by Denis Hughes
CHAPTER 10
THE SWITCH IS THROWN
“They were going to fill me up with dope,” he said grimly. “I had to run for it. The police had me before that; I was recognised. They were all killed when the bomb fell. It was horrible.”
She nodded. “I couldn’t just sit around waiting for you, Bob. I flew south a bit, stooging to take my mind off things. Lucky I did, because the plane was well away from town when the bomb fell. I was on my way back, and saw it.”
“You must have thought I’d be finished,” he murmured.
She seemed surprised. “You told me you couldn’t be killed, so I searched and searched. It was almost hopeless, then I saw you and landed.”
“And now what?” His voice was grave. “Merrick’s had his way. Can your father prevent it going further?”
The plane sped on swiftly through the night, heading north.
“There’s a drastic cure,” she said. “No use using local interference after this. The whole world’s already bubbling with war.” She paused. “I hope we reach the farm in time.”
He shot her a puzzled glance, not understanding. In the moonlight he saw many other aircraft, some converging on London, others gathering on Air Force fields. Rhonna’s face was grim as she watched.
They landed at the farm, to find Blake in the underground laboratory and workshop. He and his assistants were working feverishly to complete their equipment. A last minute hitch meant a few more hours before the apparatus is ready.
“For twenty years I’ve slaved on this,” he said, as Rhonna and Varden joined him. “And now it’s almost too late!” His eyes were tired, and he looked as if he had not slept for weeks.
“You can’t delay any longer, Dad,” she answered. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
He shook his head. Then: “You can keep an eye on the screens if you like. Keep us up to date with developments.” He turned to Varden. “This is all strange to you, naturally, but we do know what we’re doing. I must leave you with Rhonna now. There’s so little time.” He moved away quickly.
She touched Varden’s arm. “Come to the screen room,” she said. He followed her submissively, curious at all he saw.
The screen room proved to be a darkened chamber on the walls of which were numbers of video screens, each with its control panel. “Cover’s the world at a glance,” Rhonna said swiftly, sitting at one of the sets and switching on. Varden watched. Rhonna turned knobs and he found himself staring at a massed flight of heavy bombers lined up for take-off on some unnamed airfield in the dark of night. Men hurried here and there, their faces seen briefly in the glare of arcs, grim and hard.
Rhonna tuned a different scene. At some point on the earth a fleet appeared, surging through the water at full speed. She jotted something down on a pad beside her, then again changed the picture of war preparation. Tanks, great rumbling monsters of destruction, moved swiftly over a barren plain, their colours easily recognisable.
Varden sat down at another set, following the woman’s example. For a time they worked as a team. He had got the hang of it now. Between them they covered the civilised world on the various sets, making notes of mobilised forces and the direction in which they were moving.
Rhonna gave a tired little sigh. “In a few hours’ time the first clashes will begin,” she said. “If only we can be ready by then! Oh, Bob, if only Dad can do it!”
Varden smiled. “I don’t know what he’s going; to do,” he said quietly. “But I hope so, too. Lord, but I’m tired.”
“I’ll get you another dose of stimulant,” she told him. “Take these reports to the workshop.”
He found Blake still hard at work making fine adjustments to a maze of crystal threads in a large opalescent dome.
“The forces are gathering,” he said. “Rhonna reckons a few more hours will bring them together in the first onslaught. Will you be ready by then?”
Blake nodded quickly. “Hope so,” he grunted. “There’s nothing you can do in here, Bob, so take it easy.” He eyed him with sudden friendliness. “Keep Rhonna amused and take her mind off what’s going on, there’s a good chap.”
Varden grinned, but the tiredness increased inside him, and he knew his eyes were worse now. For a moment he saw two of Blake, then the man was a hazy outline. Slowly his vision cleared. A sick apprehension filled him. He was going blind again, and there wasn’t time to do much about it now. He wondered vaguely if the second entity would go blind at the same time; that was something he’d never asked it about. And where was it, anyway? Had it withstood the blast of the bomb just as he himself had? He turned away and found Rhonna waiting for him with another dose of the stimulant Blake had given him before. His tiredness slipped from him like a discarded coat.
