Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  Remembering the theories of the telepathists, he threw his mind open, made it blank, receptive. But no message came. Only breaking in through the darkness came Thona’s voice.

  “Dal! Where are you?”

  Shaking his head, he looked around, blinded by tire darkness, realizing that he had unwittingly moved forward a few paces. As he answered, a little ray of light flickered on, and in its light he saw Thona near by, holding a light-tube in her hand. At his surprized glance she smiled, and said,

  “I managed to get two of them.” Then she sobered. “What is this—sensation? It feels as though something’s pulling at my brain!”

  Kenworth started. That had been his own sensation, exactly. And, indeed, under its guidance he had moved forward.

  He told Thona of the telepathy theory. “The scientists have often conjectured on the possibility of a race existing without oral speech, speaking by thought-impulses alone. It’s not as fantastic as it seems—indeed, they’ve proved the possibility of telepathy.” He took the light-tube from Thona, adjusted it until only a faint glow shone out. “We’d better move, Thona. If the Raider destroys the Patrol ship—as I think he will—he’ll be back, and he mustn’t find us here.”

  A shadow fell on Thona’s face. “But how can we get back? It’s impossible, Dal—it may be thousands of miles—even to the Twilight Zone!”

  Ken-worth smiled with an assurance he did not feel. “We can make it. It’ll be quite a walk, but—have you your food tablets?” Every citizen was required by law to carry a packet of these concentrated food pellets, and Thona pulled a flat metal container from her pocket.

  “What about water, though?” She answered her own question as the light gleamed on the frost-rime on the rocks, “The ice—of course. But what about direction?”

  Kenworth glanced up, but the stars were hidden by the thick cloud-masses. He switched off the light, waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. Then he touched the girl’s arm.

  “There, Thona. See?” Abruptly he realized that she could not see his pointing finger, and fumbled for her head, felt the soft curls beneath his fingers. He turned her head slowly. “Do you see that glow—very faint, though—far away on the horizon?”

  “No . . . oh, yes. But it’s scarcely visible.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Kenworth hesitated. A little warning premonition went through him. The light was strangely blue-tinged to be the daylight of Venus. But what other explanation could there be to this light on the Night Side?

  “Well, come on,” Thona said. But after a few steps she paused, staring at Kenworth. He nodded.

  “Funny. I felt it, too. That—queer feeling in my head is gone. I wonder——”

  But it was useless to conjecture. Haste was necessary, and for a time the two hurried on in utter silence, climbing over jagged rocks, slipping more than once on the frost-rime that lay like a fantastic arabesque over everything. It was cold, but no colder than a N’yok winter, and the exercise of walking warmed them.

  THEY had been walking for almost two hours, by Kenworth’s wrist chronometer, when they saw the strange white thing. It lay like a great pale pancake nearly two feet in diameter, on a flat surface of grayish soil. For a space about it there was no frost on the ground, and as the two approached they could feel a faint, gentle warmth radiating from the thing.

  It had only one feature, a branch-like arm projecting vertically from the center, about a foot long. And the creature—whatever it was—was not immobile. It pulsated gently.

  “Careful,” Kenworth said. “It’s a plant of some sort, I think.”

  “It’s alive,” Thona commented.

  Kenworth moved forward, touched the spongy, rubbery surface of the thing. The pulsations continued undisturbed.

  “Curious,” he said. “But not much help. We need a guide, not a plant.”

  He turned away, checked himself at Thona’s astonished exclamation.

  “Look!” She was pointing at the plant. Kenworth stared.

  The vertical branch projecting up from the white pancake was no longer vertical. Its tip was bent at a right angle.

  “It’s—pointing,” Thona said.

  “Impossible! How could a plant——”

  The branch moved slowly until it was again upright. Then it bent down again—jerked for all the world like a pointing finger!

  “It’s pointing, Dal.”

  He was not convinced. “No . . . but flowers turn with the sun sometimes, don’t they? This may be something similar——”

  From the gloom came a startling sound—a sharp, sudden bark, abruptly chopped off. Kenworth whirled. It came again—a hoarse shouting. And it repeated over and over the single word:

  “Dd! Dd! Dd!”

