The Onslaught from Rigel

by Fletcher Pratt

  CHAPTER XVII

  Marta's Sacrifice

  Progress up the hillside was slow. It had become completely dark; theywere without any means of making a light and would not have dared tomake one if they could. The mud was tenacious, the constant contact withstumps and rocks both irritating and difficult. But at last in theirfumbling way, they reached a spot where the denudation gave place to aline of trees, looming dark and friendly overhead against the skyline,and after that they went faster. Where they were or what route to takeneither had any idea. That portion of the Catskills is still as wild asin the days of the Iroquois, save for the few thin roads along the lineof the valleys and these they dared not seek.

  They solved the difficulty by keeping to the hillcrest till it ran outin a valley, then rapidly climbing the next hill and proceeding alongthat in the shelter of the forest. Though they necessarily went slowlythey did not halt; neither felt the need of rest or sleep, their metallimbs took no serious bruises, and the slip of the hill kept them fromrunning in circles as people usually do when lost in the woods.

  Just as the eastern sky began to hold some faint promise of dawn theycame upon a farmhouse in a clearing at the top of a hill. It was anunprepossessing affair with a sagging roof, but they burst in the doorand went through it in the hope of finding weapons and perhaps anelectric battery, for both were used to the bountiful electric meals ofthe Lassans and were beginning to feel the lack.

  The best the place afforded, however, was a rather ancient axe, of whichSherman possessed himself, and a large pot of vaseline with which theyanointed themselves liberally, for the continued damp was making themfeel rusty in the joints.

  They pressed on, and did not halt to consider the situation till fullday had come.

  "Where do we go from here?" asked Marta, perching herself on atree-bole.

  "South, I guess," offered Sherman. "They may be looking for us there,but we got to find a city and get some things."

  "There's Albany," she suggested.

  "Yes, and Schenectady and they have a lot of electric power there wecould use. But I vote for New York. If we head in there I can pick up aplane at one of the airports and walk right away from them."

  "Well, it's a chance," she said, "but anything is. Come on...." and asthey forced their way through the underbrush, "You know, from what Iunderstood of those Lassans' thoughts, they've got something hot cookingup. I'm almost sure there are other people in the world and they'regetting ready to fight them."

  "Let 'em come," said Sherman grimly. "That light-ray won't stand thechance of a whistle in a whirlwind when they get after them with heavyartillery and airplane observation."

  "That's just where you're all wet," replied the dancer. "They've beenfiguring on that for a long time. They got a gun from somewhere, andthey've had all their fighting machines out, shooting it at them, andthen armoring up the fighting machines to stand it. And they'rebuilding guns of their own to shoot those light-bombs. I ought to know.I was on the job."

  Sherman cursed himself inwardly. So that had been the result of hisexchange of information with the old Lassan who was so anxious to knowabout guns.

  "How do they get away from it?" he asked.

  "Well, I don't know quite," she said. "I'm a sap about stuff like that.All I know is what the guy that was controlling me thought about and letme have without knowing it. But I got this much out of it--that theoutside of these fighting machines is coated with this 'substance oflife' they talk about some way, so it's a perfect mirror, and reflectseverything that hits it, even shells. The coating reflects their lightray, too, but it has to have a lead backing for that. It's no goodwithout the lead. Seems like lead will stop that light-ray every time."

  "I wonder how about big guns," murmured Sherman.

  "Don't know. I didn't get anything like that in what the boss wasthinking. He seemed to imagine the gun he had was the biggest therewas."

  They toiled on. As they progressed southward the thinning forest and theincreasing walls of the cliffs drove them farther and farther toward theriver, till they were forced to take to the main road willy-nilly. Alongit they could walk faster, but there was more danger. They watched theheavens narrowly for any sign of the four-winged birds, but the skiesseemed deserted.

  At Kingston they found a filling station, and kicking in the door,located a couple of storage batteries that supplied them with a neededmeal. "What do you say to a car?" asked Sherman.

