Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “Yes. You had to know that anyhow. It was why I asked about duplicating the Power cube.”

  “He wants to take it away with him, Llesi,” Orelle said and for the first time Miller realized that Orelle had been in even closer communion with his mind than Llesi himself, who dwelt in its very center. For Llesi had not seen the depths of it—he did not know what Orelle knew now.

  “To take It away?” Llesi demanded, incredulity in his thought. “But—”

  “Yes,” Orelle said quickly. “We could arrange for that, Llesi. If this plan works well owe him more reward than that.”

  “But Orelle,” Llesi persisted, “doesn’t he understand? Doesn’t he know that—”

  The thought ceased abruptly, and Miller had the queasy feeling that the two were communicating on some higher plane of silence where he could not follow them. He was suddenly uneasy. There was something here he didn’t understand. The two of them knew something—about himself?—that he had not yet know, something that affected his future intimately.

  “What is it?” he demanded. “If I help you. I’ve a right to know.”

  Orelle turned to him, her dark eyes gentle now, the hatred and mistrust gone out of them. “There isn’t time,” she said. “Listen.”

  Far off, but audible through the opaque walls, the tinkle of faffing glass came clearly to them.

  “Us the machine,” Llesi said. “We haven’t time to waste now. If we follow your plan we mustn’t let it win too easily or Brann will suspect. Do you have any ideas of what to do after we enter Brann’s castle?”

  “Not yet,” Miller said almost absently. He was thinking hard about tile strange little passage just ended. Until this moment he had not dared offer to open his whole mind for their inspection, because he had had nothing to bargain with. Inevitably Orelle would have seen that he wanted the Power and he had nothing to offer in return—until now.

  Well, it was a success in one way, but in another—failure? He couldn’t be sure. Oddly the balance had shifted and it was he who mistrusted his companions and they who believed at last that he could be depended on. Certainly they were hiding something vital from him.

  “Not yet,” he said again, forcing his mind to take up the immediate problem as the jangle of another falling barrier came more loudly through the walls. “I only know it’s easier to work on inspiration when you’re on the offensive—and once in Brann’s castle, we’ll need inspiration!

  “Brann’s—unbalanced. We know that. Push him farther off balance by attacking and maybe we’ll have an advantage. You know, there must be something important he’s hiding or he wouldn’t operate from the dark as he does. If we can see him face to face—well, who knows?”

  “When you say ‘we’,” Orelle interrupted, “Whom do you mean?”

  “Myself. Llesi and me.”

  “And Orelle,” the girl said quietly.

  “Of course not! It’s going to be dangerous. Besides—

  “No more dangerous to go than to wait for Brann’s vengeance if you fail. Tsi is my sister. I think I can control her and that should be a weapon you may need. You can’t take more than one or two with you if you hope to get in secretly so an army would do no good. But one companion—I think I could be useful to you, Miller.”

  “Llesi,” Miller said to the voice in his brain, “what do you think?”

  There was silence for a moment. “Let her come,” Llesi said. “What she says about Tsi is true enough. We may need her.”

  In the quiet a musical ringing of more breaking glass sounded clearer than before.

  “It’s coming,” Llesi said. “Now we have work to do. Are you ready, Miller? Take down that lens mounted on the tesseract and do as I tell you. We mustn’t let the machine win without a struggle . . .

  CHAPTER VII

  Battle of the Titans

  IN THE light of earliest dawn they could see it rolling toward them far off across the plain. Crouching under the loom of Brann’s castle walls. Miller and Orelle waited almost in silence. It had seemed wisest to hurry ahead by teleportation and take shelter while Brann was presumably occupying all his powers with the direction of his mechanical warrior as it broke down the walls of the Power chamber and seized at last the thing he had sought so long.

  Now the two watchers—three, for Llesi waited in Miller’s brain—saw the lazily turning halo of pointed lights which was the Power glowing through the cloudiness of the machine that carried it. Faintly the soundless music of its turning floated to their ears.

