by W. J. Stuart
Behind us, around the ell, I heard the study door crash down.
And I didn’t know how to shut this one.
But Morbius straightened up. He made a sort of sign in the air with his hand. And then sagged against me again.
The sheet of metal slid into the arch. Filling it.
I thought I saw something on the other side just as it closed. A shadow. Something . . .
And I heard something. It wasn’t a voice. But it wasn’t anything else.
I pushed Morbius off and went to Altaira. She was leaning against the rock wall. She was shaking like a Venusian-fever case. She didn’t say anything, just buried her face against my shoulder.
There was a concussion against the metal door. As if a thunderbolt had hit it.
But it stood. It didn’t even vibrate.
Suddenly, Morbius moved. Along the rock corridor to the lab chamber. He was trying to run, stumbling.
I left Altaira and went after him. But she was right behind me.
I caught him at the end of the chamber. The place was big and calm. Just the same. As if nothing was happening—never had happened.
It was quiet too. Completely quiet. There wasn’t a sound from the archway behind us. It was worse than any noise would have been.
I grabbed Morbius’ arm. He tried to pull away but I yanked him closer. I said, “Running won’t help—”
His face was—horrible. I couldn’t look at it. I said, “You must admit what it is, man!”
He said, “No!” His voice was a sort of rattling whisper. “It’s going away!” he said. “It’s going way—”
I looked along the rock corridor. There wasn’t a sound—
But the metal door in the arch was changing. It was a different color. The dun-gray wasn’t there any more. It was a reddish pink. Glowing. And darkening to crimson-red while I watched.
A drift of air much hotter than the rest came across my face.
I said, “No, Morbius. It’s not going away. Look at that!”
I tried to force him to turn his head. He fought me—but I made him look.
And I saw something else. All the lights in the chamber—all the relays, all the rows in the big central column-gauge of the, ‘island’—they’d all gone mad. Flickering on. Winking off. Not in any steady pattern. Like a crazy dance . . .
I made Morbius look. I said, “See the power! It’s flowing into that thing out there! Into you! . . . You can do anything! Nothing can stop you!”
He was suddenly strong. Stronger than I was. He pushed me away as if I was a child.
He said, “You say I knew. I didn’t. I don’t!”
The air was hotter now. A broad stream, filling the chamber. I looked along the corridor.
The metal of the door in the arch was white-hot. Molten. Streams of it were bubbling down onto the rock floor. Flaky lumps of it were dropping inwards. There was a hole in the center. It was getting bigger all the time.
I said, “The last chance, Morbius . . . Admit, man—admit!”
He stood there. I don’t think he even heard me. He was immovable now. His body and his mind . . .
I switched my eyes to the corridor again. For a microsecond. The hole in the metal wasn’t a hole any more. It nearly filled the archway. Something moved on the other side.
I knew I had to do it. Do it now . . . I could only hope to God Altaira would understand . . .
I put my hand on the butt of my gun. I started to pull it out. I fixed my eyes on a point between his shoulders . . .
And Altaira walked between us. As if I wasn’t there.
She stood in front of him. She said, “John’s right, Father. You must believe it!”
She stood as tall as she could and put her hands up to his face. And kissed him on the cheek.
The breathing was in the corridor. Close.
Something happened to Morbius. He didn’t look at Altaira. Or at me. He waved us back. He went to the mouth of the corridor . . .
I put my arms around Altaira, turning her so she couldn’t see . . .
But I could . . . Or maybe it wasn’t seeing. Maybe it was feeling . . .
All I know is that there was—Something there. Framed in the rock. Something facing Morbius. Huge, impossible. Looming over him—around him.
Morbius stood like the rock itself. His head was tilted, looking up—
My eyes wouldn’t work. My head was spinning. I felt the way you might feel if your mind was your stomach—
I felt as if my mind was—was vomiting . . .
Altaira’s arms came around my neck. I could hear her whispering, “Don’t look, darling—don’t look!”
I turned my head away . . .
We waited . . .
There was no sound . . . Or was there? I don’t know . . .
Thsn there was a feeling. A sensation of—of easing . . .
I found my head was lifting, turning so that I could see—
But I still don’t know what I saw. Or didn’t see but felt . . .
But I knew.
I knew the thing that had been facing Morbius was fading . . .
And then it was gone.
But the man went on standing with his back to us.
His head sank. I could see the strength leaving him . . .
He turned—slowly. And staggered. And came slowly back to us.