  "Maybe yes, maybe no," said the dancer. "It's running a chance, isn'tit? Still, we're getting nowhere awful fast this way. Let's try it."

  Finding a car in running order was a procedure of some difficulty, andKingston seemed a weaponless town, though Marta finally did locate onelittle pearl-handled .25 calibre pop-gun. Sherman eyed it dubiously.

  "That's a good thing to kill mosquitoes with," he remarked, "but I don'tthink it will be much use for anything else."

  "Boloney," she replied. "These Lassans are yellow from way back. If Istuck this under the nose of one of them he'd throw a fit. Come on.Let's go."

  Eventlessly, the road flowed past under their wheels--Newburgh,Haverstraw, Nyack--one, two, three hours. Then, just south of Chesterthe dancer suddenly gripped Sherman's arm.

  "What's that?" she said. "No, over there. Isn't it--?"

  But in one swift glance he had seen as clearly as she. Like a livingthing, the car swerved from the road, dived across the ditch, and losingspeed, rolled to a halt on the green lawn of a suburban bungalow.Sherman leaped out. "Come on, for God's sake," he cried. "It's afighting machine. If they've seen us they'll start shooting."

  Dragging her after him, he dived around the house, through a seedyflower-garden, down a path. As though to lend emphasis to his wordsthere came the familiar buzzing roar, and as Sherman dropped, pullingthe girl flat on her face after him, they saw the wall of the bungalowcave in, and the roof tilt slowly over and drop into the burning massbeneath. A vivid blue beam, brighter than the sunlight of the dark day,swept across the sky, winked once or twice, and disappeared.

  Marta would have risen, but "Take it easy," said Sherman. "If they seeus they'll pop another of those tokens at us."

  He wriggled along on his stomach, picking up weeds in his body plates inthe process, and making for the shelter of an overgrown hedge that ranbehind the next bungalow.

  "Look out," called the dancer suddenly. "Here come the birds."

  She waved her hand up and back, and by screwing up his eyes Shermancould just make out a black speck against the clouds, far north. Theyrolled under the shelter of the hedge and lay still, scarcely daring towhisper.

  The Lassan in command of the fighting machine was evidently notsatisfied that he had hit them with his hasty shot. Peering through thestems, they made out the shimmering form of the machine, sliding slowlypast the burning house, its snout moving hither and thitherquestioningly. It passed through the garden, went on down the path. Thebird swung to and fro overhead. Nearer. Evidently it had noticed theprints their feet left in the soft ground.

  "Listen, partner," said Marta Lami, "get through and find some people,then come and get me out of that hellhole up there. If they see me,they'll let you alone."

  "No!" cried Sherman, but she was already running out across the field.The snout of the machine lifted toward her as though to deliver a blast,then rose and discharged another beam of blue light. Sherman heard oneof the birds scream in answer, saw it sweep down on soaring pinions, andin a single motion snap the dancer up and away. The shimmering fightingmachine swung round and turned back toward the road.

  He lay still until he was sure it had gone, then, moving carefully forfear of the terror from the skies, crawled to the next bungalow. Ityielded treasure-trove in the shape of a flashlight and a serviceablerevolver, and securing a sheet from one of the beds to wrap around himas a loin-cloth, he set out to trudge to New York.

  After a time it occurred to him that the disaster had taken place notbecause they were in a car, but because it had been driven unreasonabl
yfast, and without precaution. He looked for and ultimately found anotherone, and keeping to the back streets and driving slowly, worked his waytoward the city again. Then another idea came to him--Newark had anairport as well as New York and it was far nearer. He changed thedirection of his advance, swinging west to avoid the long bridges overthe Passaic River. Bridges were focal points; the birds would surelywatch them, as intelligent as they were.

  Late in the afternoon he spied one of them, far ahead and flyingsouthward, but took no chances. He drew his car up to the side of theroad and remained motionless for long after it had disappeared. Whenevening came on, he had already reached the outskirts of the city andcould proceed without headlights.