  The two stared at each other. As the voice paused Thona whispered. “The Raider?”

  Kenworth shook his head, frowning, puzzled. He took a step in the direction of the voice, noticing that it was there that the plant-branch was pointing. Thona kept close to him.

  About fifty feet away they came out into a little plain of gray soil, ringed with garishly colored rock. The place was quite warm, Kenworth realized with amazement. In the middle of this cleared space was another of the strange white plants—but far different from the original one.

  This was huge. A dozen feet in diameter, dome-shaped, with a score of long branches shooting up from the thing’s center, it lay pulsating and throbbing with life. And as the two watched, the plant began to rotate like a great turntable. It turned very slowly, until on the surface facing Kenworth and Thona appeared a group of odd appurtenances—organs, apparently. A small puckered orifice reminded Kenworth of a mouth, although it remained immobile and silent. Ringed about it were six bulging white domes. The whiteness vanished momentarily from one of them, and Kenworth saw a black shining surface. Then the pale skin covered it again.

  Had the plant—eyes?

  “What is it, Dal?” Thona asked shakily.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Plants have evolved considerably on Mars, I’ve heard, but never to this stage. I wonder if the thing can—understand us.”

  The puckered orifice on the plant’s surface twitched convulsively, and opened. From it came an ear-shattering bellow that made Thona cry out, clapping her hands to her outraged ears. Kenworth took a step back, his eyes widening. And still the hoarse yelling kept on, rising and falling like the hooting of a siren. Abruptly Kenworth realized that there was a definite sequence in the shouting. The thing was yelling—words!

  KENWORTH stopped his ears with his fingers, and suddenly the yelling faded, became articulate, understandable.

  “Can—un—der—stan’! Can—un—der—stan’ !”

  Thona touched his arm. “He—it—says he understands!”

  Kenworth was not so sure. “I don’t know. Some automatic reflex of repetition, perhaps,” he said, shouting to make himself heard above the tumult. Suddenly the bellowing changed.

  “No—rep—i—ti—shun! Can—un—der—stan!”

  “Ye gods!” Ken worth said. “The thing’s intelligent!”

  And yet—why not? On Mars plants had evolved, under careful training had shown faint gleams of intelligence. And certainly there was a tremendous gulf between an ordinary plant and this incredibly developed plant-monster. Kenworth realized abruptly that he had seen no animal life on tire Night Side. Free from tire vegetable kingdom’s natural enemies—grazing animals, destroying mankind—why could not a plant develop through the eons into an intelligent creature, just as man had evolved through uncounted millenniums?

  And the thing unquestionably was intelligent. The hooting died away, and in the silence Kenworth increased the brilliancy of his light-tube. Again came that thunderous bellowing.

  “No—no—no—no!”

  The lids protecting the thing’s eyes twitched. Strong lights, to this being of eternal night, was painful—naturally enough. Kenworth adjusted the light until it was a very faint glow. He said, “How is it you
speak our language?”

  Surprizingly, the thing shouted, “Telepathy!”

  “What?” Kenworth could scarcely believe his ears. This amazing monster of an alien planet! Read words—in mind—Kenworth mind—Thona mind—pictures—words——”

  Thona said to him, “But we don’t think in words, Dal. We think in pictures.”

  “No, Thona. You’re wrong. Really our thoughts are a combination of words and images. This thing seems to be reading the words in our minds, and seeing our thought-images, seeing what the words stand for! It’s possible—indeed, the only way true thought-communication can be established. Those N’yok scientists told me——”

  The bellowing roared out again. “See word-sounds—pictures—yes. Understand.”

  “See, Thona?” Kenworth said. “It’s fantastic—but scientifically logical.”

  He turned to the plant-creature. “What are you? I mean—what sort——” He stumbled, paused, and the shouting interrupted him.

  “Plant—no. Evolved plant—yes. Lived here always.”

  Kenworth asked curiously, “Are there many of you? Do you mean you’ve lived—always?”

  Arbitrary time-designations would mean little to the creature, he thought. But the plant caught his meaning.

