Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

At a side passage he hesitated, realizing that the new tunnel led up. The priests would not expect him to take this path—so he did so. And, as it turned out, he was wise.

  He came out on a little balcony overlooking the sloping ramp of the pyramid. Beneath him the massive piles of masonry fled down like gigantic steps, and Tony hesitated as he glanced down. A noise from behind him, along the passage, helped him make his decision.

  It was almost too late. A priest burst into view, mouth open in a soundless scream, raising a short metal rod in one hand. Tony flung up the carbon-gun and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

  The ammunition was exhausted.

  Tony’s reaction was involuntary and instinctive. He flung the gun straight at the priest’s face and ducked, diving in at his opponent. A beam of light lanced out over Tony’s head. Then he crashed into the priest’s knees and brought the man down heavily.

  There was no time for ethics. Tony struck low and hard. He left the priest unconscious and vaulted the balcony’s rail. Down the slope of the pyramid he sprang, leaping along the huge steps made by the giant blocks, risking his neck at every jump. But—he made it.

  Once at the base of the pyramid, he was comparatively safe. Out of the red glow the shadows were heavy, and Tony took advantage of them to slink away toward the wall of the cavern he could see far ahead of him. But before he did so he made a brief scouting trip, hoping to find Phil. It was useless. Either Phil had already made good his escape, or else he had fallen victim to the priests of Thotmes.

  There was no sign of excitement. Tony wondered why. Perhaps the escape of prisoners was of little importance to the Atlanteans. They were too self-confident—with good reason, it might be. Science that could rip the Earth asunder was not easily to be conquered.

  Near the door of the Temple of Osiris Tony quickened his pace. The sound of hoarse breathing and shuffling footsteps came to his ears. On the threshhold he hesitated, staring, but saw nothing in the dimness of the interior. Wait! Far down beneath the dais were two motionless bodies. One was that of Captain Brady, of course. But the other—

  Tony broke into a run. Yet he retained caution enough to move as silently as possible, though he could hardly repress a shouted question. Had the Atlanteans found the intruders in Alu? Was the body that of Desquer, or—Jimmy?

  It was neither! Tony stumbled over a carbon-gun, snatched it up in one motion, and simultaneously saw that beside the figure of Brady lay Phil, unconscious and bloodstained, red fluid seeping from a gaping hole in his chest. But Tony could spare only one glance at his brother. Beside him, between the pillars that towered to the roof, two men were locked in conflict—Jimmy and Commander Desquer!

  JIMMY was getting the worst of it.

  He was weaponless and trying to hold on to the hand in which Desquer held his gun. The commander was slowly breaking his opponents grip. No expression showed in the Legion officer’s face, but his eyes were black and deadly as wet velvet. Jimmy was gasping and bleeding from a cut over one eye, almost exhausted.

  Tony said, his voice like a whiplash, “Drop that gun, Desquer!”

  The commander’s reaction was unexpected. All in one swift motion he released Jimmy and flung himself back. Hidden in the shadow of the pillars, he fired at Tony.

  The shot missed. Tony lifted his own weapon—the one Jimmy had apparently dropped—but Desquer was fleeing, dodging in and out like a phantom. Why the devil—! Then Tony knew why. Desquer was no award. But, on the other hand, he was no fool. He had run out of ammunition. A cartridge belt on the floor, its buckle torn off, explained the reason. In the fight Desquer had lost the belt.

  He vanished through the door of the temple and was gone. Tony stared at Jimmy. “What the hell?”

  The boy was white and gasping. “Phil got back. He’d seen you in the pyramid—told us where the machine was. But he’d been wounded—”

  “Yeah. Keep talking, kid.” Tony was kneeling beside the unconscious form of Phil, rendering such first aid as he could.

  “Desquer sent me outside to keep guard. I heard Phil yell, and came running in. I was just in time to see Desquer—” The boy swallowed. “He killed Phil, Tony. Shot him through the chest. I tried to stop him—and then you came in.”

  Phil’s eyelashes flickered. Tony gave Jimmy the gun. “Okay. Run along and keep guard again. Watch out for Desquer. If he shows up—”

  “I’ll use the gun.” There was deadly grimness in the young voice. Jimmy’s hand closed over the weapon; he hurried off down the dark aisle.