  Newark was a dead city, the diminished purr of the motor ringingcuriously loud in the silent streets. Their complication bothered him;he was unfamiliar with the town and his flashlight gave out long beforehe reached his destination. But he kept steadily on, certain that theairport was somewhere at the south and east of the city. Toward thelater evening a fine, cold rain began to fall, congealing to ice on thestreets and on his metallic body.

  The airport was just as he had remembered it on the first day of hisawakening--it now seemed uncountable ages in the past. The little sportsplane still stood on the platform, its torn wing dangling. The hangarswere all locked; he was an inefficient burglar and spent an hour or twobreaking one open and when he did, found nothing but a tri-motoredmonster quite beyond his powers to get out, and a rocket-plane requiringspecial fuel that he did not have. The next hangar yielded an autogiroand a training machine. He had no watch, but was sure that the night waspassing fast, and not wishing to be abroad by daylight with an airplane,decided to chance it on the autogiro. Luckily she was full of fuel, andeverything seemed tight. With some labor he removed the chocks andmanaged to wheel the machine out.

  Not till he had it in the air did the thought of what direction he wasto take occur to him. Boston--New York--Philadelphia--Chicago, hecanvassed the possibilities. What was it Marta Lami had said--somethingabout one of the fighting machines heading south? And he remembered howthe astronomers had predicted that the comet would fall, probably,somewhere in New York State. If there were a borderline along whichLassans were meeting humans in any kind of conflict it was most likelyto lie southward. With this thought in mind, he turned his plane to thesouth, and keeping the white line of foam along the coast beneath him asa guide, began to let her out.

  The ceiling was low; between clouds and fitful squalls of rain flyingwas difficult and the weight of Sherman's mechanical body seemed to makethe machine move loggily. It must have been all of an hour and threequarters later that he saw beneath him the tossing whitecaps of GreatBay, with the ribbon of Wading River running back into the distance.Just beyond, he knew, lay Atlantic City. He was debating with himselfwhether to land on the beach there or hop across to the Philadelphiaairport when, sharp and clear from somewhere ahead and below him, camethe sound of gunfire. He tried for altitude, but only ran into clouds.Nevertheless the sound was unmistakable, and as he approached it becameclearer and more pronounced, a long intermittent beat, heavy guns andlight, mingled together, off to the right. There was fighting going on!

  Exulting in his escape from the Lassans and in the fact that he couldtake their opponents information that would be of value, he swung theautogiro toward the sounds that became clearer every minute. He wasgetting right over them now, he thought; he could see red flashes alongthe horizon. Down there they were locked in battle--men and Lassans, hisown people and the invaders from far-away Rigel.

  Suddenly a beam of the light-ray leaped from the ground. Sherman thoughtit was directed at him; tried to loop the plane and cursed as heremembered autogiros wouldn't loop; then saw that the light was afterall, not turned in his direction, but at some object on the ground. Hebanked the plane over and swung lower. Undoubtedly a Lassan fightingmachine--and the beam was hitting things, things large and solid, forthey collapsed under the stabbing ray. A red flame rose over the wreck;the roar of an explosion reached his ears. The battle-line!

  He soared again. He must reach the headquarters of whatever men weredown there. The information he could bring and that Marta Lami had givenhim might make all the difference between the loss of the world and itssalvation "... perfect mirror--reflects everything that hits it, evenshells, but they don't know about the big ones.... The lead will reflecttheir light-rays, too ... no good against lead. Their armor is made ofthe same stuff...."

  In the darkness beneath him troops were moving. He could catch glimpsesof dark masses on the roads. Somewhere down there he distinctly heardthe call of one of the four-winged birds, quite near. Then with a rush,it was suddenly upon him. He set the automatic pilot, and drew hisrevolver, but the bird, unfamiliar with the machine it was attacking,had dashed recklessly in. There was a rending screech as it came intocontact with the wings of the autogiro; Sherman got in one shot, andthen bird, man and plane tumbled toward the earth.