The Second Mack Reynolds Megapack

by Mack Reynolds

  Ten steps from the door, another thought came to her. She swerved and hurried her way to the garage. The garage. The gallon can they had for kerosene to be used in the Coleman lantern. She grabbed it up and turned again.

  No. She had forgotten matches. She left the gun and kerosene long enough to dash back into the kitchen and grasp the box of kitchen matches.

  Back again for gun and kerosene and then up the path toward the hated intruder from space. The hated intruder that imprisoned Franklin Monroe.

  She stood no more than ten feet back and fumbled the heavy ammo into the clip. She threw the bolt and aimed— not directly at the ship. She couldn’t bear to aim in the direction of Frankie, knowing the penetrating power of the 30-06 was considerable.

  She pressed trigger and the slug ricocheted, whining protest, off into the woods. She threw the bolt and fired again, and again, until the clip was empty.

  So far as Audrey Monroe could see, there was no slightest indication of even a crack.

  She let the gun drop and began scurrying around for twigs and wood. She built her bonfire right up against the invisibleness. She doused it thoroughly with the kerosene. She stood back and threw on the match.

  The fire blazed spectacularly. She threw on more kerosene.

  Could she detect the least indication of redness along the edges, an indication that the heat was affecting the barrier? Yes, yes, she did.

  No, she didn’t. The amount of heat the force-field web was capable of assimilating was beyond her conception.

  Her fuel, both liquid and wood, expended, she sank to the ground again. She stared down at her hands, her mind on the verge of slipping over the precipice. She shook her head in wonder. She had never seen her fingernails in such condition in all her adult years—broken and dirty, one bleeding. And her wrist watch. The delicate, so delicate as to be ridiculous, wrist watch Lew had given her for their anniversary; shattered.

  Where was Lew? Why wasn’t he here? Wasn’t marriage a sacred partnership? Why wasn’t he here to take care of this?

  * * * *

  Inside, the ship perused its data banks.

  Its emotion-pattern scanners told it that the acceptable life-intelligence it had allowed entrance was now projecting both fear and, less strongly, need of nourishment. The ship had done the necessary in regards to the fear. It had raised defenses against the outside entity.

  It now analyzed the particular type of nourishment which the life-intelligence needed.

  It searched deep its data banks. The nourishment needed was not available in the ship’s supplies. It must be manufactured.

  The scanners probed deeper, going beyond emotion pattern now and accumulating data.

  Above his fears of his mother and his tiring of this environment, Franklin Monroe began to think of food. Something urged him to think of food. He had, he realized, missed lunch. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was very hungry. It was all he could think about. He couldn’t remember ever having thought quite so hard about food.

  The ship produced a five-pound chocolate layer cake with half a gallon of strawberry ice cream.

  Frankie Monroe, on the wide-eyed side, set to, sans spoon or fork.

  The computers had another problem. It was programmed to take off and return to the home system if the life-intelligence which controlled it didn’t return within a set period. There had been no desire on the part of its designers to have this example of their technology fall into other hands, if disaster met the explorer scout.

  The maximum time the explorer scout was to have allowed himself, before returning, was rapidly approaching an end.

  * * * *

  Audrey Monroe was calling, “Frankie, Frankie! Can you hear me?”

  She had no way, actually, of knowing if he was even alive. But she refused to consider that.

  She had no way of knowing if sound could penetrate the invisible barrier. Or, even if that was possible, if her voice could penetrate the ship, only ten feet beyond, now that the portal was closed.

  But for the moment, she could think of nothing else to do.

  She called, striving to keep her voice from over-shrillness, “Frankie, please answer me.”

  A tiny voice wavered, “Mama?”

  She wanted to scream to him. She mustn’t.

  Franklin Monroe was of an age when a family crisis would be precipitated by his locking himself in the bathroom and becoming frightened in the excitement of their trying to tell him how to manipulate the key, to the point of being unable to follow directions.

  She called, in full attempt at being soothing, even as her psyche screamed her hatred of this abductor from the skies.

  She called, “Frankie, don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right.”

  Up to this point, it hadn’t occurred to Frankie Monroe that there was anything to be afraid of—save the spanking he knew was due him for the breaking of taboos.

  Now, suddenly, it swept over him how alien his environment was. He wanted with all the want of which his soul was capable to be in his mother’s arms and safe in the homey cabin in which they were spending the summer months.

  He began to wail.

  The ship’s computer-sensor system recognized the change in the intelligent-life charge which it had allowed to enter. It recognized, too, that the change was motivated through the devices of the entity beyond the screen, which was still projecting fear-hate-and-the-desire-to-destroy. It considered, and for the time rejected, the destruction of the hate-emanating-entity. The external menace was not as yet of the magnitude that its own minimal defensive reaction was allowed to function.

  It had recorded earlier the fact that the hate-destroy-entity beyond the force field had attempted to destroy the field. But the entity’s efforts had been so insignificant it was not necessary to multiply the field’s strength—which was quite possible, if necessary.

