by Colin Wilson
There was a ring at the doorbell, and Carlsen realised that he had been asleep. Jamieson said: “That should be our colleague.” He went out. A few minutes later he returned. Carlsen summoned the energy to twist around in his chair. Armstrong was there, looking grey and sick. His walk was slow and clumsy. Jamieson led him to the chair behind the desk. Armstrong looked at Carlsen, then at Fallada and Heseltine, without interest. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Jamieson said: “Look up at me.” Armstrong raised his eyes unwillingly. Jamieson grabbed him by the hair, making him wince, then forced his head back and stared into his eyes. Armstrong cleared his throat and groaned. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Armstrong’s face changed. The slack skin seemed to become firmer; the line of the mouth hardened. When he opened his eyes, they were clear and penetrating. He shook off Jamieson’s hand.
“That’s better. Thank you. They gave me three doses of that damned stuff.” He looked at Carlsen with cold anger, and Carlsen felt the impact of his will-force, like a slap in the face. Armstrong said: “If he is to be killed, I will do it.”
The girl said: “He is already promised to me.”
Jamieson said: “The choice is his.” He turned to Carlsen. “Which would you prefer? To be possessed by her? Or destroyed by him? Make up your mind quickly.”
Carlsen made another attempt to move, but their three wills were pinning him to the chair like iron bands. He experienced a sense of helplessness, of being a child in the hands of adults. It cost him an effort to speak. “You’d be stupid to kill me. You could make use of my body, but it wouldn’t deceive anybody who knew me.”
“That will not be necessary. All that we require of you is that you give your television interview this evening. You will then recommend that the Stranger should be brought back to earth immediately. You will say that it is stupid to delay when other countries might get there first. After that, I shall announce that you have been placed in charge of an expedition to bring back the Stranger, and you will leave early tomorrow for moonbase. That is all that will be required of you.” Carlsen stared back, fighting off the fatigue and a deepening sense of defeat. The voice said: “Make your choice now.”
The girl said: “Shall I try to persuade him?” Without waiting for a reply, she sat on Carlsen’s knee and tilted back his head. It was done without coquetry, like a nurse preparing a patient for an operation. As he felt her cool hands on his skin, he was aware of the draining of his energies as they flowed into her hands. She was using her body to intensify the contact; he was aware that under the brown skirt she was almost naked. Paradoxically, in spite of his exhaustion, he felt a stiffening of desire. With her hands over his ears, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his. Again he experienced the drowsy delight, the desire to surrender, to allow her to take possession of his will. As she felt his relaxation, she moved her bare arms around his neck, and the lips became moist and urgent. He felt the life being drained from him into her body; the vital forces were flowing like blood from an open artery. When he tried to move, with a final effort at protest, he felt the united force of their wills pinning him to the chair. Then, as he ceased to resist, the sense of helplessness dissolved into a glow of response. It seemed to be due to the movements of her buttocks, pressing rhythmically against him in a simulation of lovemaking. He could feel the warmth of her breasts against him, and he wanted to reach up and tear the material from her shoulders. The desire became hard and violent; he was aware of her surprise as he ceased to be passive. It was then that he realised he could use his will against her, pinning her closer and forcing her mouth against his with a strength that emanated from a source in the centre of his brain. Without moving his body, he was holding her as a bird might hold a worm. As he sucked the vital energy from her, his whole body burned with the greed of absorption.
Armstrong’s voice said: “What are you doing, Vraal? Don’t kill him.”
He tightened his grip, giving himself up wholly to the pleasure of drinking the essence of her being. The intensity of the contact made his flesh burn.
He saw Jamieson grip her shoulders; he released his grip as she was torn away from him. Jamieson used so much force that she staggered against the desk and fell to the floor. Jamieson started to speak, then saw the bruised mouth and the shocked exhaustion in her eyes. His reaction was instantaneous; he turned on Carlsen, and the force of his will was like a bolt of lightning. It should have smashed Carlsen back in his chair, ending his resistance like a bullet in the solar plexus. But Carlsen’s reaction had been even faster; he parried the blow, turning it aside like a boxer rolling to a punch; then, before Jamieson could recover, his own will-drive struck back, catching Jamieson in the ribs and throwing him sideways into the wall. A movement to his left made him aware of Armstrong; before he could throw up a defence, a clumsy hammer-blow of force had struck him on the side of the head. The pain irritated him into using more power than he intended. His flash of anger caught Armstrong’s shoulder like a blow from the paw of a bear, breaking the bone; Armstrong spung across the room, his head cracking against the wall. He half turned and slumped to his knees, the eyes blank and stunned.
Jamieson had dragged himself upright; he was supporting himself against the desk as he stared at Carlsen. The left eye was half closed, and blood ran down the cheek; yet it was a measure of his power that his face showed no defeat or fear. He said quietly: “Who the hell are you?”
As Carlsen started to formulate an answer, he was suddenly aware that it was unnecessary. The question was not addressed to him. A voice was speaking from his lips in a foreign language that he was able to understand. It said: “I come from Karthis.”
He was aware that it was the language of the Nioth-Korghai.
