The Science-Fantasy Megapack

by E. C. Tubb

  So, a little more confident, Clem settled at the car switchboard and started up the power. For the first few miles all went well, then he gave a grim glance at Buck as, ahead, there loomed an armed cordon guarding a barrier. Each autobus or pedestrian going through was being stopped, obviously for presentation of index-cards.

  “Hell, we’ve driven right into it,” Buck muttered. “And no way back either,” he added, glancing at the stream of traffic banked up to the rear.

  “Have to bluff our way through as best we can, that’s all,” Clem said. “No more than I expected would happen. We’ll get by—somehow.”

  As they moved closer to the barrier all hope collapsed.

  The guard in charge was the same one they had encountered at their homes during the night, and he was still smarting under the Master’s sarcasm at the unexpected disappearance of a number of feminine garments.

  “Oh, you again!” he exclaimed, as he beheld the three in the new autobus. “And you—!” He looked at Lucy.

  “Last night you said you were Worker Ten and, so far, you haven’t reported to headquarters to verify that fact. We happen to know that Worker Ten is dead, so what is your explanation?”

  “Mistaken identity,” Clem said frankly.

  “You mean spying! This woman’s responsible among others for corroding steel, crazy beech trees, rotting leather, and a host of—”

  “Rotting leather?” Clem repeated, surprised. “Who told you about his pants’ belt?” and he looked at Buck.

  “Pants’ belt?” The guard stared. “I’m talking about my gun-holster strap!” he roared. “Even that isn’t safe from these damned spies! It broke without reason when I was standing right in front of the Master! And this morning, not half an hour ago, my boots broke in two! Better start explaining things, you,” he went on, glaring at Lucy. “There’s some low-down trickery going on and if anybody can say what it’s all about it’s you!”

  “But—but I can’t!” Lucy stammered, glancing back nervously as traffic to the rear kept a continuous chorus of siren blowing at the long delay.

  “And those clothes I took!” the guard fumed. “They were yours, weren’t they? Weren’t they?”

  “Yes—yes,” Lucy agreed nervously.

  “I thought so! Then you tell me why they disappeared from their bag without anybody being near them! No clothes can do that ordinarily! I hardly knew it had happened, because being silk they were light, but they went, and I want to know why!”

  “I can’t explain it,” Lucy protested. “Honest I can’t.”

  The guard narrowed his eves and whipped out his atom-gun. “Out of that car!” he ordered. “All of you. It’s time the Master had a talk with—”

  Then Buck’s mighty fist lashed up suddenly and slammed straight into the guard’s face. He howled with pain and went flying backwards, collapsing some six feet away. Without a second’s pause Clem flung in the car switches and sent the vehicle flashing forward.

  It whipped through the scattering line of officers clutching at their atom-guns. Within seconds they were left behind. Clinging to the steering-gear Clem stared ahead of him fixedly, dodging around and behind the traffic in front of him. Then at last he managed to merge the vehicle into the swirling tide of autobuses and transports flowing out of the city’s heart.

  “I hope you realize what sort of a mess we can get into now,” he panted, glancing at Buck. “We’ll be tracked down for hitting an officer.”

  “Give them a run for their money, anyway,” Buck retorted. “Better all three of us get arrested than just Ancient.”

  Clem became silent, mainly because he inwardly agreed with his tough, impulsive friend. Lucy herself did not say anything. She sat with tight lips between the two men, realizing more than ever the complicated, dangerous tangle she had plunged into since arriving in 3004.

  “Okay, here we go,” Clem said at length, and twisted the car off into a side-alley, thereby joining up with the normal route beyond the sundered bridge. Continuing at the same terrific speed it was not long before he gained the immense underground ramp, which led to the site of the Protection Tower foundations.

  Once below, speeding through the long tunnels, all three began to breathe more freely.

  “All right so far,” Clem said grimly, clambering out at last. “Get the boys to work, Buck. Just at this moment I’ve got some figuring to do. If it works out right it may save us from the lethal chamber.”