  “We’ll have no time to waste.” Llesi warned them. “Brann’s wanted the Power for a purpose, you know. Once he learns how to use it there’ll be no hope of controlling him. Whatever we do we must do fast.”

  “Can he learn quickly how to operate it?” Miller asked.

  “You’re thinking of yourself.” Llesi sounded amused “Yes, it can be mastered without too much difficulty. But don’t think about it now. Miller. You have our promise. Be content with that.”

  Miller stirred restlessly. “You’re hiding something. I’ve opened my mind to you. Orelle. If I deserve any reward for what I’m helping you do I deserve the truth from you. What is it?”

  Orelle shook her head. “Don’t ask us now. I’ll tell you if we come out of this alive. But it will only distract you now. I promise you it’s nothing that will affect our plans to conquer Brann. You need all your thoughts to do that. Afterward there’ll be time to talk of other things. Look—it’s nearly here I wonder where Brann means to let it into the castle.”

  The music of the turning stars was clearer now. Miller could feel remotely that extraordinary attraction-repulsion action which the Power constantly exerted—it was so near to them as they crouched in hiding. The machine rolled its cloudy bulk past them, almost brushing their faces with the periphery of its mist, and moved up over the jumble of rocks that bordered Brann’s castle.

  It pressed close against the surface of the wall. Light glowing down from that extraordinary barrier which ran like water and shone like fire cast colored shadows upon the mist, so that it was like a cumulus of sunset-lighted cloud as it flattened itself against the wall.

  Miller could see Orelle’s anxious face lighted with strange hues from the water-wall as she watched. Me held his breath.

  Within the sunset cloud patterns of latticed diamond moved and shifted. The wall surface dimmed as if a breath had blown upon it. Darkness grew where the dimness was—and suddenly a door had opened in the streaming water-light of the barrier.

  “Now!” Llesi breathed. “Now—follow it in!” She rushed forward.

  There was one breathless, heart-stopping moment when the rocks turned beneath their feel and Orelle. stumbling, nearly fell. The darkness of the opened door was already beginning to mist over with solidity when they reached it.

  “Dangerous.” Llesi’s thought flashed through Miller’s brain, lightning-like, far faster than it takes to express in words. “If we miss the turn of the wall-substance we’ll be caught in the solid mass Hurry! Never mind making a noise. Hurry!”

  It was like pushing through a thin jelly of darkness that gave way readily enough but thickened perceptibly even as they moved. “Don’t breathe!” Llesi warned them. “Hold your breath if you can—I think you’ll be through in a moment.”

  The substance of the wall was a stiff, scarcely yielding stuff by the time they pushed free into clear air They had made it with nothing to spare Orelle reached back to touch the surface with a wondering hand as soon as she caught her breath, and the way they had come was already a solid resilient surface that lost its resilience as she pressed it and became hard unyielding wall again.

  They stood in a steeply sloping corridor that echoed with the thin voiceless music of the Power. Ahead of them the slowly spinning stars were visible through cloudy grey moving rapidly up the ramp away from them.

  Silently they followed.

  They were far down under the main floor! of the castle. On their left, as they climbed the steep ram
p, the wall of flowing light moved ceaselessly, tracing their shadows in the inner wall of the corridor.

  “Somewhere there must be guards,” Orelle said.

  “I’d feel better if we’d seen some before now,” Llesi told them uneasily. “I have a feeling Brann may be more omniscient than we know.”

  The ramp came to a steep end and turned back upon itself in a second long zig-zag rise. They toiled up in the wake of the cloudy robot that carried the Power. Still no guards.

  The ramp zig-zagged twice more and then there was a great open area, like a spacious chimney, rising overhead. The ramp had ended. Lightly, like the cloud it was, the robot left the ground. Teleportation carried it out of sight with startling swiftness. From high above the sound of voices drifted down the well, laughter, music.

  Without a word Orelle put out her aim and clasped Miller’s hand. A moment later the ground no longer pressed his feet. The light-wall slid down past them like a Niagara of colored water.