  Phil was looking up at his brother, a wry grin twisting his lips. “So you got out of the pyramid too, eh? Good.”

  “What happened, boy?” Tony was futilely trying to stanch the flow of blood.

  “Nothing much. Desquer didn’t bandage me up after I got here. He searched me, instead. Found nothing, of course. But—he asked me where the Earth-Star was.”

  There was a little silence. Tony whispered, “How—”

  “I don’t know. Desquer found out something. He’s after the gem. Thought I had it, and when he couldn’t find it on me, he tried to make me talk. His methods weren’t very—nice. That’s when I yelled, I guess. I jumped at Desquer. Found out I wasn’t as badly wounded as I’d thought. He shot me through the chest.”

  Phil coughed. “Might as well stop trying, Tony. I’m the first of us to go. I’ve a hunch there’ll be another. But one of us three ought to pull through.”

  “I’ll get Desquer,” Tony said very softly. His thin, dark face was a grim mask of copper.

  “Thanks. And keep an eye on the kid, will you? I—I—” A gush of blood came from Phil’s mouth. He coughed rackingly. Tony hurriedly ripped off his shirt to improvise an additional bandage.

  But it was useless. Ten minutes later Tony stood silently beside the body of his brother, looking down at the stolid features, relaxed utterly now in death. The shadows of the temple of Osiris pressed in heavily. It was, in a way, fitting that death should have come for Phil in Alu, the asphodel land where Egyptians thought the souls went to roam endlessly.

  Tony turned and walked slowly along the aisle. At the threshold of the temple he turned and looked back. Phil would rest there forever, perhaps—and it was such a sarcophagus as few men have ever possessed.

  “Don’t move,” a low voice commanded. “Not an inch! Careful!”

  But Tony’s reaction was involuntary as he whirled. Almost beside him, but out of easy reach, was Commander Desquer. In his hand was a carbon-gun, and another was in his holster. The man’s glittering eyes watched Tony icily from under the shaggy penthouse brows.

  “Careful!” Desquer repeated. “Your brother wasn’t.”

  “Where is he?”

  “There . . . He isn’t hurt. He’ll wake up in a few minutes. Just stunned. My gun wasn’t loaded, but his was. So—”

  Desquer grinned and passed his palm over his shaved scalp. “Revive him. Quick!” he barked as Tony hesitated.

  THE latter silently went to where Jimmy lay huddled against the wall of the temple. He knelt beside the boy and began to slap his cheeks. He glanced up once to see the Commander watching him narrowly.

  Desquer said, “Where’s the Earth-Star? You got it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony grunted.

  “No? Then let me explain. That televisor call that took me to the surface—it was from a man named Zadah, the secretary of a certain Rajah. He told me all about you. Offered me a fortune if I got the jewel back for him. Well—I intend to. I’m sick of the Legion, and this is my chance to buy my way out and live like a prince. So—where’s the stone?”

  Tony told him, but his remark was unprintable. Desquer’s thick lips twisted in a sneer.

  “Very well. But I’ll get it, remember that.”

  “A lot of good it’ll do you now.”

  “I’ll get out of here. But first we’re going to destroy that machine of Thotmes. Your brother’s waking up. Bring him along. We’re heading for the pyram
id.”

  Grimly Tony hoisted the half-unconscious Jimmy to his feet and supported him. “We’re unarmed. There are scores of priests—”

  “You’re going to stay unarmed,” Desquer snapped. “I can handle a gun better than any three men. Allons!”

  Tony grunted and started out, carrying most of Jimmy’s weight on his shoulders as the boy slowly recovered from the blow that had stunned him. His lips were a tight, pale line. Both he and Jimmy were completely in Desquer’s power, and the man was so completely an egotist that he had not hesitated to carry out his own plans even in the face of a doom that threatened the entire Earth. Ruthless Desquer was—but of his icy courage there could be no doubt. Nor of his greed! Tony sensed something of the driving power within the man, the desolate years of loneliness in Sub-Sahara, a prison worse for Desquer, perhaps, than for any other man there.

