Tales of Time and Space

by Allen Steele

  “For God’s sake, Bill,” Mr. Renwick said once we joined them. “Didn’t we agree to keep our mouths shut about this?”

  He didn’t look directly at me as he said this, but I had no doubt that I was the object of his disapproval. The others glared at me; it was obvious that a lowly manservant was the last person they wanted to have join their party.

  “Relax, Renny.” My employer favored him with an easy-going smile. “Sol has been sworn to secrecy. He has certain expertise in such matters, and I thought it wise to bring him in.”

  I almost laughed out loud when he said this. My formal education had ended with a high school diploma; I was an expert only in how to knot Mr. Russell’s dinner tie. Before I could say anything, though, Mr. Russell put his arm around my shoulder. “Gentlemen,” he said, addressing the group as a whole, “if you haven’t met him before, this is Mr. Solomon Hess. Sol’s presently employed as my valet, yes, but he’s also a writer, and I’ve read enough of his work to know that he’s an astute thinker in subjects of a speculative nature.”

  Which was a roundabout way of saying that I wrote science fiction. Yet it seemed to disarm the men standing before me, because they each stepped forward to shake my hand, albeit reluctantly. I was already familiar with them, of course—Renwick, Sidwell, and Hadley, and also George Collier, Lester Smith, and Byron DuMont—but until then I’d been an invisible man, someone beneath their notice. Yet if Mr. Russell was willing to vouch for me, then they had little choice but to acknowledge my presence.

  “Well then, Sol,” Mr. Hadley said, once the introductions were made, “perhaps you can shed some light on our little mystery.”

  His words were pleasant enough, but he was obviously testing his friend’s claim that I was some sort of great scientific thinker. From the corner of my eye, I could see Mr. Russell watching me expectantly, perhaps hoping that I wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his friends. I don’t know what it is either was the truthful response, but it was also the one that simply wouldn’t do.

  I didn’t respond at once, but instead approached the creature. It lay inert upon the beach, with no visible movement whatsoever, yet as I came closer, I noticed something peculiar. Although seagulls and terns wheeled about it, squawking as they pirouetted overhead, never once did they alight upon its head or back.

  “You found it last night?” I asked.

  “Just as you see it.” Mr. Russell stepped away from his friends to join me. “We thought at first it may have been a meteorite, but when we got close to it…” He grinned. “Well, it’s no meteorite, that much is certain.”

  “And it hasn’t moved since then…um, sir?”

  A couple of smiles from Mr. Collier and Mr. Hadley; they hadn’t missed the deferential way in which I’d addressed Mr. Russell. “No, not at all,” he said. “Don’t worry. It’s quite plainly dead.”

  I looked up at the circling birds. “I don’t think so. If it were, then the gulls would be all over it.”

  No one said anything, but I couldn’t help but notice that a few of the men took a nervous step back. Mr. Hadley remained skeptical. “I don’t care what it looks like,” he said. “It’s not an animal, either dead or alive. See for yourself…place your hand on it.”

  I was reluctant to do so. If this thing had come from outer space, then there was a chance that it might be radioactive. But there was no Geiger counter available, and I was being put on the spot, so I had little choice but to walk up to the creature and gently lay my palm against its side. I was surprised to find not the warm flesh of a mammal, or even the cool skin of a reptile, but instead a cold surface that was flexible yet nonetheless vaguely metallic. And when I peered more closely at the creature, I noticed what appeared to be seams between its shoulder and biceps, and also at its elbow; the same for its lower neck, and also the hinge of its jaw.

  At the time, I hadn’t yet encountered industrial-grade plastics; in hindsight, that may have been what it was made of. The fact that the thing had distinct junctures at its joints hinted that it was not organic in nature. And yet, as my hand lay upon its side, I felt a faint, almost rhythmic vibration from deep within its body, much that which I would expect from a slumbering animal. Despite what Mr. Hadley said, I had the distinct impression that this was a living machine.14

  “Well?” Mr. Russell stood behind me, awaiting my verdict. “What do you think, Sol?”

