The Neutral Stars

by Dan Morgan;John Kippax

  "Ye'll have realized that it's no earthquake that did this," he said, his voice tight and angry. "I've never seen the like of it, except in some old film records dating back to the nineteen hundreds, and I never expected to see it again."

  "A nuclear bomb," breathed Bill Emery.

  "I'd guess bombs, rather," MacGuinness said. "I've detected two distinct epicenters already. I'd say it was a multiple war-head missile, with the kind of spread that would enable it to sterilize the entire continent"

  "And Josiahtown?"

  "As the main center of population it would clearly be a prime target," MacGuinness said.

  "God!" Alan Emery groaned and slumped forward in his seat, head in hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

  "When you say sterilization. . . ?" queried Bill.

  "A calculated destruction of all forms of life." MacGuinness glanced worriedly at the radiation counter. "I don't know just how good the shielding is on this flycar, but I think we should be turning back any time now."

  "No!" shouted Alan, straightening up, his face wild with grief. "We must go on. I have to find Anne Marie."

  MacGuinness shook his head. "It's no good, laddie. Even if anybody survived the initial blast and heat, they'd still be as good as dead with this kind of fallout. There would be nothing we could do to help them."

  "You mean everybody?" Bill said.

  "If not at this moment, then certainly within twenty-four hours. We three will be the only people alive on Orphelin Three," said MacGuinness, "unless we commit suicide by carrying on in what must be a fruitless search."

  "That's good enough for me," said Bill, putting the flycar into a sharp turn and heading back toward the

 

  coast in spite of Alan's protestations. "There's just one thing that bothers me, Professor."

  "Yes?"

  "If we really are the only survivors, what do we go on living for?"

  "Revenge, perhaps?" said MacGuinness.

  "Against an enemy who hops back into sub-space?"

  "We'll catch up," said MacGuinness. "The fact that we know it can be done puts us at least twenty-five percent of the way along the road to our sub-space drive."

  "And meantime the list grows—Minos IV, Kepler III, and now—us. Orphelin III."

  "Aye, the Kilroys will have a lot to answer for when the Corps finally do catch up with them," said MacGuinness, looking down at the blackened, desolate landscape.

  "I heard somewhere once that they probably don't think of us as intelligent beings at all," said Bill musingly.

  "Then the sooner we start hitting back the better," said MacGuinness. He glanced worriedly at Alan, whose protestations and tears had now died down into complete silence. He was sitting, shoulders slumped forward, staring ahead with dull, unseeing eyes, in a withdrawn state.

  "Back to the island?" said Bill as they approached the coastline again.

  "Where else?" said MacGuinness. "Provided the radioactivity doesn't drift too quickly in that direction, we should be safe enough for a few days, at least."

  "And after that?"

  "The communications blackout is sure to bring the Corps running," said MacGuinness. "And they're sure to give the entire planet a thorough checkover for

  survivors. We'll activate the flycars emergency beacon in a few days' time. They'll pick us up, all right."

  "And you'll be headed back to Earth," said Bill. "Even if the fish do survive the radioactivity, there'll be no one around to run the industry, no one to. . ." his voice choked, then recovered slightly. "Two of us— two, out of five million people. Do you think they'll send more colonists out here, when the effects of the fallout die down?"

  "I expect so," said MacGuinness. "But that will be some time yet There'll have to be an entire new survey to check on safety." A survey of the kind that should have been made in the first instance, but clearly never was—one that would go deep into the causes of the progeric mutation and search for some method of counteracting its effects. Without such a remedy there could be no possibility of sending new colonists, even if United Earth were willing to put more human beings at risk in what must now be regarded as a Kilroy area.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For we know they must be there

  Out beyond the reach of drive and mind.

  We have seen their footprints in the stars,

  Those

  Other

  Men...