Jamieson reached into his pocket, pulled out a snow-white handkerchief and mopped the blood from his face. His voice was level and calm. “What do you want with us?”
“I think you know that.” As he spoke, he observed that the vampire who had possessed the girl was now detaching itself from her body. Although Carlsen was looking in the opposite direction, some additional sense made him aware that she was moving towards the window. He said: “You cannot escape, Vraal. It has taken us more than a thousand years to find you. We shall not allow you to go again.” He caught her and forced her back into the room. Heseltine and Fallada were staring in amazement at the transparent violet shape now visible against the wall. It shimmered in the light, its internal energies causing a constant motion, so that it resembled coiling smoke.
Carlsen turned to Fallada. “I apologise for speaking in a foreign language. In our natural form we communicate by thought alone, but we can still use the ancient language of the Nioth-Korghai.”
Fallada said: “I don’t understand. Are you…?”
He understood the half-formulated question. “I am an inhabitant of the world called Karthis, a planet of the sun you call Rigel. I am making use of the body of your friend Carlsen, who is fully conscious of all that is happening. You might say that I am borrowing it.”
He looked at Armstrong, who was levering himself into a sitting position, then at Jamieson. “Come. It is time for us to leave.”
Fallada and Heseltine watched with astonishment as a purple haze began to detach itself from Carlsen’s body. Its glow was more intense than that of the other alien, and it seemed to be full of points of light, like sparks.
Carlsen experienced a sudden feeling of weakness, as if from loss of blood. He said: “Wait, please.”
The purple light was hovering in the centre of the room; its intensity hurt his eyes. Now, as he watched, wavering outlines detached themselves from the bodies of Armstrong and Jamieson. In the intenser glare of their captor, they were hardly visible. Armstrong collapsed sideways, his mouth open. Jamieson dropped heavily into the chair behind the desk and stared at the girl with puzzled incomprehension, as if he had never seen her before.
Staring at the shimmering purple outlines, now v
isible like heat waves against the background of the wall, Carlsen experienced an upsurge of emotion that was deeper than anything he had ever known. There was a sense of awe that seemed to wrack his being, mingled with a profound pity. For the first time, he clearly understood the misery and desolation that had driven these creatures to scour the galaxy for living energy. Now he could experience their loneliness as they faced the terror of extinction. In the face of this reality, his own life suddenly appeared trivial; it seemed that every moment since his birth had been lived in a kind of insipid daydream. The perception gave him a courage born of anger. He stood up and advanced towards the light, shouting: “Don’t kill them. Let them go.”
As he spoke, the effort seemed absurd, like trying to communicate with a mountain; yet a moment later, he clearly heard a voice that said: “Do you know what you are asking?” It was not using words, but intuitive thought-forms.
He said: “What have they done that’s so wicked? They only wanted to live. Why punish them?” As he spoke, he took another step forward into the place occupied by the light. At once he experienced again the intense flow of power, and the ability to see into the minds of those around him. This time the voice spoke from his own mouth. “There is no question of punishment. But since it is important to see justice done, you shall be the judges.”
Using Carlsen’s body, it bent and picked up the girl, setting her gently in the hard-backed chair behind the desk. Her eyes opened, and she stared at Carlsen in alarm and surprise. He bent over Armstrong, grasping both his shoulders; the healing power flowed from his fingers, causing the bone to knit. He stepped across to Jamieson, who flinched away as he reached out; his hand touched the swollen and discoloured cheekbone; as he watched, the bruising dissolved and the swelling disappeared.
The alien returned to Carlsen’s chair and looked from one to the other. “Are you prepared to pass judgement on these creatures who intended to destroy you?”
There was a silence, and Carlsen could read the thoughts and feelings of everyone in the room. In Armstrong and Jamieson, guilt and fear were being transformed into hatred, an instinctive desire to join the hunters. The girl was detached and bewildered. Only Fallada and Heseltine were attempting to be impartial. Fallada said: “How can we judge?”
“Listen and decide.” The voice was gentle and patient. “For more than two hundred years I have been on your earth, awaiting the return of the Ubbo-Sathla. And for more than a thousand years our people have searched for them among the galaxies. Our task was more difficult than searching for a single grain of sand in all the deserts of the world.”
The words were less important than the images that accompanied them. The alien was projecting its thoughts and feelings into their minds, so that they grasped something of the immensity of space and the infinity of its worlds.
“It was just over two thousand years ago that one of our expeditionary forces discovered the remains of the planet B.76 in the Vega system. It had exploded into fragments. We knew that the planet had been inhabited by a race of highly developed beings called Yeracsin — to you they would look like balloons made of light. These creatures were lazy, but harmless and nonaggressive. Therefore we became curious about the catastrophe that had destroyed their world. Our first assumption was that it was some natural accident. And then, as we examined the fragments, we discovered signs of an atomic explosion. It was then that we began to suspect that the planet had been destroyed to cover up some appalling crime, as your human criminal sometimes set fire to a house. Further examination convinced us that the planet had been the scene of a mass murder — the murder of a whole species.” His eyes turned coldly on the nickering shapes against the wall. It seemed to Carlsen that they were fading. “Then the hunt began. We made a systematic search of all local planetary systems for any evidence that might point to the identity of the criminals. We discovered that evidence in your own solar system, where another planet had been blown to fragments.”