“Bless you,” he said, with a smile.
The screens showed breaking day or coming night, according to which part of the world they were tuned in on. And the vast fleets of ships, bombers, fighters, tanks and marching armies were rolling together in a dozen fields of war.
Varden and Rhonna viewed the scene soberly. Already first bombing raids were in progress, and as yet there was no sign that Blake was finished. He worked on tirelessly, assistants backing him up to the limit of endurance.
“If your father can halt all this before it really develops, why didn’t he give his secret to the government?” asked Varden.
Rhonna pushed the copper coloured hair from her forehead with a weary gesture. “Because he was afraid,” she replied. “He feared it would be used or stolen by our enemies. When he did approach them with the idea in the first place they jeered.” Her eyes lit up with an imp of accusation. “You jeered, too, Bob, along with everyone else. No one man could stop a war!”
“I still can’t believe it,” he answered gravely.
“You will,” she said firmly. “I’ve known my father a long time, and he doesn’t make statements that can’t be proved.” She paused, staring angrily at a picture of rank on rank of alien war machines moving fast across country somewhere in Europe. “When he throws the switches all this will stop,” she added.
Varden watched her face for a moment. “I wish I could be as positive,” he murmured. “Tell me, Rhonna, can a man exist in another time plane without realising it?”
She frowned. “You’re worried about yourself, aren’t you?”
“I don’t belong to all this,” he said flatly. “I crashed a plane seventeen years ago. That’s where I probably died only I didn’t know it.” He stared at her with sudden intensity. “Am I real to you?” he demanded. “I’m not a normal man like your father or those others who died in London. They were flesh and blood, they could die and suffer pain and find release in death. I can’t!”
She came and stood beside him, looking up into his scarred face. “Do you want to die?” she whispered. “You’re real to me, Bob. You’re older and harder, but you’re real enough.” Her eyes were so grave and beseeching that he turned away, not daring to translate their message because it couldn’t be true and mustn’t happen if it was.
“You didn’t die seventeen years ago,” she said. “I saw you alive; I’m still seeing you alive. Don’t you understand?”
“No!” His voice sharpened as he closed his mind to what was happening. “You’re as much a nightmare as everything else! You’re no more real than Viki or the other part of me or Merrick or all this!” He waved his arm. Suddenly he gripped her shoulders, turning her towards him fiercely. “I’m going blind again!” he grated. “Blind and un-killable! Could anything be worse?”
Before she could answer Blake came in, his eyes bright. “It’s done!” he said quietly. “Do you hear, Rhonna? We can get to work at last.”
Varden swung round, his own troubles forgotten. He had difficulty in focusing on the scientist. There was a cloud across his vision, a cloud that grew dark then light then dark again before fading altogether.
Rhonna seized his arm and hustled him out of the screen room as her father led the way. The hu
m of machinery was loud in the confined space of the underground workshop. An atmosphere of tension seemed to grip all those present, from Blake himself to Varden, an outsider in the place.
Blake moved across to a switchboard facing the dome Varden had noticed before. Inside it were uncountable fibres, all in some incomprehensible order beyond his understanding. The men who had worked with Blake gathered in a group, eyes on their leader in his hour of triumph.
Blake put a hand up and reached for a switch, drawing it down in a clean, faultless movement. Every eye was fixed on the big opalescent dome. The whine of machinery rose in pitch. The dome itself came to life, the fibres within it glowing with some queer force of their own.
And Rhonna was clutching Varden’s arm without knowing she did it, her whole concentration on the dome. He found himself as much enthralled as anyone else then was conscious of movement behind him. Tearing his gaze away from the glowing interior of the dome, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Glad I didn’t miss this bit,” murmured the other Varden. “What’s the old boy got there anyway?”