  Kilroy: IVAN KAVANIN

  It was late afternoon when MacGuinness and his companions arrived back at the island. Alan Emery was still in his withdrawn, shocked state to such an extent that the biologist and Bill practically had to carry him out of the flycar and into the hut. Once there, they laid him on his cot and MacGuinness gave him a sedative injection, which soon put him to sleep.

  "Och, it'll be the best thing for him," said MacGuinness. "When he wakes up tomorrow morning the trauma will already be well on the way towards healing."

  "I wonder. . Bill said thoughtfully. "He's always been pretty much of an extroverted type, letting emotion go the way it would. This thing has hit him pretty hard, and I'm afraid he isn't going to come out of it that easy."

  The Corps medics will be able to help him when they arrive. They're used to handling this sort of condition," said MacGuinness, hating his own glibness as he mouthed the words. What psyche-treatment could possibly make up for the kind of loss these two men had suffered, or counteract the shattering knowledge that they were the last remaining survivors of their society? The thought reminded him that at this stage survival was by no means a certainty, conditional as it was on a Corps rescue party reaching them before the prevailing winds swept the plague of radioactive contamination south over the islands.

  "How long do you think it will be before the Corps arrive?" said Bill Emery, as if catching the echo of his thought

  Tm not quite sure what the routine procedure is in this kind of thing," MacGuinness said, scratching in the black depths of his beard. "But I'd guess three days at most from the time Excelsior reports the communications blackout—and they're not going to drag their heels. The Corporation has too much at stake here on Orphelin Three—or rather had. . . Old Man Niebohr is going to set up a real howl about this, you can rely on that. One thing for sure, he'll blame what has happened just as much on Corps inefficiency as he does on the Kilroys. He's not going to lose an opportunity like this."

  "I suppose in that case the five million people who died here didn't do so in vain," said Bill Emery. They will at least make a political point for Mr. Niebohr."

  MacGuinness looked helplessly at the colonist, shocked by the flat bitterness of his tone and yet recognizing its justification. What did the destruction of five million people on a planet light-years distant really mean to them back on Earth? The whole thing would seem unimaginably remote to the average man on the walkway—even more so because President Fong in his wisdom had decreed that any news of the activities of the Kilroys should be carefully diluted, for fear of causing a panic reaction.

  He glanced across at the sleeping, defenseless figure of Alan Emery and was once again reminded of that other hazard that had hung over Orphelin Three. Alan at least stood a good chance of living out his natural life-span, but whose was the responsibility for the fact that that life would be foreshortened by thirty or forty years? There was another reckoning to be considered on his return to Earth—one of which he must not lose sight.

  It seemed to him that he had a direct obligation to obtain recognition and justice for the survivors—and the dead—of Orphelin Three.

  He and Bill Emery ate a silent meal without relish. Neither of them had the heart to make social conversation, and even less to talk about the matters that were really on their minds. Afterwards MacGuinness lit one of his cigars and walked out of the hut, as was his usual custom before retiring to his bed. The sight of the great dome of stars visible through the unpolluted atmosphere of Orphelin Three was one that never failed to impress him with a special kind of awe. Tonigh
t there was a new frightening under-current to that awe, a freshly awakened awareness of his own vulnerability, a reminder of the fact that he was a tiny, ant-like creature staring up into a. hostile universe, which might at any time choose to obliterate him and all his kind.

  Ashamed of his own cowardice, he sought the shelter of the hut once again. Bill Emery was already in bed, his face turned to the wall, and Alan was deep in his drug-induced sleep. MacGuinness undressed quietly and got into his own bed. He lay awake for a long time in the darkness before sleep finally came, and when it did there was little release in its nature, filled as it was with echoes of the dreadful images of the shattered, blackened landscapes of Orphelin Three.

  It was full daylight when MacGuinness awoke, clawing his way out of sleep with a breathless moan of terror. He sat up and found that he was alone in the hut. From outside he could hear the sound of Bill's voice calling.

  Startled by the urgency of the sound, he paused only to slip on his shoes and ran out into the sunlight stark naked. Bill was standing, one arm raised in a helpless gesture towards the flycar, which was already some twenty meters high and heading with growing speed away from the island.