  Another element had entered into the workings of the computers. If the life-intelligence explorer scout, which was the master of the ship, did not return, and hence it became necessary to return to the home system without him, what then should be done with the new life-intelligence which it had allowed to enter? Should it be retained within the ship? Should it be rejected?

  The data banks were scanned. There was no precedent. However, the sympathetic life-intelligence was in danger from the hate-fear-destroy-entity outside. It could not be left to the mercies of the enemy. It must be taken back to the home system.

  * * * *

  Audrey Monroe, crouched on her knees as near to the screen as she could press, called, in what she struggled still to make a soothing voice, “Frankie, Frankie, now don’t be afraid. Tell me. Tell Mama. Who is in there with you?”

  “Nobody!” he wailed. “I’m sorry!”

  She sucked in air, forced herself.

  She called, soothingly, “Frankie, then what is in there with you? Some kind of little animal, or something?”

  “There’s nothin’ in here,” he wailed. “I wanna go home! Mama, I wanna go home.”

  “What took you in there?”

  “Nothin’,” he wailed. “I walked in! I’m sorry!”

  She closed her eyes in agony.

  “The door’s closed!” he screeched.

  She called, “Frankie, don’t be afraid. Are you sure there is nothing in there with you?”

  “There’s nothin’. I wanna go home!”

  Frankie Monroe was beginning to sense that he was in no immediate danger of being spanked. His mother wasn’t just trying to get her hands on him so that she could spank him. The problem of getting back to the security of the cabin and her arms became more pressing.

  “Take me home, Mama!” The problem was hers. She was his guard. She was his security. His wails intensified.

  Which was recorded by the ship. But still the external menace causing the added stress was not deemed sufficient to take punitive action.

  Audrey forced herself to such calm as she could possibly maintain. She must think. She
simply had to think.

  Franklin claimed the ship was empty, aside from himself.

  For the briefest of moments, a hope spread over her. Could this be a government experiment? Was there an Air Force pilot, possibly one of those new space program people, somewhere in the vicinity? But no. The force field —the whole aura of the thing—was all alien. She must not clutch for straws.

  She steeled herself and called, “Frankie, look around you. Are there any…any doorknobs?” That was a silly term, but what words could she use to a five-year-old? “Is there anything like a doorknob, on the…door…where you entered?”

  “No!”

  She closed her eyes and for a moment was afraid she was going to faint. How she had kept from it so long, she did not know.

  She steeled herself, struggled for the soothing tone.

  “Frankie, look real good. Try to open the door and Mama will take you back to the cabin for your nice lunch.”

  “I don’t want no lunch. I had ice cream and cake and my stummick hurts. I wanna go home!”

  That first meant nothing to her, which was as well. Her strained capacities could only have boggled at that. She rejected it.

  She called, “Frankie, is there anything on the door you can turn or move? Anything at all?”

  . “No!” he screamed, an element of anger now at his guard and security. She knew he wanted her. Why didn’t she come and get him? He screamed louder, the scream of childish frustration.

  For the first time in her life, Audrey regretted she had been raised an agnostic.

  “Then, Frankie,” she called. “Frankie, look all around you.”

  For a moment she paused. She was afraid to say now what she must say. She had no idea of what might result. But there was nothing else. Nothing else at all she could think of.

  She called, “Are there any sort of buttons you can push? Any sort of…levers you can move?”

  “What?” his voice wavered.

  “See if there are any little things you can move or push. You know, like being locked in the bathroom. You remember, you have to turn the key, just right. Mama is out here, and can’t open the door. You’ll have to open it from inside.”

  He wailed.

  She sank back in despair. Perhaps it was as well. She had no way of knowing what might have ensued had he attempted to fiddle with the ship’s controls. The chances that he strike upon the one which might open the door and/or retract the invisible barrier were probably remote. But what else was there?

  Audrey Monroe had no way of knowing that Frankie had already played with all such ship’s controls, long since, and that the ship had automatically locked all those that made any difference.

  In the distance, she could hear the hum of an approaching car. She scrambled to her feet.

  Lew!

  She hurried down the path, no longer capable of remembering that she must not stumble, that she couldn’t afford the time involved in stumbling. Twice she fell.

  She met him at the door, breathless, only mewling sounds coming as when she had first scratched and pounded on the barrier.

  He grabbed her, taking in the every-which-way hair, the blood on her clothes, the swollen eye, the torn fingernails, the torn clothing, the fact that one of her shoes was missing, evidently unbeknownst to her.

  “Audie, Audie! Who did it? Which way did he go? How long’s he been gone?”

  He spun and dashed into the house, to emerge in moments with his .45.

  “Which way did he go!”

  She moaned, “Frankie!”

  He swung her up into his arms and carried her back into the house. He carried her to the couch and. put her down with all the gentleness he could summon. His body was cold, cold.

  “Where’s Frankie?” he said urgently. “Audie, tell me. You’re all right now. You’ll be all right. Where did they go? Who took Frankie?”

  She moaned, “The spaceship. The flying saucer.”

  He stared at her.