  “Eh?” Buck asked blankly. “Figuring? What sort of figuring?”

  “Well, let’s say itemizing. I’ll need you to help me, Lucy. Carry on, Buck. I’m staying right here. I want to get any news reports that may come through.”

  Though he was clearly bewildered Buck did as he was told. Clem watched him heading away towards the site of operations, then he took the girl’s arm and led her into the portable little building which served as a headquarters. He motioned her to a chair and she sat down.

  “Lucy,” he said quietly, regarding her, “I’m forming a most extraordinary theory about you—and it is the fact that it may be right that frightens me.”

  “Frightens you?” Lucy’s eyes were wide. “W-why?”

  “I have the feeling,” Clem continued, “that some of the amazing things which keep happening may be directly attributable to you. The steel bridge, the beech trees, even Buck’s pants’ belt and the guard’s holster belt.”

  “Attributable to me? That’s impossible! Clem, what in the world are you talking about?”

  “A scientific possibility,” he replied, musing. “As you know I am a scientist, though I don’t pretend to be an extremely good one. Like all scientists, though, I get ideas and like to work on them. Now, let me do a bit of notating.”

  From the desk he picked up a notebook and began to write down various items. Lucy watched as the words appeared under his swift handwriting:

  Steel Bridge.

  Steel Flywheel.

  Steel Building Supports.

  Beech Trees.

  Leather Belts and Boots (Guard’s)

  Silk Clothes.

  “What’s all that for?” Lucy enquired.

  “I’m just listing the things that have been affected strangely. Tell me, those clothes of which you rid yourself, were they all silk? Every one of them?”

  “Yes. Even the stockings.”

  “I see. That seems to suggest that—” Clem thought for a moment and then changed the subject. “How many clothes are you wearing now that you wore in your own time?”

  “None. Mrs. Cardew supplied everything I’ve got, including undergarments.…”

  Clem made a whistling noise with his teeth. “Things are getting awfully complicated,” he said. “If I can only find the right scientific relationship to explain all this I’ll be able to prove to the hilt that you really are a girl from the past. Then the Master will not only believe you, he’ll honor you. I only hope you don’t cause too much trouble in the meantime.”

  “Trouble?” Lucy repeated. “But, Clem, the very last thing I want to do is cause trouble to anybody.”

  “Not you personally, I don’t mean—but the various things connected with you—”

  Clem broke off and glanced towards the civic loudspeaker as it came to life. First came a dreary routine statement of city matters, and then the announcer continued: “A series of incidents, which may be considered either ludicrous or alarming, depending upon how one looks at it, are reported from various centers this morning. Many men and women, for instance, have found themselves suddenly without any footwear, their boots and shoes have either crumpled to powder in certain sections or, in more extreme cases have vanished entirely without explanation! Similar things have happened to men’s and women’s belts and to handbags, briefcases, and even leather trunks.…”

  Clem crouched in silence at the desk, listening. Lucy was staring at the loudspeaker as though she were paralyzed.

  “A further case is reported of General Brandon Urston who examining our defenses in
case of Eastern invasion, found himself with his ray-gun charges, and the charges themselves, lying on the ground. Every supporting belt had gone. From Sector Fifty there is news of a cattle disease. It appears that pigs, cows, hulls, oxen, and various other species of animals are dying. The disease seems to be a form of rapid senility, followed in most cases by actual disintegration, which so far has the veterinary experts and scientists baffled.… Stand by please for Regulation Announcements.”

  Clem looked at the girl steadily and her eyes met his in wonder. “Lucy, my dear, you are a very dangerous person,” he said at last. “And the unique thing about it is that you don’t realize it! Let me think! I must get this lot into bright focus before I dare approach the Master.…”

  * * * *

  On the other side of the world, Leslie Hurst, ambassador for the West, had been summoned to an audience with Lan Ilof, the President of the Eastern Council.