  “Not—like this. Not many—no. Grow—grow——” The thundering voice paused, apparently puzzled. Then it resumed. “Other plant—you saw. Me, Part of me. Born—born—rooted to me. I—die, yes. It lives, has—babies.”

  Thona could not repress a giggle. Even Kenworth chuckled. Babies! Yet that was the thought the plant had read in the humans’ minds—babies, indeed!

  Yet Kenworth realized what the creature meant. The first plant-thing they had seen was the offspring of the great plant—connected, apparently, by an underground root. In time the mother plant—If one could use that term of a sexless, or rather bi-sexual vegetable—would die, and the other would become independent, have “babies” of its own.

  Thona said, “If it can read our minds, why does it have to talk to us—audibly?” She spoke directly to Kenworth, oddly averse to addressing the plant directly. But the thing bellowed an answer.

  “No—your minds already—getting thoughts. Not from me. Cannot—me—cannot break in.”

  Thona turned a white face to Kenworth. “Did you hear that? It says our minds are already——”

  Kenworth nodded, remembered the strange feeling he had had directly after the escape from the Raider. “I don’t get any thoughts, though,” he said slowly.

  “Not—thoughts,” the plant bellowed. “Command—urge—pull. Drags you to—to—thought-giver.” A branch bent, pointing. “Light—yes, blue light—you go there.”

  “Then it isn’t the daylight after all,” Kenworth said.

  Thona’s lips were trembling. “We’ll keep away from there, Dal. If——”

  The shouting broke in. “No keep away—cannot. Drags you there. Dragged everything on—on—Night Side there—long ago. Only me—plants like me—rooted———”

  The branches growing from the plant-thing’s center twitched, stirred. They writhed apart, oddly like tentacles. One of the plant’s bulbous eyes flickered open momentarily.

  And without warning the monster struck!

  5. Power of Thought

  THE branches—no longer stiffly erect, but pliant, writhing—came racing down to Thona and Kenworth. They curled about the two, lifting them from their feet, Kenworth felt his ribs crack as the plant-tentacles tightened about him. Dimly he heard Thona scream.

  He struck out at the binding branches as he was lifted, realized that he still gripped the light-tube in one hand. A sharp pain darted through his leg. He saw the tip of a tentacle boring into the flesh—saw the pallor of the plant change, become roseate, crimson. The thing was sucking blood from his veins.

  Once Kenworth had seen a mouse caught by one of the giant pitcher-plants of earth. Now he realized what the mouse must have felt, helpless, drained dry of blood by the vampire plant. He struggled frantically—uselessly. Held high above the dome-shaped body of the creature, he was powerless to harm it—and the tentacles were tough as steel.

  Light! The thing feared light! As the thought flashed into his brain he knew that the plant read his mind. A tentacle loosened, made a swift dart for the light-tube. But already Kenworth had made the adjustment that sent a flood of blinding brilliance glaring out from the cylinder.

  Creature of the dark—to which light was a blinding agony! The thin membrane over the plant’s eyes was little protection, and as the glaring radiance streamed out Kenworth felt the tentacles about him contract, twist in midair, and loosen. He slipped through them, fell, gripping the light-tube desperately. Rubbery flesh gave beneath his feet; for a moment he felt the pulsing body of the monster beneath him, and then he leaped aside.

  “Thona!” he called.

  A faint cry brought him to her side. She lay on the gray soil, where she had been thrown by the agonized plant. Kenworth picked her up and sprinted to safety.

  But the plant was no longer a menace. Its tentacles lay like a mat of white vines over its eyes, protecting them from the glare. Beyond the reach of the monster Kenworth put Thona down, anxiously felt for her pulse.

  She was unhurt. The soft soil had broken the force of her fall. In a moment she sat up, terror in her eyes.

  “We’re safe, Thona,” Kenworth said, conscious of the bitter irony of the words. And, echoing him, came the sound of a flat, metallic laugh.

  “Quite safe. And thanks for the light. I’d never have found you otherwise.”

  Kenworth wheeled, just as the great bulk of the collection ship grounded near by. Framed in the open portal was the Raider, his dark face immobile. In his hand was a ray-tube.