  "What happened?" demanded MacGuinness.

  Bill turned to reveal a fast-growing bruise on the side of his jaw. "I woke up to find Alan gone," he explained. "When I came out of the hut he was just getting aboard the flycar, babbling and talking to himself, delirious. Something about going home to Anne Marie, and a lot of other stuff. I caught him by the shoulder and asked him what he was doing. He turned and looked at me as if he'd never seen me before in his life. Then he clobbered me. I'm sorry, Professor; I should have stopped him."

  "What more could you have done?" said MacGuinness.

  "I could have saved him—at least him, my own son," Bill said brokenly, his eyes filling with sudden tears.

  MacGuinness averted his eyes from the distressing sight, looking up into the bright morning sky. The flycar was already several kilometers north of the island and there was absolutely nothing either of them could do to bring it back. Alan would end his already foreshortened life within a few hours, victim of the same bombs that had killed the rest of his people. There was no—

  MacGuinness let out a sudden whoop of excitement and grabbed at Bill Emery's shoulder. "Look, man, look!" he yelled, pointing upwards into the northwest, where the dark, unmistakable shape of a fast-pursuit copter was rushing across the sky on an interception course with the flycar.

  "Thank God!" said Bill Emery. "There must have been a Corps ship right here in the system—or at least very near by."

  "Aye, we're saved," said MacGuinness, suddenly conscious of his nakedness for the first time. "I'd better go in and put some clothes on before our visitors arrive—they have mixed crews on those Corps ships."

  He turned to hurry away, but he had only gone a couple of paces when Bill's voice made him stop and wheel around.

  "The bastards! The rotten, murdering bastards!" yelled Bill, shaking his fists impotently at the sky.

  The flycar containing Alan Emery fell toward the ocean, wreathed in a ball of flame. The sound of the explosion reached them a moment later, as the flame disappeared beneath the surface.

  "They shot him down—in cold blood!" said Bill. "Why? Why would they do a thing like that?"

  MacGuinness looked upwards. The copter had changed its course now and was heading purposefully toward the island on which they were standing.

  "Because that's no rescue team—it's a mopping up squad!" he shouted. "Come on—let's get out of here!"

  Pausing only to grab a hunting rifle that stood near the door of die hut, MacGuinness half-dragged the still-stunned Bill Emery out of the camp and into the cover of the wood which stood on the hillside behind. Thorny bushes slashed at his unprotected flesh, but it was only when they were well into the woods that he looked down at his bloodied, naked body and realized what had happened. For the moment, at least, the adrenalin pumping through his system left him unconscious of any pain. He laid the rifle down and leaned against a tree, gulping down air and listening to the thundering of his own heart. "They're landing!" said Bill.

  MacGuinness turned and looked down toward the camp. The copter was a plain dark green, with no identification markings. As he watched, it settled to the ground and a door in its side slid open. Half a dozen humanoid figures, wearing lightweight white radiation suits and carrying hand weapons, leapt out and scattered through the buildings of the camp with the efficiency of highly trained guerrillas.

  "And they're looking for us," said MacGuinness. "Make no mistake about that. . . Do you realize we're probably the first human beings who ever saw a party of Kilroys in the flesh? Strange, but there doesn't seem anything unlikely in the fact that they turn out to be humanoid in general shape. After all, if we are Man, then they are surely Anti-Man, and there would surely be. . ." MacGuinness stopped himself talking deliberately as he became aware that what he was

  really doing was merely babbling to relieve his panic. "Sorry, Bill, I. . He turned to apologize—but his companion and the rifle were gone.

  There was a hint of movement in the undergrowth several meters down the hillside, but no certain sight of Bill. Down in the camp, the instrument and the supply huts were already in flames. Weaponless and naked, MacGuinness could only stand and watch.