  THE hall in which Brann held court was a vast domed circle. In the center of it rose a dais—and over the dais a curtain of darkness hung in straight columnar folds from the great height of the ceiling, veiling the platform. On its steps a woman was sitting, a stringed instrument on her knee. Rainbow hair swung forward about her shoulders as she bent her head and swept a hand across the strings. Wild, high music rang through the room.

  Someone called, “Brann! Where is Brann?” and the woman looked up, smiling. It was Tsi.

  “He’ll be here. He’s coming. He expects guests,” she said and looked straight across the room toward the far wall where, in an alcove, the robot stood motionless, enshrouding the Power in a misty cloud.

  Behind the robot huddled against the alcove wall. Miller felt Orelle’s fingers tighten upon his. So long as the robot stood quiet, they were hidden behind its foggy outlines. When it moved—

  “She means us.” Orelle whispered. “I know Tsi. What shall we do?”

  “Wait,” Llesi counseled. “Listen.”

  In the great room beyond, where Brann’s court of brilliantly robed men and women lounged on divans that seemed cushioned with substance as immaterial as mist, a discontented cry was beginning to rise. Many mental voices blended in the clamor now.

  “Brann! Call him up, Tsi. call him up! Tell him the robot’s here. We want Brann again!”

  Tsi swept the strings musically. “He’s still asleep, down below.” she said. “I’m not sure if I dare wake him yet. Shall I try?”

  “Go down and call him,” someone urged, petulance in the voice that spoke. “We’ve waited too long already. Call him. Tsi!”

  Tsi smiled. “His visitors must be here by now,” she said maliciously. “Yes, I’ll go down and waken Brann.” She laid the harp on the steps and rose.

  At the same moment Miller felt a surge of force suddenly burst into blinding violence in the center of his brain. For an instant he was stunned by the power that seemed to pour tangibly forth from him and through him . . .

  The robot that had screened them from view rose from the floor, lightly as a cloud, drifted forward over the heads of the gaping audience and turned suddenly incandescent just above the dais where Tsi stood.

  Miller knew it was Llesi’s doing, even before the quiet voice in his brain said. “This is the best way, after all. Attack. You were right, Miller. Now watch.”

  The robot was pure flame now. With a detached part of his mind Miller understood that it must have been deactivated once its mission was completed, so that any mind which teleported it now could do with it as it would. Llesi chose to destroy it in as spectacular a manner as he could contrive.

  Out of the blinding cloud of its dissolution the cube of the Power fell, Ute singing halo in it turning with slow, indifferent steadiness. The transparent block struck the steps a yard from where Tsi stood. It struck—and crashed through, splitting the white marble from top to floor. Tsi staggered.

  The crash rang from the high vaults above, rebounding from arch to arch in distant, diminishing echoes that came slowly back to the watcher below, long after the dais had ceased to vibrate.

  Tsi recovered her balance, turned on the shattered steps, looked straight across the hall to the alcove where Miller and Orelle stood.

  She was shaken but she had not lost her poise.

  “Sister!” she said, “Welcome to Brann’s castle. Shall I call him to greet you?”

  From Orelle a strong steady thought went out, compelling and quiet.

  “Tsi, sister, you must do as you think best. Is it best for us that Brann be called?”

  The woman on the dais hesitated. Miller could see that the quiet confidence in Orelle’s mental voice has shaken her a little. He knew now what Orelle had meant when she said she could control Tsi.

  It was a simple matter of sister speaking to sister with the voice of authority, calling back to mind the precepts of conscience and childhood training. Tsi was not, he thought, evil as Brann was evil. She was weak, certainly—and perhaps the weakness would stand them in good stead.

  She said uncertainly, “Orelle, I think perhaps—” But the voices from the audience around her, rising with sudden violence, drowned out whatever it was she meant to say. Miller was reminded of Roman audiences clamoring for blood in the arena.

  “Brann, Brann!” the voices howled. “Waken Brann! Go call him up to meet his guests! Brann. waken from your sleep! Brann, Brann, do you hear us?”

