He Who Shrank: A Collection of Short Fiction

by Henry Hasse

  She walked aimlessly over to one of the ruins and stood peering down into a vast cavity that had once been a sub-foundation. Suddenly the crumbling stone beneath her feet gave way, and she clambered to safety just in time to escape being carried down with the minor avalanche she had caused. She sat upon a piece of masonry, chin in hand, and tried to take a calm cognizance of the immediate present.

  It was then that she became aware of the sound behind her—the sound that was not the avalanche, for the avalanche had stopped. This was another sound from below that brink, a frantic, clawing, clambering sound. Chyana whirled around, facing the brink behind her. She felt her heart pounding the blood into her ears. Quickly she picked up a jagged piece of rock and held it ready as a possible weapon. The clambering sound became louder. She wondered what sort of thing this might be. Then Chyana saw a long arm reach up, and another, as the thing came clawing up from below and over the edge.

  CHYANA had been ready to flee, or to scream, or to fling her weapon, but now she only stood there gaping. She was not quite sure she hadn’t lost her sanity. The thing she faced was all of metal! It came up over the edge of the pit and moved clumsily through the ruins, then stopped.

  Hesitantly Chyana walked over and looked at it. It seemed harmless enough, and was of very simple construction, merely a box-like affair upon four jointed, metal legs. At the rear of it a hexagonshaped protuberance led downward, like a thick tail.

  It now stood quite still, this clumsy, clambering contrivance. Chyana thought she knew what had happened. Her avalanche had dislodged it somewhere down there, and its mechanism, long dormant, had miraculously carried it up the side of the pit. But it did not quite seem like an accident, somehow! The thing’s movement had been almost intelligent as it crawled over the rim from below.

  Chyana walked around it. What on earth could it be? It looked so grotesque and clumsy standing there, that she wanted to laugh. Then, near the tapering rear of the thing, she saw a metal tag with a serial number, and the letters HEX—R. Near the tag were two buttons, one red and one white. Impulsively Chyana reached out and pressed the red button.

  The absurd thing came to life so abruptly that Chyana nearly fell over backward getting out of the way. It took five steps forward, then stopped. The jointed legs buckled until the hexagonal tube touched the ground. It arose again, took five steps toward the retreating Chyana, squatted, arose, took five more steps, and repeated the process. And each time the machine walked forward it left behind it on the ground a red, hexagonal piece of tile perhaps six inches in diameter, firmly cemented! The process never varied, and no matter how fast Chyana ran before it, the machine came swiftly a few yards behind her, stopping every fifth step to lay a tile.

  At last she stopped, and the machine stopped too. She walked slowly back toward it, and it didn’t move. She walked away from it again, very slowly. It followed her, very slowly—and on the fifth step it squatted again and laid a tile. Thoughtfully Chyana walked back to it.

  Again she examined the clumsy contrivance, but could see no mechanism except the two buttons. She pressed the white button this time but it seemed jammed.

  “A mechanical tilelayer!” she laughed a bit wildly. “Fantastic! Clumsier than anything I ever saw in my century. Maybe I am back in the twenty-sixth century after all!”

  Dismissing it from her mind she walked away, toward what she thought might be the edge of the city that she could see on the horizon. She wanted to see what lay beyond these ruins.

  But the tilelayer came clattering noisily behind her down the grass-grown street! Impatiently she stopped and faced it. It stopped too, a few yards behind, and laid a tile.

  “Stop following me!” she said, annoyed. “Go lay your tiles somewhere else! Go home—if you have one.” Then she laughed at her absurdity. She walked on, but again heard the clatter of it behind her.

  “Well, I’ll fix you,” she muttered to herself. She walked over to a five-foot stone wall. The tilelayer followed. Chyana climbed over the wall and walked straight ahead. She looked back defiantly, and saw the thing climbing over the wall with case! It stopped halfway down the side to lay a tile, then came on after her.