  They moved toward the pyramid, keeping to the shadows. Tony and Jimmy preceded their captor, conscious always of the gun leveled unerringly at their backs. There was neither sign nor movement to indicate the presence of the Atlanteans.

  “How do you expect to get to the machine?” Tony asked finally. “It’s guarded.”

  “I can outshoot a dozen Copts,” Desquer said confidently. “We’re going straight in. We’ll find a guide—make him guide us. If anyone gets in our way, he’ll regret it. We’re going in, smash the machine, and come out again. And then—I’ll find out which of you has the Earth Star.”

  Tony didn’t reply. He went on, his mind desperately searching for a plan. But it seemed hopeless. There was no way out.

  Finally only a broad plaza separated them from the pyramid. At its edge the trio paused. Desquer said, “We’ll skirt around to that building—see it? It juts into the open space . . . I don’t see any guards, but there may be some.”

  The three were standing in the shadow at the corner of a tall stone obelisk. And without warning a score of figures dropped down upon them, in utter silence—and with murderous fury.

  Desquer’s guns were in his hands. The snarling crackle of the carbon-pistols rapped out, awakening echoes in the dead city. Tony could not see the commander; he was borne down under a press of bodies, struggling furiously. Beside him he heard Jimmy cursing and striking out weakly. The Atlantean priests were not using their ray-projectors, perhaps because they depended on weight of numbers. That was their mistake!

  IT WAS Desquer’s fearless savagery turned the tide of battle. His guns bellowed without ceasing. Thrice he went down, rising at last a gargoylish, hideous figure, dripping with blood from a dozen sounds, his bare scalp shining blackly in the red light. One by one and two by two he killed, mercilessly, viciously, finally clubbing his pistol to dispose of the last of the priests, who was atop Tony.

  “Can’t waste ammunition,” he growled. “Get up! Both of you! Hurry!”

  Tony stood up, Jimmy beside him. A few of the priests had escaped, he saw, and were even now fleeing toward the temple. Desquer raised his gun, hesitated, and lowered it.

  “Come on!”

  Tony stared. Scores—no, more than a hundred priests were pouring from the pyramid, forming a phalanx massing itself to guard the threshold. In the lead stood Thotmes, his spade beard making him easily recognizable. The fleeing priests joined their companions, and the little army stood in silence.

  “Not using their ray-projectors,” Tony said. “Guess they’re good only at short range.”

  Desquer snarled, “Come on!” His guns snouted forward, urging his captives on. Slowly they moved across the plaza.

  The commander fired. A priest fell, screaming. The ranks closed in, biding him from view.

  Again and again Desquer fired. His gun clicked on an empty chamber; he emptied the other one. Then he reached for his belt—and Tony heard him curse.

  “Dieu! Those damned Copts! The priests—they got my ammunition belt in the fight!”

  Tony stopped, turned. Desquer was standing straddle-legged, the carbon-pistols, futile without coal, pointing at the priests. His face was set into rock-hard lines.

  Thotmes shouted something and lifted the missing ammunition belt in one hand. He raised it tauntingly.

  “Got any coal?” Desquer rasped. The other two men shook their heads.

  The priests began to move forward.

  Tony said, “You can’t destroy the machine now, Desquer. You’ve doomed the world—and yourself.”

  Desquer’s knuckles were white; he stood as though carven from granite. His jet eyes squinted at the oncoming mob.

  Jimmy started to laugh. “How do you like it, Desquer?” he mocked. “You’re not the commander now. You’re just a guy with an empty gun. And—you’re going to die, Desquer. You’re going to die!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  The New Atlantis

  THE tension grew unendurable. The priests were advancing slowly, as though assured that their quarry could not escape. In the lead Thotmes was smiling and stroking his beard with one hand.

  “Surrender,” he called out. “No harm will come to you—for a while. Not till we need new beast-gods!”

  Desquer’s face went a mottled red. But still there was no fear in the man. He faced the throng, still holding his guns—and suddenly sheathed one and began to search his pockets. His low voice rapped out.

  “Quick, you fools! See if there’s anything on you we can use for ammunition. It doesn’t have to be coal—carbon will do.”

  Tony shot one hurried glance at the mob of priests. Desquer gave a little cry of triumph and brought out a single coal-cartridge from his tunic pocket. “Good! Only one, but—” He slipped it into the gun’s firing cup.