  President Ilof was not alone in his office. In the heavy chairs close beside his big desk sat the grim-faced General Zoam and General Niol. They sat eyeing Ambassador Hurst as he came in.

  “Do sit down, Ambassador.” The President moved a hand and smiled cordially. “How are you?”

  “I can hardly imagine, Mister President, that you sent for me to enquire after my welfare,” Hurst answered. “May I ask that you state your business?”

  “It hardly needs a statement, Mister Hurst. More, shall we say, a reiteration? I wish to point out that you have been most dilatory in regard to answering our claim for a half share in the planet Mars.”

  “Kindly accept my apologies,” Hurst replied. “It is not that I have been dilatory: I have simply had no statement to make. The Master of our Western peoples has made it perfectly clear, I think, that he will have no part in interplanetary blackmail.”

  “How dare you insult the President in that fashion?” demanded General Niol, springing up. “The least the Master of the West can do is make a courteous reply to a demand. He has not even done that!”

  “He will hardly consider it necessary when I have conveyed his answer,” Hurst retorted. “Since, gentlemen, we seem to have at last arrived at the point where we are putting our cards on the table, let me state now, unequivocally that the Master of the West will not entertain your claim regarding Mars. Not only is such a claim utterly without foundation, but you do not even produce convincing evidence to support it. Certainly one cannot regard photographs and other supposed records as proof.”

  “You have been given an ultimatum,” General Zoam snapped. It should be either accepted or rejected in the normal diplomatic fashion.”

  “Ultimatum?” Hurst looked surprised. “When?”

  “Now! Surely you of the West are not so dense that you cannot recognize an ultimatum when you get it? In more direct terms, Ambassador Hurst, we either have the Master of the West’s recognition of our legal rights concerning Mars, or else we shall act by force and take what belongs to us. Is that sufficiently plain?”

  “You mean war,” Hurst said quietly.

  “Exactly,” General Niol retorted. “We suspected from the very start that it would come to it finally—and now it almost has. It is up to the Master of the West whether or not the fuse is lighted.”

  Hurst’s eyes shifted to President Ilof. He was sitting in silence, musing. He looked up as Hurst asked a direct question.

  “Are you in agreement with war to solve the problem, Mister President? Or do you believe, as I do, that such a step could only end in appalling carnage with nothing achieved by either side?”

  “We have nothing to fear,” the President answered, and it was more than obvious he was doing his utmost to avoid offending the Generals on either side of him. “Our armaments are powerful and our cause just. We have no intention of being ruled any longer by the dictates of the West.”

  “Even though we are all the essentially the same people? Centuries of intermarriage has eliminated all the racial tensions of the old millennium and brought peace to the Earth. Do you really want to return to that barbaric period in our history? I can’t believe it.”

  The President was silent, apparently trying to think of a suitable answer. Then General Niol answered for him. “The sooner you understand, Mister Hurst, that there is no sentiment in the satisfying of legal and rightful claims, the better! We are determined to take half of Mars, either by agreement or by force. Kindly transmit that information to the Master of the West.”

  “I would be wasting my time. He has already given his answer—and it is that he will not yield a fraction of Martian territory to you or anybody else.”

  The two men of war looked at the President, and he made no attempt to disguise the troubled look upon his face.

  “I am sorry, Mister Hurst, deeply sorry, that things have come to this,” he said seriously. “Up to now our relationship has been most cordial, but, as you will appreciate, in matters of interplanetary or international politics, there can be no personal feeling. I personally am deeply sorry to have to ask you to close down your Embassy Office within twenty-four hours and return to your own hemisphere.”

  “You mean break off relations?” Hurst asked. “That is the overture to war, Mister President.”

  “I am aware of it. You will be given time to arrive home safely. After that force of arms alone can decide the issue.”

  Hurst rose, looked at the two grimly satisfied Generals, and then went on his way. The moment he arrived in his headquarters in another section of the Eastern capital city he contacted the Master on the private waveband that was immune from ‘tapping’.