  Tsi hesitated a moment longer. Miller was aware of a desperate stream of thought-waves pouring out from Orelle beside him but the noise of the assembled people was too strong for her. She could not get through to her sister. Tsi turned suddenly, putting both hands to her face, and stumbled up the broken steps toward the dais.

  The long curtains that hung a hundred feet or more from the height of the ceiling trembled down nil their dark length as she put them aside and vanished into the big tent they made, hiding the platform.

  There was a moment’s profound silence.

  Then Miller said quietly to Orelle. “Come on,” and, seizing her hand, strode forward across the floor. He had no idea what he meant to do but if he had come to attack then attack he must—not stand waiting for Brann to make an entrance on his throne.

  HEADS turned avidly to watch their progress across the great room. No one made a move to block their way, but eager eyes watched every motion they made and searched their faces for expression. This was the audience. Miller thought grimly, that would have watched Brann’s terrible “experiments” upon him if he had not escaped from the castle—with Tsi’s help. It was the audience, he realized, that might yet watch, if he failed.

  Llesi was silent in his brain, waiting. They were almost at the steps when the curtains stirred as if a breath of wind had blown through the hall. Tsi’s voice came weakly from the hidden place, “Wait, Brann—you mustn’t—”

  But drowning out the feeble protest another voice sounded dear. Miller, hearing that thin, sweet, sneering pattern which was the mental voice he had heard before, the voice of Brann, felt a chill sliding down his spine and a tightening of all his muscles. It was a hateful, a frightening voice, evoking a picture of a hateful man.

  “Come out, Brann!” Miller said strongly. “Unless you’re afraid of us—come out!” Behind him in the hall two or three intrepid voices echoed the invitation. “Come out. Brann! Let us see you. You aren’t afraid, Brann—come out!” He knew from that how high curiosity must run even in Brann’s stronghold and he realized that not even here, then, had Brann ever yet showed, his face. It made him a little more confident If Brann had so much to hide, then there must be weaknesses behind that curtain upon which he could play.

  He said. “Here’s the Power you wanted, Brann. We broke your platform but here it is waiting. Do you dare come out and look at it?”

  Brann said nothing. But his thin, sardonic laughter rang silently through the hall.

  Miller felt it rasping his nerves like something tangible. He said roughly, “All right
then—I’ll come and bring you out!” And he set his foot firmly on the lowest step.

  A breath of excitement and anticipation ran rippling through the hall. Llesi was still silent. Orelle’s hand in Miller’s squeezed her fingers reassuringly. He mounted the second step, reached out his free hand for the curtain . . .

  There was a deep, wrenching sound of stone against stone, and under his feet the steps lurched sickeningly. And then he was fading.

  The walls spun. The floor tilted up to strike him a solid blow—that did not touch him. For some firm, supporting mind closed its protection around his body and he floated gently a dozen feet and came to solid footing again, dazed but unhurt.

  The marble block of steps lay upturned upon the floor. Teleportation again, he realized. Brann had uprooted the steps he had climbed to prevent him from reaching the curtain. And someone—Llesi or Orelle—had reached out a mental beam to teleport him to safety.

  Brann’s cold clear laughter rang silently through the hall. He had not yet spoken. He did not speak now but his derision was like vitriol to the ears and the mind. Brann was waiting . . . Somehow Miller could sense that, as he waited, an eagerness and impatience went out from him toward that block of transparence on the broken steps, where the halo of the Power revolved on its singing axis.

  Llesi realized it in the same instant and Miller felt in his brain the beginnings of some plan take shape—too late. For now there was a strange heaviness in the very air about him—a familiar heaviness . . . This was the weapon Brann had used on him once before, turning the air itself to a crushing weight that had all but smashed his ribs in upon the laboring lungs.

  He felt his knees buckle under that sudden, overwhelming pressure. The air screamed around him and the vast hanging curtains of the dais billowed with a serpentine motion as displaced air moved with hurricane suddenness through the great room. Miller’s breath was stopped in his chest by that unbearable pressure. His ears sang and the room swam redly before him. Brann’s careless laughter was a distant ripple of sound.