  I stepped away from the creature. “I’m not sure, but this may be some sort of robot.” Noticing his uncomprehending expression, I tried to explain what I meant. “An automaton, that is…a device deliberately built to resemble a living creature.”

  “Really?” Mr. Hadley remained skeptical. “If so, who the devil would build such a thing? Not only that, but where did it come from?”

  “The Germans, most likely.” This from Mr. Smith, who stood near the creature’s snout, examining its closed eyes. “Probably brought here by submarine, and left to baffle whoever found it.”

  A derisive snort from Mr. DuMont. “Oh, come now, Lester…you think the krauts are behind everything.”

  “I have to agree,” I said quietly. “I don’t believe this is from Germany…or anywhere else on Earth, for that matter.”

  They fell silent, each of them staring at me in astonishment. Judging from their expressions, I realized that what I’d said was beyond the reach of their imaginations. These men perceived the world in ordinary terms; for them, there was little that couldn’t be explained by actuarial charts or departmental reports or the Wall Street Journal. They’d never been called upon to see past the here-and-now, save perhaps next-quarter projections. And here I was, asking them to consider the possibility of life beyond our world.

  “Poppycock,” Mr. Smith said at last. “This is nothing but an elaborate hoax.”

  Mr. Russell cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, you’re looking at this entirely the wrong way. It doesn’t matter where this thing came from, really…only that it’s here, and that it presents an opportunity that we’d be foolish to miss.”

  “Hear, hear!” Mr. Renwick stepped to Mr. Russell’s side. “Listen to what he has to say. I think he’s onto something.” He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Go on, Bill.”

  “As I was saying, we’ve found something here that could be quite profitable, if handled correctly.” Speaking to the others as if they were seated in a corporate boardroom, Mr. Russell clasped his hands together as he stood before the creature. “Since this object washed upon our island, it rightfully belongs to us…”

  “The state of Georgia might argue with that,” Mr. Collier murmured.

  “And my attorneys might argue with the state of Georgia,” Mr. Russell replied, and this earned smug laughter from the others. “Be that as it may, once we arrange for its transportation, I believe that we could exhibit it commercially. Perhaps license it to someone in the entertainment business.”

  “The Barnum circus!” Mr. DuMont exclaimed.

  “Perhaps.” Mr. Russell nodded his head. “Or maybe someone in Hollywood would be better suited. Whatever the venue may be, though, I propose that the seven of us form a partnership to exploit this to our best advantage. My magazines would be the logical starting point, of course, but there’s also potential for radio and motion pictures, not to mention…”

  As he spoke, understanding slowly dawned upon the faces of the other men. They might not think much of the possibility of extraterrestrial life, but they knew a great deal about money and its acquisition. No doubt they’d all been hurt by the Depression, or that they’d all been searching for new investment ventures. They began to see the scenario that Mr. Russell painted for them: the creature, loaded onto a railroad flatbed car, making a cross-country tour of carnivals and state fairs where curious locals would pay for the privilege of stepping into a circus tent to view the abomination with their own eyes. The tour would be promoted by magazine articles, newsreels, and radio stories, with profits further maximized by the sale of souvenir pamphlets, postcards,
and pennants, tin-toy replicas, jig-saw puzzles, or whatever else could be brought to market.

  By much the same token, though, I knew at once that proper scientific examination was the farthest thing from anyone’s mind. In time, perhaps, researchers would be given a chance to study this mysterious thing. Only if were willing to pay for the privilege, though; these men would be smart enough not to let anyone see it for free.

  By the time Mr. Russell was finished, his friends were practically dancing with glee. The creature itself would have to be a closely-guarded secret until everything was in place, of course, but no one was worried about that; it wouldn’t be the first time that club concocted a private business deal.15 The island’s ocean side was uninhabited, so the creature could be covered by tarps until the time came for it to be removed by barge and carried to the mainland.