  Chyana laughed, and gave a little shrug of resignation. “All right, my friend,” she said as she walked back to the street, “come on then!”

  But it didn’t need her invitation. It came anyway.

  HER encounter with this bizarre piece of mechanism should have prepared her for what happened next; but it came too suddenly for her to be anything but amazed.

  First she was aware of a most raucous and fearsome sound, coming from down the street ahead of her. The sound was nothing but the barking of a dog, but Chyana did not know that; in her far century there had been no dogs. She stopped at the sound, and the faithful tilelayer stood still behind her.

  Then she saw the source of the sound running toward her down the street, and she gave a gasp of surprise. Another thing of metal! It was really a robot-dog, but to Chyana it was merely a fantastic little metal creature from which issued a ferocious and discordant noise; and it might be dangerous.

  But the robot-dog braced its feet and came to a stop a safe distance in front of Chyana. It cocked its jointed head quizzically and two intelligent, glowing eyes looked up at her. They blinked. Chyana laughed at this. It barked sharply again and ran a little distance away, its jointed metal tail wagging. It stopped and looked back, and seeing she did not follow, barked again insistently. It trotted back to her and repeated the process.

  After several such maneuvers Chyana comprehended. She had never seen a dog, not even a robot-dog, but such a language cannot be mistaken. She followed the creature down the street.

  But she had forgotten the tilelayer. As she moved it followed her faithfully, laying its red hexagonal tile every fifth step. The dog stopped once and looked back—and seeing the clumsy thing plodding along behind Chyana, he ran back and circled it cautiously, growling in mock ferocity. But the tilelayer moved steadily, disdainfully along. The robot-dog was as puzzled as Chyana had been, and finally, with something like disgust, he trotted on ahead, looking back every once in a while to make sure Chyana was following.

  Thus the strange procession moved for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Then the dog stopped before a ruin that seemed to have withstood the ages better than any edifice Chyana had yet seen. The four walls still stood, towering above anything around it.

  The robot-dog stopped stiffly. It looked back and barked once. Then it scurried into a low entrance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ral Vahn

  CHYANA followed cautiously and stood just within the door to let her eyes become accustomed to the gloom beyond. She heard the metal creature bark again, and saw it standing before what seemed to be a low dais.

  Chyana came closer. She stood looking down upon a square box-affair, perhaps seven feet in length. The material was transparent, but within it she could only see a quiescent milky whiteness. Then, peering closer, she dimly discerned a vague, darker shape within that mistiness, a shape that lay prone and reminded her of—

  Chyana’s heart leaped to her throat as the realization came like a blow. The shape within this receptacle was a human being!

  Quickly now she circled the dais, examining it carefully from all sides. Finally, at the farthest end she found a metal plate. It was green with verdigris, but there were words in raised metal letters. With handfuls of dirt she rubbed it clean enough to read:

  TAHOR THIRD, EMPEROR OF THE AMERICAS, SENDS TO YOU RALPH VAUGHN, THAT HE MAY SEE THE LASTING GLORY OF TAHOR THIRD. A.D.2087.

  This was quite meaningless, and searching further, all she could find was a tiny wheel extending from a pipe at the base of the dais. She tried to turn it, but all her strength was to no avail. She found a heavy rock, and pounded at the wheel until it snapped off. She stood for several moments waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.

  Then she was aware that something was happening. There was a s
light swirling of the mistiness in the glass box, a faint hissing sound, and she was getting suddenly very drowsy. Just in time she staggered back to the entrance and breathed the clean, fresh air.

  Even from where she stood she could now see the mistiness slowly swirling, dissolving. Within ten minutes the square receptacle was quite transparent and Chyana could clearly see the prone figure within it.

  But she stood there quite still, just within the entrance of the ruin—watching, not moving, waiting to see what was going to happen . . .

  RALPH VAUGHN opened his eyes and looked up into a vague, dusky place. He turned his head. How dark it was in here! Off to the left, however, he could see an entrance through which bright sunlight fell.