*
The atomic-engined yacht Cherokee surged through the rolling swell of the Atlantic ocean, cruising on a predetermined course. Her skipper was talking to his second-in-command in the wheelhouse, while the latter studied a chart with an earnest expression on his darkly saturnine features.
“The moment the owner gives the word,” said the skipper, “we lay off for New York. After that it’s up to him, but I don’t mind betting we make out nicely on the deal.”
The other man nodded wordlessly. Then Merrick came in. “Everything all right?” he inquired briskly. “We can’t get the first results in for half an hour or so. Keep her as she is, cruising.”
The skipper touched his cap obediently. “You reckon the projectiles landed accurately?” he asked. Merrick gave a grunt. “I never make mistakes!” he said. “Your job is to obey orders, nothing more.”
The skipper made no comment, but his mouth tightened a little. Merrick departed, smiling grimly to himself. Things were going to hum before long, he thought. He felt a sense of gratitude towards that second personality of Varden’s that had warned him of Varden’s double-crossing. He still experienced a shudder when he remembered how the unseen being had moved in Viki’s flat, writing things and upsetting their nerves. However, it had all turned out for the best, he reflected.
He went below and joined Viki in the main saloon. She was feeling better after her harrowing experience in London.
Back in the charthouse the skipper looked at his second-in-command with a sour grin. “Damn the man!” he grunted. “If he didn’t have a hold on us I swear we’d leave him flat!”
The other man nodded and bent over the charts. He did not see the naked figure at his elbow as he marked off their position on the chart. The naked figure chuckled to himself, made sure he knew what he wanted to know, then drifted off again.
After a brief glance into the main saloon where Merrick and Viki were drinking to celebrate success, Varden Two took his leave of the Cherokee, moving on his own mysterious mission.
Merrick stretched out an arm and slid it round Viki’s waist, drawing the woman close and smiling down into tier eyes. “Well,” he whispered playfully, “how do you like the idea of being queen of a reorganised world, my sweet?”
She pouted at him. “Darling,” she replied, “if being a queen means what I think it does, I’ll love it!” She reached out for her glass of Scotch, raising it in a silent toast.
Merrick left her and strolled up and down the floor of the saloon, hands thrust in his pockets, a frown on his face. “We’ve got to control the explosive nature of what we’ve started. In a few hours now the entire world will be tearing itself to pieces in war. We’ve got to let it go on for just long enough to bring everyone down to their knees. Then we take the reins, Viki! My own interests can control almost the entire arms output of the world, and when we’re ready—when the world is reduced—I can call a halt with a flick of the fingers!”
“It sounds wonderful,” she whispered enthusiastically. “But you’re sure there’s no danger of Blake and men like him putting a spoke in and wrecking our plans?”
Merrick laughed boisterously; slapping his thigh with a meaty hand. “Viki!” he chided gently. “You overestimate the risks. How can one man prevent a war? Or stop once it starts?”
She considered thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. “You must be right,” she admitted. “I was still thinking of that awful—whatever you’d call it—back in London. Darling, would the bomb we launched kill it?”
Merrick nodded firmly. “Of course!” he said. “Nothing could exist in the blast that thing will make. New York and London, Viki! Wrecked in a second! Not the whole of them, naturally, but enough to throw the nations into sanity and precipitate war. They’ll be marching already!”
“Turn on the screen and take a look,” she said, rising to her feet and swaying towards him.
Merrick switched on a large video set, directing its unseen eye to various countries and cities. Everywhere were signs of hurried mobilisation, the rolling armies of tanks and machines, the assembled fleets of aircraft.
Merrick brought shattered London into view. Fires still raged, rescue workers toiled like ants in the gloom of night and the glare of the arcs.
Viki’s mouth quivered. “Poor old London,” she whispered. “I wish it didn’t have to happen, honey.”
Merrick brushed it aside. “Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “In a few years we shall raise a greater city than London ever was!”