  Then Mr. Renwick had a flash of inspiration. Walking over to the tent, he opened the picnic basket he’d brought with him and produced a bottle of Champagne and a Kodak Brownie. After popping the cork and giving the bottle to Mr. Sidwell, he had the others stand in front of the creature; what they needed to commemorate their discovery, he said, was a group photo. The gentlemen were only too happy to comply, but it was Mr. Russell who’d insist on having the most prominent place in the picture. With assistance from Mr. DuMont and Mr. Hadley, he climbed atop the creature’s head. Arms crossed, feet planted just above its eyes, his pose was that of a man who’d conquered a monster.

  Once everyone was ready, Mr. Renwick handed the camera to me. Its plate was already loaded; all I’d need to do was aim, focus, and press the shutter. It was then that I realized what my role in all this would be. Despite Mr. Russell’s promise, I wasn’t to be a partner but only a servant, as invisible as always. It wasn’t my place to protest, though, so I made sure that the men were properly lined up before I raised the camera and peered through the viewfinder. It was then that I noticed that the creature’s eyes were open.

  At first, I thought it was only an illusion, an odd reflection caused by sunlight falling on the camera lens. Where there had once been closed eyelids, two oyster-white orbs now stared straight at me, its gaze unnoticed by the men who stood with their backs turned toward the creature.

  For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. Yet I’d just looked up from the camera when Mr. Russell suddenly lost his balance. “Good heavens,” he exclaimed as he struggled to stay on his feet, “I think this thing just…!”

  And then the creature’s arms moved from its sides, pulling forward to plant its claws against the sand. Mr. Sidwell turned to see this, and he yelled a warning to the others. An instant later, Mr. Russell toppled from his perch; arms flailing, he fell to the ground, landing on his back.

  By now, the rest of the party were aware that the creature was waking up. As it began to rise, they broke ranks and began to run, falling over themselves and each other in their haste to get away. I turned to run as well, but then I looked back and saw that Mr. Russell still lay where he’d fallen. Apparently frozen in terror, he watched with astonishment as the creature slowly pushed itself upward on its arms, its feet and tail emerging from the surf as it started to rise.

  I dropped the camera and ran to my employer. From behind me, I heard the loud report of gunshots. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Mr. Renwick had pulled a small revolver from his coat pocket and was firing at the thing. If his shots had any effect, though, I didn’t stop to see, for in the next second I was at Mr. Russell’s side, grabbing him by the lapels and hoisting him to his feet.

  Beneath the startled cries of men behind me, I heard a faint, almost mechanical sound: a whirring and clinking, as if servomotors within the creature were putting its armored joints into motion. Looking around, I saw the thing now stood erect; hunched forward, with its long tail raised to counterbalance the rest of its body, it towered above the beach, the blank orbs of its eyes studying the men with malevolent intent.

  By then, Mr. Renwick had run out of bullets. Apparently realizing that he hadn’t stopped the creature, he dropped the gun and started to back away. But then he noticed the Brownie where I’d dropped it. A moment of hesitation, then he darted for the camera. Perhaps he thought I’d managed to take the picture and wanted to save it. I’ll never know the reason for his rash and foolish action, because he’d barely snatched up the camera when the creature lunged forward.

  I barely had time to be amazed by how quickly the monster was capable of moving before it hurled itself upon Mr. Renwick. He didn’t even have a chance to scream before the creature’s clawed right foot came down on him. A sickening crunch, then a gout of blood rushed from his mouth as he was crushed beneath the monster’s enormous mass.

  The camera had fallen aside, apparently undamaged…and then the creature did something that haunts me to this day. Ignoring Mr. Renwick’s corpse, it turned its head to peer at it. A second or two passed, and then it deliberately lifted its right foot again and brought it down on the camera, obliterating it as easily as it had its owner. It was as if the monster knew what it was, and didn’t want to leave behind any evidence of its existence.

  The rest of the group had taken cover behind the dunes, but they hadn’t left the scene entirely; I could hear them shouting to Mr. Russell and me, begging us to run for our lives. But when the creature attacked Mr. Renwick, it put itself between us and the dunes. There was only the ocean behind us now, and I immediately knew that the cold blue waters of the Atlantic wouldn’t hide us from the thing’s murderous rampage.