  The mopping-up party was moving in on the larger living hut now in a tightening cordon. One of them was almost at the open doorway when Bill Emery burst out of the undergrowth at the bottom of the hill, screaming his hatred and firing the hunting rifle.

  The humanoid nearest the doorway of the hut wheeled and dropped his weapon as he lurched back into the dimness of the interior and out of MacGuinness's sight. Still howling like a madman, Bill loosed one. . .two more shots at the other members of the squad before a hail of returning fire smashed him to the ground.

  After that it was merely a matter of routine destruction. Two of the humanoids helped their wounded companion back to the copter, while another of their number dragged Bill Emery's body into the main hut Soon the hut and its contents were burning fiercely, but it appeared that even the destruction by the flames was not sufficient for the aliens' purposes. Two of them carried a large object about the size of a ten-gallon oil drum and placed it in the dead center of the camp. MacGuinness watched as one of them bent to make adjustments to some controls on the side of the object, then straightened up to call something unintelligible to the other members of the party, who all hurried to board the copter again in response.

  Thirty seconds later the machine was airborne again and heading swiftly away from the island. MacGuinness guessed that the aliens had placed some land of demolition charge calculated to remove all traces of the camp, now that they had presumably eliminated its inhabitants. He turned and hurried away into the undergrowth.

  By the time the explosion happened he was over the brow of the hill, in open grassland dotted with an occasional clump of bushes. The sound of the copter had already faded to a distant rumble.

  He stood naked and bloody in the sunlight, suddenly burdened by the awareness that he was the only human being left alive on Orphelin Three. A human being stripped of all the aids of his civilization, a helpless, pink animal with no radio, no supplies, and no weapons—but with a dedicated determination to survive until his rescuers came, and to tell of what he had seen. A human being who had looked on the Kilroys and lived....

  Chapter Sixteen

  It never ceases to amaze me that woman's attraction for man is always the same attraction.

  CHARLES SALLOWS

  Looking through the open glass doors that led onto the balcony, Tom Bruce could see the impossibly large orange moon trailing its path of light over the calm, blue-black sea. The air of the room was warm and heavy with that sweet yet curiously animal per-fume which he knew would always be associated in his memory with this night. He raised himself on one elbow and looked across the enormous round bed that Elsa Prince called h
er "playground."

  She lay in feline relaxation, her naked oiled body glistening like ebony against the paleness of the sheets. He had assumed that she was sleeping, but he saw now that he was wrong. Her eyes, large and glowing, with a strange fluorescence, were watching him.

  "Welcome back," she said in her throaty, mocking purr. "I was beginning to think you'd pooped out"

  "Just getting my breath," he said.

  "And maybe your second wind?"

  "Or fourth.. .or is it fifth?"

  "Who's counting?" she said, moving toward him.

  He lay quite still as she placed one hand on his chest and began to slide it gently downwards. He could already feel his passion mounting again. He had known women—many women, of all shapes, sizes and inclinations—but never one quite like Elsa. Sex with her was a new kind of experience, taking him beyond the known borderlines of sensation and pleasure into a new country of dangerous, savage delights. She was a succubus, a vampire, taking all in the fire of her sensuality and transmuting it to her own purposes. He sensed this ravenous greed in her, and yet at the same time the skill with which she transmitted the echo of that same pleasure back to him made him content.

  Earlier he had suffered his qualms of conscience, the reminders that this was the wife of Robert Prince, his friend. But as the night wore on, any kind of shame was the first casualty. His misgivings had retreated further and further into the background, helped to do so by the certain knowledge that these things she was doing with him she had done with others, many times. . . He was not responsible for the cuckolding. The horns must have been hung on Robert Prince long ago by this woman for whom no one man could ever hope to provide permanent satisfaction. He wondered if Bob knew and was perhaps content to share what he could not possess entirely. How would he himself act in the same situation? A man had his pride, but a woman like this could get in your blood, perhaps conditioning a special kind of hunger that only she could satisfy. It would be like being hooked on a drug—and probably equally destructive.