  This was funny! Just a moment before all the others had been here, gathered around him; one sneering, haughty face in particular.

  Then it burst upon him. It hadn’t been just a moment before. It had been many moments, many years before! He raised his hands and touched the heavy, glassy lid above him. He pushed, and it lifted slightly. He lay back, gathering his strength; then with a mighty heave he lifted the lid so that it shifted and slid to the ground. He climbed out and stood a moment, listening. What a vast silence! He opened his mouth and yelled with all the power of his lungs:

  “Tahor the Third was a tyrant! May his name have vanished with the dust!”

  The words went rebounding about the walls, and finally faded away. Vaughn grinned, and felt a hundred percent better already. He had remembered his final resolution, just before his memory had slipped entirely away: the resolution to shout those words the moment he awoke.

  As the words died away he heard a sharp, joyful bark near at hand.

  “Pete!” he exclaimed. “So they sent you too, as I asked! I didn’t think they would. Where are you? It’s so damn gloomy in here I can’t see much. Come on, Pete! Here boy!”

  Vaughn heard the bark again, and a moment later he received the shock of his life. He saw a blurred shape catapulting through the air toward his arms. It struck him with such force that he was nearly bowled over, and he thought a rib cracked where something hard struck. In his arms he held a thing of metal which was trying in a very canine way to lick his face.

  “Hey!” Vaughn exclaimed. And he flung the thing very hard to the ground. He passed a bewildered hand across his brow. “I could have sworn I heard Pete’s bark! Maybe I’m still dreaming.”

  He didn’t hear the bark again, and as he walked over to the door and the sunlight, he didn’t see the robot-dog that trotted faithfully at his heels. Vaughn stood there a moment looking out upon the expanse of ruins. The light was so bright in his eyes that he did not immediately see the figure standing there just within the entrance. Then the figure made a slight movement and he turned his head and saw a girl.

  “Hello!” said Vaughn. “I’m glad there’s someone around I can talk to. Say, did you hear what I yelled just then, about Tahor the Third? But of course you heard. Is that name familiar to you—Tahor?”

  The girl didn’t answer and didn’t move.

  “Well,” Vaughn continued, “I guess it isn’t familiar to you or you’d acknowledge it at once. I was right, then. Damn, I’m glad I was right! The name and the power of Tahor is no more. It’s vanished, as I said, with the dust. But so has everything else, as far as I can see.” Vaughn looked out again upon the ruined city. “What year is this?” he said again to the girl.

  Still she didn’t answer; merely stared at him.

  “Supposed to be a thousand years hence,” Vaughn went on. “At least that’s when Tahor said I’d awake. I came from the year 2087, you know.”

  Still the girl said nothing, and Vaughn looked at her in puzzlement. But he went on valiantly:

  “Who’s in authority around here now? I’ve got to see someone, you know! And what the devil’s happened to the city? It seems all crumbling ruins!”

  When the girl still didn’t answer, Vaughn thought he understood.

  “Oh, I’ll bet the language has died. I didn’t think it would so soon! I guess you don’t speak English. English? Understand?”

  THEN the girl spoke, and Ralph Vaughn felt like a simpleton.

  “My dear sir,” she said, “what you mean by ‘English’ I don’t know, but I assure you I speak your language very well. Quite a bit better than you do! You have the queerest accent!”

  Vaughn felt his face turning red, and he tried to speak but couldn’t. Finally he blustered:

  “Well I’ll be damned! Say, what’s the idea? Why didn’t you answer me when I spoke to you, if you were going to answer at all?”

  “I was simply too enthralled to answer,” Chyana said. “Your accent, I mean. It’s funny, but it’s fascinating!”

  He stared at her, and she stared right back; then suddenly they both laughed, simultaneously. And with that laughter both felt that they’d known each other for years.

  “Who are you, anyway?” Vaughn asked.

  “Chyana.”

