Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “Nethe!” he said. “Nethe!” and the walls gave back the echoes until the whole tunnel was calling with him.

  “Watch!” the girl whispered. “There to the left—see?”

  It looked like a reflection upon the rock itself, except that the flash-beam did not touch it and there was nothing here to cast reflections. It looked like a tall woman, incredibly tall, incredibly slender, bending toward the half-seen Alper with an inhuman grace and flexibility. Now water dripped and tinkled, or—no, this was the laughter of a woman, pure silver, cold, inhuman as her motion.

  A voice spoke, not Alper’s. It was a voice like strong music. English was the language it used, but an English accented strangely—in the same way as Klai’s, Sawyer realized suddenly. He slanted a glance at her, but she was watching the screen intently, her lips parted and her pretty teeth showing.

  The voice was indistinct throughout the brief exchange of talk in the film. Echoes blurred it, laughter blurred it, and the woman seemed a shadow indeed, for she appeared to flicker now and then and her voice flickered with her.

  Alper spoke. He sounded out of breath, and a desperate urgency was in his heavy voice.

  “Nethe,” he said. “Are you there?” Laughter, like music, clear and rippling.

  “Nethe, you’re late! You’re three days late. I’m running low. How long do you think I can last, without energy?”

  The sweet, strong voice with music running through it said carelessly, “Who cares how long you last, old man? Have you killed the girl for me?”

  “I can’t kill the girl,” Alper’s voice said angrily. The flash-beam danced across the rocks as he moved. “You don’t understand. If I do it, I’ll get into trouble, and who’ll get the ore for you then? I might even lose the mine if she died. I’ve got a better way. I’m working on it. Any day now—”

  “Who cares if a Khom dies?” the musical voice asked. “She’s only a Khom. Worthless. Like you, old man. Why do I waste my time on you?”

  “I tell you, I have a way! Give me a week. Give me energy to last and I’ll have control of the mine. I’ll close it, I promise I will! I’ll find some way to close it down tight and hand it over to you. Only give me energy, Nethe! I tell you, I’m almost—”

  “No,” the voice of the shadow said. “No more. I’m tired of you, old Khom. I’ll finish off the girl myself.”

  ALPER lurched forward, obscuring the camera with his broad, hunched back. His cane scraped on the floor, his feet stumbled. Fierce despair was in his voice.

  “I must have more energy!” he cried. The walls took up his words and the pitchblende itself seemed to be crying, “Energy! Energy!” out of the rock as if the mine were boasting of the potent power locked up there for the taking. “I must have more! Nethe!”

  “No more,” the shadow said carelessly. “Until you kill the girl.”

  “If you understood!” Alper said in a savage voice. “If you ever came up to the surface, you’d see what I mean. Who are you, Nethe? What are you?”

  The cool, sweet, resonant laughter echoed among the rocks.

  “Ask who I will be, three days from now,” the shadow said. “Goddess! Goddess of—Oh, go back to your hovel, old man, and do what you please. But you get no more energy until you clear out the mine for me and kill the girl.”

  “No,” Alper shouted. “Nethe, I’ve got to get more! I can’t do anything without it! Nethe!”

  The tall shadow bent toward him, inhumanly graceful, featureless in the gloom, laughing with a sound like water falling over rocks.

  “Goodbye, old man,” it said. “You’ll get no more from me.”

  Alper stumbled forward toward the corner where the shadow flickered and faded. His desperate cry echoed down the endlessly repeating tunnel. His flash swept to and fro over the empty corner where a moment before the shadow of a woman had stood.

  Then the film ran out. The picture died and a square of blank white shimmered on the wall.

  Sawyer shook himself a little. For those brief few moments he had been standing in the tunnel, hearing the rocks drip and the pumps pound. The illusion had been so compelling that he was almost startled to realize that the hotel room still closed him in and that the girl called Klai was watching him with anxious blue eyes.

  “Well?” she said impatiently. “What do you make of it?”

  Sawyer gave her one of his alert, quick looks. Then he walked across to the window and gazed out upon the noonday bustle of Fortuna in the dark. He got out a cigarette, lit it, blew smoke at the glass.