  “Frankie,” she said. The mewling sounds came again.

  He spun and dashed into the bathroom, to emerge in seconds, a glass in one hand, a bottle in the other.

  His hands shook as he brought forth a pill. “Here, Audie. You’re all right. Take this.” He held her up and forced the pill to her mouth. “Now drink this water. You’ll be better. Here, take another one.”

  He held her tightly for as long as he could force himself to be quiet.

  “Now listen, Audie. You’ve got to tell me. Where is Frankie? Who took him? Which way did they go? You’re got to remember.”

  Once again, still once again, she did what she had forced herself to do so often this day. She fought for calm.

  Finally, she swallowed and then breathed deep.

  She said, “Lew. There’s something strange up the path. Something… It’s out of this world...” She broke into an hysterical laugh at her choice of terminology.

  He slapped her.

  “Audie! Who’s got Frankie?”

  She shook her head. “All right. I’m not hysterical. Not…very. Lew, I’m not out of my mind. There’s something up the path. Like a great big basketball, or something, only it looks like a giant pearl. Frankie’s in it.”

  He had sunk to his knees to be closer to her. Now he looked uncomprehending.

  Finally he got out, “What happened to you?” He touched the blood on her torn blouse.

  “I…I guess I did it myself. Trying to get in. Lew, I tried everything.”

  She was becoming somewhat more coherent.

  “Lew, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m telling the truth. Up the path toward the woods—in that clearing. Something landed there.”

  He couldn’t keep from staring at her.

  He jumped erect and dashed to his gun rack.

  “Where’s my Springfield?” he snapped.

  She was getting up from the couch, tossing back her hair with the back of her right hand.

  “I took it,” she said, breathing deeply. “I know all this sounds incoherent to you, Lew. But there’s some sort of invisible…something around the spaceship. I tried to break through. I tried to shatter it with the gun. I tried to burn it. Nothing worked.”

  He left off staring at her long enough to pull down a double barreled shotgun, break it and thrust two buckshot into the breech.

  He started for the door and she before him.

  She led him up the path, at a run. She kicked off her second shoe, the better to make speed.

  He picked it up, unthinkingly, and stuffed it into his side pocket, subconsciously realizing that she’d do better, later, if and when they found the other footwear.

  She was slightly before him, still making her way up the path, when he spotted the second shoe, to one side of the road. He stopped long enough to go over and recover it.

  She was calling back, her voice calm now, “Frankie is inside, but seems to be all right, although he’s afraid. He says there’s nobody, or anything, in there with him.”

  He took a deep breath, shook his head, and started after her again.

  She rounded the slight bend and headed for the clearing in which the alien ship squatted.

  She was halfway across the clearing before he rounded the bend behind her and drew up short, his eyes popping.

  Even as she approached the barrier, the invisible barrier, the portal of the ship opened and a ramp slid out. Frankie, his face twisted and wet from tears, stood there.

  She continued forward, unimpeded, her arms outspread now. “Honey, honey,” she cooed. “That’s Mama’s good little boy. Come on, Frankie.”

  He made his way down the ramp, rubbing his eyes and sobbing.

  She took him up into her arms and held him, as only a true guard and true security can hold one, and turned and walked away.

  There was a whooshing behind them, but she didn’t turn.

  Lew’s eyes, still wide in shock, shot upward. Following something into the ultimate skies.

  He went after his wife and first born
, back down the path again, speechless.

  Audrey was murmuring the soothing sounds that only a true guard can murmur.

  When they got to the cabin, she said, in mild distress, “Good heavens, my roast!”

  She carried the boy into the kitchen with her.

  Lew stared after.

  He shook his head. “What a couple of tranquilizers can do.”

  SURVIVOR

  AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION

  This is still another tale based on a theme that has been done so often that editors wince when another one appears on their desks. It is usually called an “after the bomb what?” story. If there is a single writer of s-f who hasn’t written a half-dozen or more stories based on this question, I don’t know him/her. It first appeared in Analog.

  —Mack Reynolds

  * * * *

  When the phone call came, Bette MacAusland listened without reply for a long moment. Her head shook, inadvertently, as though she were trying to refute what she heard.

  She said finally, emptily, “I know…I know…but I…can’t.”

  She listened some more, her head still denying.

  She said finally, “I know, but I can’t. You go ahead…I’m…I’m afraid.”

  The voice on the phone became more shrill, but finally she put the receiver back and sat there, cringing. She didn’t answer when it rang again.

  She got up and went to the door and locked it. And then, meaninglessly, pushed the hall table in front of it.

  She moved automatically, her mind a blank.

  She went to the bathroom, took a bottle from the medicine chest and got herself a glass of water. She didn’t notice how many pills there were. She took them all and washed them down.

  Then Bette MacAusland went back into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed without removing her clothes.

  * * * *

  Donald hissed, “Ben, look down there!”

  He was pressed to the wall, at the side of a window.

  Ben Cotsell edged up to the window from the opposite side. They were speaking in whispers, though that was nonsense in view of the distance involved.