Altaira broke away from me. She stood in front of him. She said, “Father! . . . Father!” She was looking up into his face. “Are you all right, Father?”
I moved nearer to them. He said, “Yes, Altaira. Yes.” He said, “There’s nothing to trouble you now. Nothing.”
He swayed. I thought he was going to fall.
I could see his face now. I hardly knew it. It was—it was a good face.
But he was burned out. Exhausted. There was no life behind his eyes.
He looked down at Altaira—and bent his head and kissed her. He said, “Forgive me, my dear—forgive me—”
She put her arms around him. She murmured something I couldn’t hear.
He said, “Let me go, Altaira.” He said it gently, but there was something in his voice.
He looked at me. All the feelings I’d had about him seemed to have changed.
He must have known what I was thinking. He said, “Come with me a moment, John,” and smiled.
He walked slowly out to the center. Every step looked as if it took all his strength. I put a hand under his arm to help him.
He stopped. I wondered why, because there was nothing here. But he pointed down at the rock floor. He said, “John, if you would lift that for me . . .”
I looked down and saw a tile let into the rock.
I bent and got my fingers under the edge of it. I lifted it out—and saw a thing like a big plunger-switch, sealed across the top.
I asked him what it was. But he didn’t answer. He knelt down beside it, slowly and carefully.
He said, “Something I must do—” and reached down for the thing.
He checked. He looked up at me. He said, “John, is your ship ready to lift?”
I didn’t know what he was getting at. I had a strange feeling. But I answered him. I said, “Yes, sir. Or she will be within an hour or so.”
He didn’t say anything. He just smiled at me. He reached down and broke the seal across the top of the plunger.
He put his hand on it—and threw all his weight on the hand.
The plunger sank.
Still kneeling, he looked up at me. And then at Altaira.
He said, “In twenty-four hours there will be no planet Altair-4 . . . John, before then, you must be ten billion miles out in space . . .”
He started to get up—and swayed—and fell.
Altaira dropped down beside him. She lifted his head so that it rested on her lap.
She said, “Father—Father—,” and then stopped.
I thought he’d gone—but his eyes opened and he looked up at her.
He whispered, “I’m glad it’s this way, A
lta . . . Be happy, dear. Be happy on earth—and forget the stars . . .”
Postscript
Excerpts from “this third millennium—A Condensed Textbook for Students” by A. G. Yakimara, H.B., Soc.D., etc.
(The following are taken from the revised microfilm edition, dated Quatuor 15, 2600 A.D.)
. . . This frightful, cosmically-powered explosion, resulting in the complete disintegration of the Planet Altair-4, was visible to all Astronomers in the Solar System. The awe-inspiring, terrible beauty of the sight will never be forgotten by those who witnessed it . . .
It was, of course, considered a natural phenomenon—until the return, on Sexter 20th, 2391, of the Cruiser C-57-D, when Commander J. J. Adams first was able to relate his epic tale.
* * *
. . . There is good reason to believe that, at first, Commander Adams’ reports of the scientific supremacy of this ancient and defunct race did not receive complete credence. However, when he exhibited (and ‘put through its paces’) the anthroform robot-machine constructed by Doctor Morbius, doubts began to dissolve . . .
* * *
. . . A high pitch of frustration was reached over the so-called “Cerebro-micro-wave” records brought back by Commander Adams. And it was not until nearly sixty years later that these remarkable devices were analyzed and interpreted. They were of the highest importance, being the first examples of the possibility of what we now called Mnemono-Verbal Transmission—or the transmitting, by instant memory-wave, of a recording, in the words the memorizer would have used, of any experience.
The content of the records, however, was of little scientific value. They comprised Major Ostrow’s impressions of his stay on Altair-4, and various ‘experiences’ of Doctor Morbius. These latter might have been invaluable, except for the fact that they used the Krell terms of reference and have therefore never been completely deciphered. The only recording which has been completely translated refers to the ‘tour of inspection’ of the Krell underground powerhouse upon which he took Commander Adams and Major Ostrow . . .
* * *
. . . It is easy to understand why the saga of the C-57-D has attained such romantic status. Take, for instance, the marriage of Commander Adams to the daughter of Edward Morbius. It was performed in Deep Space, on the journey back from the exploded planet. And in order for the ceremony to be legal, Commander Adams was forced formally to relinquish his command (for the space of fifteen minutes!) to his Bosun, Zachary Todd . . .
* * *
. . . Regarded as a major tragedy by many scientists, the auto-destruction of Altair-4 was, in a way, welcomed by the Church and most thoughtful men and women.