened the barn door quietly, with a minimum of squeaks, thanks to the judicious use of the oilcan brought for just that purpose. Everything had been thought of and carefully planned out.

  There was movement inside, and the two men froze, but it was only the uneasy shuffling of the two horses and the cows inside.

  They mounted the metal ladder leading to the hayloft, were joined soon by the third man. The leader watched as they worked, looking with satisfaction out toward the road, where the truck sat waiting.

  One man used a convenient rake to pull the hay cable into the loft. He started to arrange the net over the device while his companion sought to slip the net underneath it where possible. This finished, he hung by his arms from the stout support beam and oiled the pulley.

  The net was attached by cables to the pulley hook, much as a bale of hay would be. The leader leaned out and beckoned. Leaving his position in front of the house, the nearest of four guards ran over to the barn. The leader met him in front of the doors. Together they took up the slack in the thick rope running through the pulley.

  A signal to the men above produced a wave in re­sponse. In the loft, both men sought to make sure the device was well encased in the net. It remained only to slide it a little to the right and then to lock the net shut beneath.

  The larger of the two put both hands against the side of the glowing yellow artifact and shoved gently to fit it perfectly in the net. It wasn't terribly heavy and started to move without trouble.

  Unexpectedly, the yellow glow intensified to a bright­ness that drowned out the hundreds of lights set inside. Both men were tossed aside as if by a giant hand. Neither let out a squeal, a yell, or so much as a deep breath. But each lay unconscious, one in a very unnatural position. They continued to breathe softly, but they did not move.

  Below, the leader had let go of the rope at the moment of the flash. He'd seen at least one of the men in the loft thrown backward, and now he cursed silently to himself. A muttered order to his companion sent the other man toward the barn door.

  Hmm‑hmm‑hmm . . . buzz‑femur‑buzz . . . tick! Tick! fecka‑mmmmmmmm . . .

  The yellow glow increased further, and the steady song of the device changed to a steady, rich whine. As he put a hand on the barn door, something that looked like a thick yellow wire reached down from the device. It was not metal, however. It wasn't even solid. If it was light, it did not behave in the manner of light. It curved and bent at odd angles.

  It touched the man on the chest. He stood frozen for a moment as the light ran halolike over his body. When the tight went away, he collapsed, making a slight noise as though a bit of carrot or chicken bone had become caught in his throat.

  His eyes never moving from the alien object, although by now the yellow glow was almost too strong to look at, the leader began backing slowly away from the barn. The yellow cable had not vanished. It continued to twist and turn like wire, though he could see through it easily.

  The tenuous tentacle started to move along the ground in front of the barn, occasionally touching the ground like a dog hunting for a scent. When it touched earth, little puffs of dirt would jump explosively though silently into the air, as if a bullet had struck ground.

  Backing away faster, the leader called to his men, not caring now if those in the house heard him. The thread abruptly swung over his head and touched one of the men guarding the house. He dropped his gun, and his hands went to his neck where the yellow light had touched him as he fell forward.

  Now the leader had turned and was running, running, his heart pounding with fear of the unknown. He wanted to scream but couldn't spare the wind. The light contin­ued moving over his head.

  At last he reached the truck. Someone leaned out of the cab, waving wildly at him. As he did so, the yellow light passed through the glass windshield and touched him. He slumped, his upper body, head, and arms dangling over the door.

  Like a live thing, the thread moved to the back of the truck and touched the man who stood paralyzed there. Then it curled around and began probing inside the open trailer.

  Changing his course, the leader found himself sprinting through the dark brush. Prickly pear and Spanish sword tore at his neat black coveralls, and he felt blood running down his legs. Something heavy yet not oppres­sive tickled the middle of his back. It felt uncannily like a smooth finger rubbing his spine. He smelled marzipan and felt himself falling before he started to fall.

  Nothing stirred outside the Shattuck house.

  Mmmmmmm‑ticka, tick! tick! Hmm‑hmm‑hmm . buzz‑hmm‑buzz . . . tick!

  Chester ignored the noise in the seat behind him as he piloted the station wagon recklessly along the familiar road out of Breckenridge. They should arrive at the same time as the copters from Fort Hood. He underestimated the commotion his early‑morning call to the general had caused.

  Considerable confusion reigned when they drove up to the ranch. The traits had already arrived. More people than the land there had ever felt at one time were roaming around the ranch buildings and sur
rounding ground.