  “Master?” he enquired, as the Master’s voice answered. “I am afraid the worst has happened. War is more or less inevitable with the East, and in a very short time. Maybe a week—possibly less. I have been ordered to close down my Embassy office and return to the West in twenty-four hours. Before complete calamity befalls have you any fresh instructions? Any concessions you wish to make?”

  “I never make concessions, Ambassador Hurst, and I never reverse my decisions. You will return to here as ordered, and I will handle the situation. Immediate steps will be taken for us to stand by our defenses.”

  “Very well, sir,” Hurst answered, sighing to himself, and with that he switched off. Then he turned his attention to collecting his documents and informing his staff of what was intended.

  CHAPTER FIVE: VANISHING CARGO

  Commander Brian Neil intently watched the directional compass needle and then frowned to himself. Finally he checked it with a subsidiary compass and frowned all the more. There was no doubt about it: the two compasses were completely at variance. One—the normal one—pointed vaguely to the east, whereas it should have pointed directly to the north magnetic pole and acted thereby as a course-finder. The subsidiary one did point in that direction and was behaving according to plan.

  “What do you make of this, Mister Swanton?” Neil asked his chief navigator finally.

  Swanton came over from surveying the oceanic charts and gave the compass his expert scrutiny. “Main compass broken down, sir,” he replied finally. “Fortunately the subsidiary one seems to be working normally.”

  “That compass,” Commander Neil said, “is one of the best products Enzon and Balro have ever turned out, and worth a fortune. Better dismantle it and see what’s wrong. If the subsidiary one goes wrong too we’ll be in a mess.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Navigator Swanton went to work with practiced hands, removing the compass from its heavy casement. Meanwhile Commander Neil took over the task of steering the vessel across the wastes of the Atlantic Ocean.

  As he gazed out on the deeps, or consulted the multitude of instruments by which he guided the vessel through treacherous cross-currents, Neil smiled to himself, his mind jumping for a moment to the store-room where there reposed crates of electrical machinery and silkworms. He wondered how the Controller of Exports had ever conceived the idea that such a cargo might be stolen or tampered with. It was absurd! Out here
in the middle of the ocean no pirate could attack without being seen long before he arrived; and the crew of the vessel was a good one, every man as honest as the sunlight.

  “Here’s the trouble, sir,” Swanton said finally, and Neil looked at the bench before him upon which the navigator had laid the ‘insides’ of the compass. The main bearing had completely corroded—it was made of steel—and the sockets into which it was delicately fitted were covered with a fine reddish dust.

  “The corrosion of this steel spindle is a real mystery,” Swanton commented. “This sort of steel has a guaranteed life of two-hundred-and-fifty years. The date stamp on this compass is one year ago when the switchboard was refitted. I fancy, sir, that Enzon and Balro are going to develop a lot of gray hairs over this!”

  Neil mused for a moment as he looked out onto the heaving ocean.

  “Come to think of it,” he said at length, “I’ve heard rumors whilst we were ashore concerning strange behavior by steel—but I never thought it would catch up on our compass like this!”

  “Very extraordinary, sir,” the navigator agreed, and set the ruined compass on one side. “I hope our other one doesn’t go the same way!”

  That seemed to end the subject, mainly because it was too bewildering a problem to pursue. Neil re-checked the course by the subsidiary compass, and then glanced at the chronometer.

  “Take over, Mister Swanton,” he ordered. “My rest period is due.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  On his way from the bridge to his cabin, Neil paused for a moment by the steel door of the storage-hold and considered. He recalled the puzzling admonition he has received from the Export manager, respecting his cargo.

  He half moved on and then hesitated. Might as well satisfy himself. So, using his memory for the combination lock he unfastened it and swung open the, storage-hold door. The hundred cases of electrical machinery and sixty of silkworms were still there. Those containing the machinery had small inspection holes in the sides—and those containing the silkworms had filters so they could breathe.