  “Don’t move,” he said quietly. “I can paralyze you in a moment.”

  Thona whispered, “The Patrol ship-——”

  “I destroyed it. Come!”

  Thona and Kenworth exchanged hopeless glances. Then, shrugging, Kenworth moved forward. Satisfaction gleamed in the Raider’s eyes.

  There came a swift rustle of movement from behind him. He staggered, nearly fell. Racing out of the ship came the octan, shrilling its thin cry.

  It scuttled past Kenworth and went flashing away. Kenworth clicked off his light-tube, and, thrusting it in his pocket, leaped for the Raider. He stumbled over the threshold of the ship’s portal. Light flared.

  The Raider stood almost beside him, a light-tube in one hand, a ray-tube in the other. He jumped back, keeping the ray-tube leveled. Kenworth, tensed to spring, realized the futility of such an attempt.

  “Get in the ship,” the Raider said coldly.

  VAKKO, the Martian, came to the portal. He fluted a question at the Raider, who gestured into the surrounding gloom, said something in his flat voice. The Martian hesitated—and turned his head slowly, listening. Then he, too, took a step forward, another step—and raced away in the track of the octan!

  “Vakko!” The Raider’s voice was peremptory, menacing. He swung the ray-tube away from Kenworth, paused.

  The Martian was lost in the shadows. Am came out of the ship. He paid no attention to the others, but simply walked off into the gloom, his pace steadily increasing.

  Thona turned. She began to follow him.

  The Raider was behaving oddly. He, too, stood in an attitude of listening. And throbbing within Kenworth’s brain came that curious sense of movement that he had already experienced. And this time it summoned.

  It called—beckoned! He felt himself swaying toward the shadows where the others had vanished. He saw the Raider’s face, astonishment in the black eyes, saw light-tube and ray-tube drop from the pirate’s hands. What had the plant-thing said? “Thoughts . . . command . . . drags you to thought-giver.”

  Like a great wave, blackness engulfed him!

  THUD . . . thud . . . rhythmic thudding . . . of racing feet . . . slowly Kenworth fought back to consciousness. He saw bobbing figures outlined aga
inst a strangely blue glow before him, heard hoarse breathing. At his side was the Raider, gaunt face expressionless, running easily. But why were they running?

  Realization struck home to him. The darkness that had shrouded his mind lifted. He saw his surroundings.

  He was in a crater—vast, with distant jagged walls that marched like a great ramp. It was lighted by a bluish radiance that came from a mound in the crater’s center—a strange mound, glistening and heaving very slowly.

  The bobbing figures ahead paused. Kenworth saw the elongated silhouette of the Martian, saw Arn’s bulky body, the slim form of Thona. He came up with them, stopped. The last traces of the fog lifted from his mind.

  He caught Thona in his arms, fearful that she might race away again. The Martian pointed, and Am growled an oath.

  The racing form of the octan was still moving swiftly across the crater’s floor toward the glistening knoll. It raced onward, clung itself on the mound—and was engulfed! It disappeared in the shining, radiant surface. The blue glow brightened briefly, faded again.

  Kenworth heard the Raider cursing in a dull, hopeless monotone.

  Am said, with a curious catch in his gruff voice, “What—is that thing?”

  The Raider said, “Don’t you remember the Karla crater? On Mars?”

  Arn paled beneath his space-burn. He said, “But this creature-——”

  “Is larger. Yes. A hundred times larger. But it’s the same kind of being.”

  “What do you mean?” Kenworth broke in. “Do you know what that—creature—is?”

  As the Raider glanced at him Kenworth realized that the man was an enemy, and stepped back involuntarily. But the other made no hostile move.

  “I know,” the Raider said. “Yes. And X know we’ll all be dead very shortly.” He shrugged. “I saw one of these once in a Martian crater. It’s alive—but a life-form entirely alien to us. It’s unicellular. I had a scientist in my crew then, and he explained it to me. Said it might have come on—or in—a meteorite, as the Cater seemed to indicate. Or it might have evolved . . . it’s an ameba.”

  Arn said slowly, “There wasn’t a living thing—nothing but plants and trees—for miles around the Korla crater.”