  “Chyana what? Is that all?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Just Chyana,” Vaughn said musingly, lingering over the name. “Well, Chyana, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Ralph Vaughn.” He extended his hand.

  She took the hand puzzledly. “Ral Vahn,” she repeated quickly, almost running the words together.

  “And you think my language is funny!” Ralph exclaimed. “What kind of talk is that? It’s Ralph Vaughn, not Ral Vahn!”

  Chyana nodded. “Ral Vahn,” she repeated very seriously.

  “Oh, all right, have it your way. Well, Chyana, now that we’re friends—we are, aren’t we?—would you mind enlightening me on a few points? Is this really 3000 A.D. or therabouts?”

  Chyana was puzzeld. “I—don’t really know,” she said. “It’s supposed to be the twenty-sixth century—I think.”

  “You mean you don’t even know?”

  “Oh, I don’t belong here,” Chyana said quickly. “I think I’d better tell you my story first, then you can tell me yours. It’s probably much more interesting.”

  When Chyana told of the Council’s decision, she said hesitantly: “Of course they were right. I—I was so different than anyone, both in thought and appearance. That world was so cold, unfeeling. They—they called me atavistic. They insisted I obey their dictates and shear my hair, because it’s yellow and unsightly. No one else had hair, but I sort of—loved mine . . .”

  Ral Vahn was aghast. “Yellow, unsightly!” he exclaimed. “It’s nothing of the sort. It’s golden, and it’s—well, lovely. In fact,” he said feelingly, “it’s so bright and alive it seems two shades of gold instead of one—”

  Chyana blushed and to hide her confusion went on quickly with her story. When she had finished Vahn nodded and said:

  “Then you are very probably right, and this is the twenty-sixth century. I was supposed to stay in that glass tomb until 3000-and-something, but you released me prematurely, for which I thank you most heartily! And now for my story.

  “Tahor the Third, as you heard me shout awhile ago, was a tyrant. And to say that he and I didn’t get along well together is a masterpiece of understatement. He came into power directly after the Ninth Great War. All of Europe and Asia was by then a shambles, and the Americas were all that remained of civilization. But it might just as well not have been. The Americas went the way of the other hemisphere—not by bombers and poison gas, but under the relentless, tyrannical thumb of Tahor Third. He was a madman and an egomaniac, of that I was always sure. Gradually I came to know that he had one growing obsession. This was the determination to be remembered as the most powerful ruler in all history.

  “Through my initiative a group of thinkers rose in revolt. But just as we were about to strike for the freedom of the people, we were betrayed by a spy among us. The others were all executed, but I was saved until the last. Tahor wanted to attend to my punishment in person.

  “Instead of execution, he decreed I should be p
laced under a newly discovered method of suspended-animation. After a thousand years the gas in my glass tomb would be automatically released and I would awake into a world where the name Tahor was resounding in history, if not still in power. It was better than I had hoped for. At least it was life. It seems, though that Tahor’s name is already forgotten.

  “Everything I knew seems to be forgotten. I wonder if anyone else is alive to remember?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Mech”

  RAL VAHN ended on this note of puzzled interrogation, but Chyana shook her head.

  “You know as much about it now as I do,” she said. “It seems to me your city has crumbled with the ages.”

  “In such a short time? Nonsense! It’s crumbled, all right, but it took something more than time to bring things to this state. Anyone else about?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone or anything. Except,” she added in sudden remembrance, “my tilelayer who seems to have adopted me, and that awful beast of yours!”

  “Beast of mine? What the devil do you mean?”

  “He led me here! He came in here. Didn’t you see him?”

  “You couldn’t mean Pete! My dog? I could have sworn I heard Pete bark, and something jumped at me, but it certainly wasn’t him!”

  But at the word “Pete” they heard the bark again, and the robot-dog came out of the gloom into the sunlight. Pointed metal ears were alert, and his metal tail wagged joyfully as he looked up at his master. He barked again, a sharp puzzled bark.