  Two big transport helicopters were settled like monster beetles on the road ahead. Armed men with many­-patched uniforms and funny hats milled about in confu­sion.

  Chester was the last out of the station wagon as he cut the engine before the ranch house. All three scientists were already heading at their respective top speeds for the barn. Their worries, and Chester's, turned out to be groundless.

  Even from here he could see the alien device resting in its former position high up in the hayloft; despite the noise, he could hear it humming its atonal hymn. Gem lights winked on and off within a globe of moon.

  His first thought satisfied, he turned his attention to the house, headed toward it.

  A smartly clad ranger blocked his path with a slim M‑18. "Sorry, sir, no one permitted past this point without authorization."

  Chester fumbled for identification, trying to locate the proper cards and peer past the bulk of the soldier as well.

  "I'm Major Josiah Chester," he explained, "Air Force Intelligence. I'm the one who placed the emergency call that brought you all out here."

  The soldier listened impassively, noncommittally. It was the printed identification that pleased him. After that careful study; he stepped aside. "Go on in, Major."

  The first thing he saw in the big living room was a very alive Beth hattuck and a long row of bodies. They were of indeterminate nationality and size, alike only their clothing. Some lay frozen in odd positions. They looked like a family of ravens worked on by a not‑too‑steady‑handed taxidermist.

  "Mornin', Major," Beth Shattuck greeted him brightly. "Seems we've been invaded twice tonight." She indicated the row of near corpses. "First by these. Then by your friends. They are your friends, aren't they?" He nodded ruefully. "Then they come swooping down with the most god‑awful yelling and hollering you can imag­ine. Like to scared the chickens plumb to death.

  "Cotton and Gin woke up woozy right when it hap­pened. They're both in David's room hiding under his bed, and nothing can get them out. I got tired of shoutin' at those two bitches, so I came out here. What's goin' on? Who are these ugly catatonics‑" She gestured again at the row of bodies. "‑and why the invasion? You folks tryin' to make a comedy picture or somethin'?"

  "There's no comedy to it, Mrs. Shattuck," Chester told her softly as he moved from one softly breathing, motionless form to the next. He stopped at the one he was hunting for, turned it over. Frightened, angry eyes glared back at him helplessly.

  "Excuse me, sir?"

  Chester looked up from the limp form into the face of an earnest captain of special forces. He repeated his identification, verbal and written, for the officer's benefit.

  The captain stood back while Chester went through the sergeant's pockets, acutely aware of those eyes following him. Other than that, the big man didn't twitch a muscle, though Chester could feel as well as hear the man breath­ing.

  There was nothing in the man's pockets that proved particularly instructive, unless it was the exceedingly large amount of cash. He fondled a bent, smudged card on which numbers were listed for girlfriends, bowling alleys, and restaurants. Odd, but all the numbers were out of state.

  It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to Chester that when he handled that particular item the ser­geant's eyes widened slightly. He handed the card to the captain, along with the cashwnd the rest of the items.

  "While Intelligence is running checks on these people and their identities, have them research the numbers on that card, delicately. They might turn up some interesting people at the other end of each of them."

  "Yes, sir," acknowledged the captain, saluting re­spectfully.

  "Now, what happened here?" Chester asked him.

  "Nothing, sir. We flew out as fast as we could, putting on our boots on board ship. Someone got somebody big awfully excited."

  "That was me," Chester told him.

  "We'd been standing by for weeks," the captain went on, "told to be ready for an unspecified emergency. When we got the call, we were ordered to prepare to land shooting. But when we came in, no one challenged us.

  "We found these‑" He indicated the bodies, a couple of which were beginning to twitch. "‑scattered between that barn, all along the road up to a big semi‑I don't know if you can see it in the darkness, sir."

  "We passed it coming in," Chester said.

  "There's a fancy sling and winch arrangement inside the rear trailer of it, sir, along with a pile of legitimate cargo‑cover, we presume. We were informed on the way about the satellite."

  Chester did not enlighten the captain further. "It seems pretty obvious they came here to steal it, sir. We've spent most of our time waiting for someone to give us new orders." He looked hopefully at Chester.

  "Load up your men, go home, and forget about this morning," the major instructed him. "You've done your job." He gestured with a thumb at the now stirring, and moaning bodies nearby. "Make sure these are turned over to base intelligence for 'debriefing.' " His stress on the last word was peculiar.

  "If they can be debriefed. What happened to them?"