  As if remembering that two men were still remained on the beach, the creature turned toward Mr. Russell and me. We stood next to each other, transfixed by the monster towering above us. For a timeless moment it stood silent and still, swaying slightly upon its haunches as its awful eyes studied us. I had the impression that it was trying to make up its mind which of us to kill next. If that were so, then only one of us stood even the slightest chance of escape…

  Apparently the same thought occurred to Mr. Russell, because in the next second, I felt two strong hands plant themselves against my back and shove me forward.

  As I fell to my hands and knees, Mr. Russell sprinted in the opposite direction. Stunned by the realization that he’d betrayed me, I could only watch as he ran down the beach. Yet, even though I was easy prey, the creature regarded me for only a brief second before it turned to race after him.

  Hearing the monster’s heavy footfalls behind him, Mr. Russell glanced back over his shoulder. Crying out in terror, he started to run faster, and for a second or two I thought he might actually get away. Yet the creature easily caught up with him. Reaching forward with its left arm, it knocked him off his feet with one swipe of its claws, ripping the back of his shirt and sending him sprawling across the sand.

  At first, I thought Mr. Russell’s back was broken, but then I saw rise to his hands and knees. Although stunned by the blow, he retained enough of his wits to try to crawl away. Yet the creature wasn’t about to let him escape. Moving forward to plant its immense feet on either side of him, it bent over him, its mouth agape.

  Thinking that he was about to be eaten alive, I screamed in horror. But then something rushed from the creature’s jaws: milk-white fluid, thick and almost gelatinous, that completely covered Mr. Russell. He cried out again and tried to rise, but he was totally inundated by the fluid. Sticky tendrils still dangled from the monster’s mouth, and as I watched, its jaws expanded the way a Burmese python’s does when it’s about to swallow its prey.

  And then, with a grotesque sucking sound, the creature seemed to inhale the fluid, and as it did so, it pulled Mr. Russell from the ground. He was still alive; I could see him thrashing against the material that had ensnared him. But the fluid was too thick for him to fight against; within seconds, he was pulled into the creature’s mouth.

  Closing its jaws, it lifted its head and straightened its neck as if to swallow him whole. For a moment, I thought I still heard Mr. Russell, howling like a madman from deep withi
n the monster’s gullet, but then this sound was lost to me as creature turned in my direction.

  Still on my knees, knowing that any attempt to flee would be futile, I waited for creature to come for me. Yet it only regarded me with what seemed to be indifference before turning away again, this time to stomp back up the beach to where Mr. Renwick lay. Bending over again, it reached down with its left claw to pluck his pulverized corpse from the sand. And then, clutching the limp body against its massive chest, it pivoted on its hind legs and stalked away, heading for the water.

  I’ll never know why the creature ignored me as it went by. From the dunes, I heard the loud crack of a rifle; I’d later learn that Mr. Hadley had run back to his car to retrieve the hunting rifle he kept in its trunk. If any of his bullets actually hit the creature, though, there was no indication, for the monster paid no further attention to me or anyone else as it marched into the surf. It remained visible for only the few seconds it took for it to reach the deeper waters a dozen yards out, then it abruptly lurched forward and disappeared beneath the waves.

  And then it was gone.

  V. The Sentinel

  As I wrote at the beginning of this account, it’s not until now that I’ve committed my recollections to paper. There’s a reason for this: I’ve been sworn to secrecy, first by the club members who witnessed the events, and later by others.

  When it was all over, there was no real evidence that the creature had ever been there; all that it left behind was a destroyed camera, some enormous footprints, and a bloodstained patch of sand. Even before they left the beach, the others came to the conclusion that no one else would ever believe them; the story was just too incredible. Not only that, but they agreed that the consequences of trying to make anyone believe them were potentially devastating. Hadley, Sidwell, DuMont, Collier, and Smith all had much to lose, and they feared the loss of wealth and reputation.