Fallada said with surprise: “The asteroids?”
“In our language, it was called Yllednis, the blue planet. When we had last visited your solar system, Yllednis was the home of a great and ancient civilisation of creatures like ourselves — intelligent molluscs. And Mars was also inhabited by a race of humanoid giants who were learning to build cities. Now Mars had become a waterless desert, and Yllednis had exploded into a thousand rocky fragments. Yet your earth, with its highly evolved Mediterranean civilisation, was untouched. Why should that be, unless these criminals regarded it as some kind of base? It was then we began to suspect that these criminals were the Lost Ones — the name we gave to the scientists who vanished on their way back to our galaxy fifty thousand years ago. At first this seemed impossible — for the Nioth-Korghai, like the human race, is physically mortal. But when we visited your earth and studied its racial memories, it was no longer possible to doubt. The criminals were creatures like ourselves, members of the Nioth race, in whom the impulse of protection towards weaker races had been perverted to a kind of sadism…” Carlsen could feel the surge of irritable contempt that emanated from the flickering shapes against the wall. The voice of the alien continued evenly: “Your mythology of spirits and demons is full of memories of the Ubbo-Sathla, the space vampires. And since they had spared your planet, it was clear that they intended to return here one day. Of course, we continued our search throughout the galaxies, hoping to prevent further crimes. But your galaxy alone contains over a hundred thousand million stars. And so our efforts brought no results — until now.”
The voice ceased. Again Carlsen experienced the waves of anger and frustration that flowed from the aliens. The silence lengthened. The voice said: “Well? Is there anyone who still believes they should be allowed to go free?”
The eyes turned on Jamieson. Jamieson coloured and cleared his throat. “Of course not. It would be criminal stupidity.”
Fallada said: “There’s one question I’d like to ask.” He spoke nervously, his eyes on the carpet. “You said their impulse of mercy had been perverted into a kind of sadism. But couldn’t it be unperverted?”
Jamieson said irritably: “Talk sense, man.”
Fallada said doggedly: “I want to know whether these things are entirely criminal.” He stared at Jamieson from under bushy eyebrows. “Most people have got some good in them.”
The alien said: “Only they could answer that question.” He looked across at the vampires. “Well?”
Fallada said: “Can they speak?”
“Not without the use of a body. But they have six to choose from.”
Carlsen felt suddenly weak and sick; it took him a moment to realise that the alien had left his body and was hovering above his head. The nerves of his stomach tensed as he saw one of the wavering shapes floating towards him. Then reassurance flowed into his brain. He relaxed, allowing the shape to blend into his body. For a moment he experienced a sensation of nausea, as if he had been forced to swallow some disgusting fluid. Then it passed and was replaced by a savage exultation. A coarse vitality tensed all his muscles. It was the alien that had possessed Jamieson: the leader. The voice that spoke through his mouth had a harsh undertone of emotion.
“I will speak, although I know it is useless. No one here is concerned with justice. But I would like to point out a simple fact. The Nioth-Korghai, like the human race, are mortal. We of the Ubbo-Sathla have achieved a kind of immortality. Is it nothing to have discovered the secret of living forever? You will say that we have achieved it by destroying lives. That is true. But is it not also a law of nature? All living creatures are murderers. Human beings feel no compunction about killing the lower animals for meat. They even eat the flesh of newborn lambs. And the cows and the sheep eat grass, which is also alive. Dr Fallada here has studied vampirism. He will tell you that is the basic principle of nature. If that is so, then in what way are we guilty?”
Fallada said: “Are you denying that you destroy for pleasure?”
“No.” The voice was calm
and reasonable. “But since we have to kill to survive, is there any reason why we should not take pleasure in it?”
Carlsen was less concerned with the words than with the power that accompanied them. It surged into his consciousness like an electric current, producing a vision that brought a sense of ruthless delight. Human beings were trivial, irredeemably trivial; personal, self-obsessed, lazy, stupid, dishonest; a race of feeble-minded drifters, hardly better than imbeciles. If the law of nature was extinction of the weak, survival of the strong, then human beings were asking to be destroyed. In the essence of their being, they were victims.
Heseltine cleared his throat. “But surely… cruelty springs out of weakness, not strength?” He spoke hesitantly, without conviction.
The vampire said reasonably: “No one has a right to speak of weakness or strength who has not experienced total despair. Can you imagine what it is like to struggle for a thousand years against this possibility of extinction? After that, we saw no reason to accept death while there was still a chance of life. Do you condemn us for that?”
He was speaking to Heseltine and Fallada, but it was Jamieson who answered. He said: “You condemn yourself. You have just said that murder is a law of nature. You intended to murder us. Is there any reason why we should not murder you?”
“If you had the power, that is what I would expect of you.” There was no sarcasm in the voice. “But the Nioth-Korghai do not believe that murder is a law of nature. They believe in higher laws.” He tilted his head back, without looking directly at the ball of light. “That is why I want to know what you intend to do with us.”
Again the voice communicated without words. “That will be decided on Karthis.”