  “I’ll tell you what I make of it. Not what you expect. I don’t think some mysterious creature from beyond the veil has persuaded Alper to sell his soul. The film’s very interesting, yes. The Commissioner will be fascinated by it. Faked or not, and you could have been deceived, Miss Ford, it’s still very illuminating.”

  “I couldn’t have been deceived,” the girl said hotly. “I tell you, the film was never out of my hands. But—never mind that. Who is this Nethe? What do you think?”

  “I think somebody’s going to great pains to get control of the mine,” Sawyer said. “That’s obvious. There are countries that could use more uranium ore than they’ve got. This seems like a very ingenious little scheme to take advantage of an old man’s obsession. It’s high time we put a stop to it. Do you understand what Alper kept saying about energy?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “I don’t understand anything. But I seem to remember—it’s like a shutter opening and closing so fast all I get is a glimpse before the memory blacks out.

  But Nethe—” She shivered. “Nethe frightens me.”

  “This is the only thing you’ve filmed to date that shows any clear pictures?” Sawyer asked. “I’d like to get back to Toronto with whatever you have. I do believe you’re in danger. So is the mine. I want to start wheels turning to protect you. There seem to be all sorts of interesting possibilities.”

  “I’ve still got some film running off, down below,” the girl told him. “Shall I get it?”

  “I’d like to see what you have, but—isn’t Level Eight a pretty dangerous place?”

  “I never go alone,” she said, turning to reach for her furs. Sawyer helped her into them dubiously.

  “I’d better come along,” he said. “I’d like to take a look at—”

  The door jarred under the impact of a violent blow. Simultaneously a thick voice from outside called, “Open the door!”

  II

  SAWYER moved with silent smoothness toward the projector. With a few deft motions he freed the little spool of film, slipped it into its case, and dropped the case itself in his pocket.

  “It’s Alper!” Klai said, darting panicky blue glances about the room. “He mustn’t find me here! He mustn’t know!” Sawyer said, “Calm down,” and took out his key-ring. “I have a passkey here. I never like to get locked into rooms with only one exit. That door over there gives into the next bedroom. I’ll let you out. Wait for me. I don’t want you to go down into the mine alone. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, huddling her fur hood about her face. “Do hurry!” Another tremendous thump upon the outer door made the windows rattle behind them.

  “Sawyer!” the deep, thick voice from outside called imperiously. “Are you there?”

  “Coming,” Sawyer answered in a patient voice. In a whisper he added, “Out with you, now. And remember what I said.”

  He locked the door behind her scared departure, smiling at the desperate scuttle with which she crossed the next room toward the exit. Then he went back leisurely and opened the door upon which a third great thump was still resounding.

  “Come in, Alper,” he said, mildly, politely, but his face tight with alert expectancy.

  The man on the threshold filled the doorway from side to side. For a moment he stood there, leaning on his cane, peering up under his eyebrows. He was a troll, Sawyer thought. A thick, squat figure of an old giant who had bowed beneath his years until he
could no longer move without his cane. The massive face sagged in deep pleats and folds. Two cold, small grey eyes looked up with singular dispassion at Sawyer under thick lids and thicker brows. A voice like a muffled organ said, “Do you remember me, Mr. Sawyer?”

  He did not wait for an answer. He stumped forward and Sawyer fell back involuntarily. The man was so massive he seemed to push and compress the very air before him when he moved. The small eyes flickered once at the wall where the reversed picture hung.

  “Get me a chair, Mr. Sawyer,” Alper said, leaning on his cane. “It isn’t easy for me to move around very freely. I’m an old man, Mr. Sawyer. Thank you.” Heavily he lowered himself, leaned the cane against his knee. “I see you’ve been enjoying a very interesting film,” he said, and watched Sawyer without emotion.

  Sawyer said only, “Oh?”

  “I watched too,” Alper told him heavily. “Does that surprise you? This hotel was built in the old days when uranium was top-secret material. Sam Ford and I eavesdropped on many an important conference in this very room. Nothing, perhaps, quite as important as what’s happening now.” He blew out his breath and fixed Sawyer with a compelling gaze.