  "Just a minute, sir." The captain turned, shouted to a man bent over one of the forms. He rose, walked over, to join them. Chester noted the captain's bars and med­ical insignia on his field uniform.

  "Never saw anything quite like it," was his response to Chester's questions. "Full paralysis of every voluntary muscle. Those necessary to maintain the life functions are operating normally."

  "Any idea what caused it?"

  "None." The doctor shook his head slowly. "I can't imagine what happened."

  "I can," said a soft voice. All three officers turned, looked out the front door.

  Shattuck, obviously bored and annoyed with the whole business, was standing and watching the milling soldiers. His son sat curled nearby on a swing bench. There was a kitten in his lap.

  Chester had noticed the abundance of half‑wild cats swarming about the ranch on his first arrival. Now, though, it occurred to him to wonder how the cats and farm fowl coexisted. He mentioned it to the rancher.

  "That's what I'm talking about," Shattuck said, pleased. "It's just like the coyote."

  "What coyote?" Chester asked.

  "Normally the dogs keep them well clear of the hen­house," the rancher explained. "But when it gets as cold as it's been lately, we let them sleep on the porch. I wouldn't put a good dog out in the snow any more than I would a good man.

  "Those damn coyotes are smart enough to know when the dogs are tied up here instead of out back. That's when they come in quick and quiet, and I end up losing a hen a week. I'd rather do that than lose Cotton or Gin. They're part of the family."

  "I understand," a new voice said. Chester saw that Jean Calumet had left the barn to join the little group on the porch. "I've got three dogs myself, back home . . . Don't have the temperature problems you do, though. "

  Shattuck examined the younger man with a fresh eye. "Where you from, son?"

  "Little town near Baton Rouge," came the reply. Shattuck nodded as if that explained everything.

  "About the coyote," Chester reminded the rancher curiously.

  "Yeah. We came out one morning, a couple of days ago, and found two of them, a male and his bitch, lying side by side just outside the henhouse. They'd dug under the fence I'd put up around it. So I guess they'd already been inside and were coming out again, with one bird between them.

  "When they come out, something had stopped them clean. They just lay there in the yard. I thought they were dead at first, but you could see their eyes move and that they were still breathing. So David and I took them way out behind the tank. When we checked them yesterday evening, we saw where they'd gotten up and run off. I don't expect them to come back again. Something shook them up pretty bad.

  "Now, this doctor here has been saying that something knocked these fellows down and frazzled them good without killing them. They look just like those two coy­otes."

  "Mak
e a note, Captain," Chester told the special forces officer, "of when we can expect them to come around again."

  "Yes, sir."

  Under the captain's direction, stretchers were used to ferry the motionless black‑clad shapes to the waiting he­licopters. When the whup‑whup of many blades had faded to the south, Calumet spoke quietly to the rancher.

  "You realize what this means, don't you; Mr. Shat­tuck?"

  "Always did hate rhetorical questions," came the piercing voice of Beth Shattuck. "They're what pass for smarts in Hollywood. Ask a lot of questions that you can make other folk give the answers to and they think you're downright brilliant. Suppose you tell us what it means, good‑lookin'."

  Slightly unsettled at the compliment, Calumet wrestled with a reply. "It means," he finally burst out, "that that thing up m your hayloft is dangerous. It paralyzed a couple of animals, and now it's apparently done the same thing to a large group of armed men. I saw guns in that room. Did any of you hear a shot?"

  "Can't say as we did," Shattuck confessed. Calumet smiled grimly.

  "That means that the craft‑" He pointed toward the glowing object up in the barn. "‑incapacitated nearly dozen experienced, no doubt ruthless individuals? whether they were directly in front of it or out on road, before any of them could resist in any way. I believe any reasonable legal authority, on learning that, would classify the device as dangerous and order it removed by the proper supervisory personnel.

  "What will your Mr. Wheaton have to say about that?" he finished.

  "Don't know," Shattuck admitted.

  "He was called back to San Francisco on business," his wife informed them, "but he'll be back if we need him, don't you worry. All we have to do is give him a call."

  "Give him a call?" Chester looked confused. "I thought you didn't have a telephone out here."

  "We don't. We got a lady in Cisco takes phone calls for us and relays them to the ranch via CB radio. We can get messages out the same way. One of them sent Cable hotfooting out of here two days ago. Took the plane from Abilene to Dallas and then out to the coast." Her ex­pression turned angry.