The hours passed till dawn was lightening the sky. Merrick and the woman watched fascinated as nations poured their forces into the field, the might of each separate bloc oiling slowly and relentlessly towards their enemies.
Then suddenly the video screen on which they watched began to fade.
Merrick cursed beneath his breath. “Must be a failure!” he muttered. He pressed a bell, waiting till one of the crew appeared.
“Fix this damn thing!” he ordered curtly.
The seaman gulped. “But, sir,” he stammered, “something’s wrong! Something…”
The lights in the saloon and all over the Cherokee went out.
At the same time the skipper and the second-in-command looked at each other in bewilderment.
“What the hell?” roared the skipper. He seized the engine-room radio, banging it violently to and fro. Meanwhile the other officer was shouting into a microphone: “What’s gone wrong down below?” he bellowed.
A voice floated back at him, fading rapidly. Even the radio was failing. The skipper called a man from on deck. “Tell those devils below to keep the engines running!” he yelled. In darkness another man showed up, coming from the engine room.
“Skipper!” he gasped. “We’ve gone dead below. There ain’t a light anywhere on the ship, but the dynamos are running perfectly. And the engines just stopped on their own! It—it ain’t right! It’s spooky, skipper!”
“I’ll give you spooky!” roared the commander. He blundered out, running straight into Merrick. They crashed to the deck together.
Merrick was up first, cursing and swearing with a wild abandon that sprang as much from fear as from any other emotion. He seized the skipper by the collar and shook him violently till his teeth rattled.
“Damn you!” he screamed. “What’s the matter with this ship? What’s the matter?”
The skipper tore himself free and landed a swift upper-cut on Merrick’s chin. Then he stood over the rapidly sobered man.
“Now you listen to me!” he snarled. “You may own this ship, but I’m its captain. I don’t know what’s wrong with it; no one knows! You can take it that something’s happened and we’re as good as derelict! Now get below and stay there!”
Merrick staggered back against the side of the deck house, his face a pale blur in the dawn. Suddenly he dragged out a gun from his pocket and shot the skipper in the chest. As the gun cracked men came ru
nning from all directions.
Merrick waved them back from the fallen body of the man he had killed. “Back to your posts!” he screamed. “I won’t have mutinous swine on the Cherokee!”
CHAPTER 11
“TURN AWAY, PILGRIM”
“You!” gasped Varden grimly. “I thought—”
“I was blown to hell, eh? No, pal, I’m just like you in that respect. I rise from the fire like a phoenix!” He did a brief caper, flapping his arms derisively.
Rhonna swung round at the abrupt sound of Varden’s voice. She saw his staring eyes focused on nothing and guessed what had happened. Her fingers tightened on his arm convulsively as she sought to make him turn his head.
“It’s here again?” she whispered. Luckily no one else in the big workshop had noticed Varden’s sudden remark; they were all too engrossed in watching the glowing dome of milky luminance as it pulsed to some hidden force.
Varden turned his head slowly. “Yes,” he breathed. ‘Oh, Rhonna, what am I going to do? Is there no way out of this?”
Varden Two laughed harshly and insinuated himself between his other entity and the woman with auburn hair. He thrust his face into Varden’s and grinned with all the evil of his soul.
“There’s no way out!” he said. “Nothing you can do will redeem us from our fate. We’ve walked with fools and are paying for it now!”
Varden thrust him aside, drawing Rhonna closer to him. “Go away from me!” he whispered venomously. “Get to hell out of here, you don’t belong among decent people!”
Blake heard him say it and swung his head abruptly. “What did you say, Varden?” he demanded.
Varden gritted his teeth, conscious that he was now the centre of a dozen pairs of eyes. Momentarily the glowing dome was forgotten.
“I’m talking to myself,” he said sullenly. Blake understood or guessed what he meant. His eves met those of his daughter and she nodded slightly.
“Take him to the screen room,” her father said. “You’ll be able to watch results from there; the rest of us will join you presently.”