  “I am here, Mr. Sawyer, to make you an offer.”

  Sawyer laughed gently.

  “I was afraid you’d take that attitude,” Alper said. “Let me go into the case more fully. I’m prepared to offer you—”

  HE SPOKE in detail for perhaps sixty seconds. At the end of it, Sawyer laughed again, very politely, shook his head and then waited, looking alert. Alper sighed his ponderous sigh.

  “Young men are such fools,” he said. “You can afford idealism now, maybe. When you get to my age, things look different.” He seemed for some moments to consider a private matter. Finally he shook his heavy head. “Don’t like to do it,” he murmured. “Still—” He reached into the pocket of his rumpled coat and held something out on a large, unsteady palm. “Take it,” he said. “Study it. What do you make of it?” Sawyer rather gingerly accepted between thumb and forefinger a small, metallic, faceted disc about the size of an aspirin tablet. It was curved slightly on the underside. He looked up inquiringly.

  “A little something of my own,” Alper said complacently. “A transceiver, actually. It transmits sound and it receives sound. But a very specialized sort of sound. I don’t know how familiar you may be with communication machines. One of the vital factors in any such device is the intensity of the internal noise of the receiving system. For instance, there is a constant sound and motion inside the human skull—the human body is such a communication machine. The heartbeat reverberates in it. The frictional whispering of blood moves through the arteries of the brain. The sound of breathing is loud in the passages of your head. Normally you are oblivious to these sounds. But they could be amplified.”

  Alper leaned back and smiled. There was, Sawyer thought, distaste and dislike in the smile. Perhaps an old man’s jealous dislike of a young one.

  “This device is such an amplifier,” he said.

  The thing vibrated slightly in Sawyer’s hand, was still, vibrated again. Sawyer glanced at Alper’s hand, which had gone back into his pocket.

  “You’re making it vibrate?” he asked. The old man nodded.

  “And why,” Sawyer asked politely, “are you showing this to me?”

  “Frankly—” Alper said, and suddenly snorted with laughter. “Frankly, I may as well confess the truth. I made it for the head of Klai Ford. I am somewhat distressed to realize that you saw the humiliating part I played in that film. You saw me begging for something I most urgently need. You saw it—refused. Very well. You also heard my statement that I had a method to bring Klai to heel. That wasn’t idle boasting, Mr. Sawyer. This transceiver is the method.”

  Sawyer looked at him, puzzled and wary.

  “I can trust you,” Alper said sardonically. “More than you know. The one thing I won’t risk is endangering my bargain with my—with the person I spoke to in the mine.”

  “Has she really got you convinced,” Sawyer asked him, “that she’s tapped the fountain of youth?”

  “You fool!” Alper said with sudden violence. “What do you know about youth? Do you think I could be fooled by mumbo-jumbo? Where do you think the energy comes from that you young men squander? From the sun, through photosynthesis, turning into a form your body can accept as fuel! Some radiations you can get directly from the sun. And electric energy can be conducted from one person to another. You’ll believe me—later.

  “This is something a young man couldn’t comprehend—Mephistopheles didn’t bargain for Faust’s soul. I know. It was Faust who had to convince the devil his soul was worth buying, in a buyer’s market. And I had to convince Nethe I could be useful to her. I know what she demands in return for the energy I need. Klai’s life depends on me, whether I can remove her as an obstacle so Nethe won’t need to eliminate her. And I don’t want Klai killed. The investigation afterward might be—awkward.

  “So I made this transceiver. I worked it out myself, in private. I meant it for Klai, but I see now that you could be even more of a nuisance than the girl. I came here today prepared for trouble.” He laughed. “Here we go!” he said.

  ALPER was a ponderous man. He was also an old and a feeble man. What he did just now was therefore clearly impossible. He stood up straight. He pushed the cane violently away, so that it clattered to the floor beside his suddenly and strongly upright figure. The troll was still ponderous, but he was no longer stooped and feeble. A sort of impossible power flickered through him like a visible current. It was not youth, or muscular strength. It was something less natural, less explicable than suddenly restored physical power.

