The 7th Golden Age of Weird Fiction MEGAPACK®: Manly Banister

by Banister, Manly

  The Somam were alerted—Thork must be dead. He fled, dragging Ilil by the hand. They emerged into a corridor, almost in the middle of a body of Dingir. Jarvis plowed into their midst, hewing to right and left with his blade. The Somam fell back in confusion, barely able to defend themselves. Then they burst through and ran for their lives, the Bronze Men in hot pursuit.

  Again and again, as he attempted to follow one of the routes imprinted upon his mind, he found the way blocked by masses of Bronze Men.

  “We have but one more chance,” he said to Ilil. “This way!”

  He whirled to the wall at his left and stepped through pulling Ilil by the hand. They stood upon one of the thread-like aerial ways that stretched from building to building like a gossamer web. Narrow and fragile as it was, the walk neither trembled nor swayed under their pounding feet. Reaching the middle, Jarvis looked back. Dingir were pouring through the building wall and plunging to the detritus-choked street below! The way would not support them—only one of the Mighty could tread this aerial path! It was as if those ancient minds had foreseen this moment of pursuit and deliberately had prepared this escape.

  Jarvis ran as if by instinct, following a trail almost as old as Time itself. For the moment the way was clear of Bronze Men—and then they had reached their goal. This was the place—the Place of Power—and Jarvis grasped the handle of the vital switch that meant the end of the Somam, the end of…what? He paused in hesitation.

  “Wait, Jeff Jarvis!” spoke the voice of Ptal from the door through which they had entered.

  The Bronze Man entered, followed by a horde of Somam. Jarvis lay a comforting arm across Ilil’s shoulders and drew her to him.

  “I hold your lives in my hand,” he said to Ptal. “You know it.”

  Thirty feet away, the Bronze Man surveyed him pityingly. “And your own salvation, Jeff Jarvis, though you do not know it. When I tell you what opening that switch will do, you will let go of it as if it were hot!”

  Jarvis looked at him bleakly. “I am committed to this,” he said. “I know now that it was for this purpose alone that I came here. Eamus Brock left it to me to decide. I have decided. You cannot stop me from acting.”

  “We would not if we could, Jeff Jarvis. A million years is a long time. The Somam are old and weary, and the inhibition the Mighty endowed us with has prevented us throughout all this time from doing what you are about to do.”

  “You want me to open this switch?” Jarvis cried.

  “That is all we have ever wanted, Jeff Jarvis. You have lost the fight and won it, too. Pull that switch and you and the maid will live—but the mutant spark within you dies with the Song of Power. The Mighty will not again walk the face of Eloraspon—not for millennia. By a single act you will create the human world I think your Eamus Brock envisioned.”

  “The Children of the Mighty, whom you have taken to Munus…” Jarvis croaked.

  “There are no Children of the Mighty, Jeff Jarvis. Those we took to Minus have already changed and died. Do you believe now I told you the truth about yourself—about the Mighty? Like them, you exalted power above reason. Do not become the victim of their mistake.”

  “You wanted one more Somam—” Jarvis said slowly.

  “Without inhibitions,” Ptal interpolated.

  “To pull this switch—”

  “And set Eloraspon free!”

  No man of greatness ever tarried upon decision. Jarvis flung his weight upon the switch.

  CHAPTER XIV

  The Place of Power blacked out. A humming noise vibrated on the air, seeming to travel straight downward into the bowels of the planet. The floor heaved and Jarvis staggered against the switch panel, clasping Ilil in his arms. The planet rumbled as rock masses shifted. There was no longer an up or a down. He felt himself flung across the room, trying to protect Ilil’s body with his own. Invisible things cracked, toppled and smashed. The dark was alive with noise.

  To his dazed mind came a far off impression of reeling heavens, of a great wind that ripped across the wide places of the world; the seas dashed upon their shores. In Kullab, there was pandemonium as the Tharn fled shrieking from their dwellings gone suddenly dark and rocking upon their foundations. And through Jarvis’ soul swept a paean of joy, the last whisper of a dying world, and he knew he had stayed true to the Seed of Eloraspon—to the Eeima, to the Eltaroa, to the Sea People and those others unknown who had hailed him as their savior. In the instant the power failed, they were gone—to rejoin the host of the Mighty somewhere in the void of space. Eloraspon would never see their like again.

  The quaking of the planet’s crust shuddered to a halt and blinding brilliance flooded the chamber. Not the soft, diffused glow they had known but a sharp, harsh light that issued from globes spaced in the cracked ceiling. Somewhere, a soft hum arose. Vibration quivered the walls and floor. The emergency power Eamus Brock had told him about.

  The Mighty had prepared well—even a means of escape. Jarvis looked around the Place of Power at the sprawled bodies of the silent Somam, but his heart was not wrung by the sight. These were but machines, stilled now forever. His pain was for the brave Tharn who had held back pursuit those few vital minutes that had gained them their start.

  Had the Somam truly wanted him to open that switch? Jarvis did not know. Had they told the truth about the Children of the Mighty—or had this but been a lie to cover deeds of murder? He would never know the truth now for the records of the Mighty were forever destroyed with the ceasing of the Power.

  A door opened in the wall with a whisper of sound. A small car rolled out upon the floor of the Place of Power. Jarvis helped Ilil into it and it began to move of itself, back into the opening in the wall. They were returning—going back to a world different from the one they had left. And they were different too. No longer the seed from which a race of supermen might spring. He had made his choice between power and reason, and reason had won. The return would be hard, but not unbearable.

  He smiled down at the woman beside him. They embraced and their lips met. No matter what he had lost. This was the new world he had won.