  There was a queer look, almost of amusement, on Tony’s dark face. He gripped Jimmy’s arm and whispered, “Wait!”

  Desquer stepped forward. He raised his gun and called, “Halt!”

  A flashing smile came from Thotmes. The high priest did not reply. He kept on . . .

  And Desquer fired.

  Thotmes seemed surprised. He paused, lifting his hands to a chest that was a gory mass of red ruin. He stared at his bloodstained fingers.

  From the priests went up a whisper of terror—as Thotmes fell! The high priest of Alu was dead!

  Desquer did not pause. He took one step forward, and another, as though expecting his enemies to give back. But they did not.

  They massed together grimly—and advanced.

  This time the commander paused, his thick lips twisting. His hand dived into his tunic pocket in a futile gesture. But there was no more ammunition.

  Tony was smiling. He touched Desquer’s arm.

  “I’ve a bullet for you, commander.”

  “Eh?” The glittering eyes widened. “Where—”

  Desquer’s gaze focused on what Tony held in his palm. Lens-shaped and lovely the great gem lay there, flashing in the red light of Alu. Like a diamond it was—but it was not a diamond.

  Jimmy said breathlessly, “Tony I You—”

  “The Earth Star!” There was sweat on Desquer’s face.

  “Go on,” Tony whispered. “Take it, commander! It’s carbon. You can use it as a bullet. A coal-cartridge will kill a man. This jewel’s much harder than stone. There’s no limit to the power of a carbon gun. You can bring down the pyramid with this—commander!”

  Desquer still did not move, and Tony deftly slipped the jewel into the gun’s cup. It rested there in its strange setting, beautiful beyond imagination, holding within its fiery heart fortunes and grandeur and death. A jewel—but it was carbon, too. And Desquer’s eyes did not move from the great gem.

  “Shoot,” Tony said. “If you do, you lose the Earth Star. If you don’t—it means death.”

  The commander’s face was shining with sweat. He glanced up once to the mob of priests, very close now. His gross frame shook with the agony of indecision. To possess the Earth Star—and to know that its possession meant certain doom! He had only to squeeze the trigger, and his enemies would be blasted out of existence. But if
he did that—

  He would lose the Earth Star!

  He snarled at Tony, “So you were the one! The Merlin—”

  “Fire!”

  Almost involuntarily Desquer brought up the gun and aimed it. He was whispering curses under his breath, putting off until the last moment the decision that must be made sooner or later. And he dared not wait too long. The priests came closer.

  The flickering red glow made Desquer’s features scarlet and black; his eyes burned balefully, tortured and terrible. He said, “Damn you! I—I’ll—”

  His finger tightened on the trigger. And—stopped.

  For the priests had paused. They were staring at the Earth Star. They, too, were frozen motionless.

  One cried, “The jewel! The jewel!”

  The tableau held. Abruptly the priests gave back, hesitating. Tony heard Jimmy’s gasp. He, too, was wondering what this meant.

  HE WAS never to know. Perhaps, in long-forgotten ages, another Earth Star had been dug out from beneath the Atlantic, to form part of the religion of Atlantis. Tony could not know. But he realized that the priests recognized the jewel, or thought they did. They bowed before it!

  Instantly Desquer realized his opportunity. He said quietly, “Come on. We’re going into the pyramid—and smash the machine.”

  Tony said, “You’re crazy. The priests won’t stand for that!”

  Desquer grinned unpleasantly. Without warning the other gun was in his hand; he clubbed it and swung. Tony felt a crashing blow on his head as he ducked. Gasping with pain, he reeled in and closed with the giant commander.

  Jimmy had hold of Desquer’s arm but with one sweeping motion the officer sent the boy sprawling. Desquer and Tony went down with a crash on the stones. Soft cries came from the priests. They began to move forward again, their superstitious terror gone.

  Desquer’s stubby fingers were sunk into Tony’s throat; he squeezed viciously, his tiny eyes glinting. Though he lay undermost, he was getting the better of the battle. Tony pumped blow after blow at the commander’s face, but apparently without effect. He felt Jimmy at his side, saw the boy try to tear the iron fingers from his brother’s neck.