  Sawyer heard the cane clatter without realizing what had happened. He was a young and active man, but he was no match for this unnaturally violent old one. Alper’s leap across the space that parted them was exactly the leap of an electric current between high-voltage terminals, not a physical body’s motion propelled by muscular action. Muscular action seemed to have nothing to do with it. Alper’s heavy bulk moved on some other propulsive force than muscle and bone.

  The cane clattered. In the same-instant the tremendous weight of that heavy old body hurtled against Sawyer’s chest, drove him six feet backward and flattened him hard against the wall. A ponderous forearm jammed against his throat all but throttled him. The room swam blackly before him. Dimly he was aware that at the very crown of his skull some curious sudden pressure took place.

  And then it was all over.

  The pressure released him before he could gather himself to fight Alper off. When the first clatter of the cane had warned him, Sawyer’s brain had sent a message to his body and his muscles flexed to respond. Alper’s incredibly quick action took place in the split second needed for an active young man’s reflexes to answer a summons to action. Sawyer thrust violently against the old man’s bulk in the same instant that all power failed Alper.

  It had been rapid. It was soon ended. But it had been enough.

  Alper collapsed before Sawyer’s thrust, helpless as a sack of flour. He fell heavily to the carpet, the floor shaking to the impact of his weight. He caught himself on one arm, wheezed noisily, and looked up under his thick, folded lids at Sawyer with a sly triumph on his empurpled face.

  “Hand me my cane,” he said.

  Sawyer was massaging his throat with one hand and cautiously touching the crown of his head with the other. He paid no attention. Once the menace of Alper’s weight was removed, he had a more immediate problem to solve. That strange, light, tingling area at the top of his skull . . .

  “Hand me my cane,” Alper said again. “Sawyer! You may as well learn now to jump when I speak. You’ll get used to it. Now!”

  When he said now, thunder suddenly cracked Sawyer’s skull wide open.

  The shaft of it seemed to strike downward straight through his skull and into the middle of his brain. Through a haze of forked lightnings he saw Alper’s grimly smi
ling face watching him. He clapped both hands to his head to keep the separating halves of his skull from falling entirely apart. While the thunder still crashed in his head he could do nothing at all but stand rigid, enduring it, holding his temples with both hands.

  But it died at last. And then Sawyer whirled on the man at his feet, murderous anger flooding through his mind in the wake of the receding thunder.

  “Careful!” Alper said in his thick voice. “Careful! Do you want it again? Now hand me my cane.”

  Sawyer drew a long, uneven breath. “No,” he said.

  Alper sighed. “You’re a useful man,” he said. “I could kill you very easily. I could shake your brain to such a jelly you’d obey me, but if I did that, you’d be no use. To me or anyone. Be reasonable, Sawyer. I’ve got you. Why not cooperate. Would you rather die?”

  “I’d rather kill you,” Sawyer said, still pressing his head with both hands, and between them looking down with a grim defiance that matched the old troll’s grim resolution. “I will, when I can.”

  “Ah, but you can’t,” Alper told him. “Shall I prove it again? Shall I prove you can’t touch me fast enough to stop the—the lightning? You’re behaving very stupidly, Sawyer. I want to talk to you, but I can’t do it from the floor and I can’t get up alone. I want my cane. I’ll count three, Sawyer. If you haven’t handed me my cane by then, you know what to expect. You’ll have to learn the lesson, my boy.”

  Sawyer set his teeth. “No,” he said, and braced himself for the instant thunder. He was not rational at this moment. His mind had been shaken clear down to bedrock by the inexplicable torment of the thunder, but the stubborn determination of the animal ruled him now—not to yield, though it killed him. He only knew that if he surrendered now he would be Alper’s man forever, and no thunder, no pain, no cracking of the fibers of the mind could force him to that extremity.

  “No,” he said to Alper, and set himself for whatever might come.

  “One,” Alper said relentlessly.

  “No.”