He Who Shrank: A Collection of Short Fiction

by Henry Hasse

  Ketrik heard shouts and curses from the startled guard, but he knew they wouldn't fire into the crowd. A uniformed man loomed before him, swinging a gun-fist up. Ketrik was quicker. The guard went down from a sledge-hammer blow. Grinning joyously, Ketrik evaded two others. He twisted and turned through the crowd, with some notion of gaining the tube-car and escaping into the heart of the city.

  And it might have worked. Now a path was opening clear. But this time he really stumbled, lost his balance momentarily. It was enough to allow the guards to close in. Ketrik twisted erect, felt clutching hands upon him and heard the bellowing voice of the captain. He swung out with his arms, felt men flung backward. He tried to bring up the heat-gun.

  This time someone else was quicker.

  A heavy weight crashed against Ketrik's head, a sun exploded into millions of fragments which dwindled away as he plunged forward into darkness.

  He regained his faculties quickly. His subconsciousness demanded it. This curious "awareness" in which Ketrik had trained himself had saved him from many a tight scrape.

  But now he did not open his eyes at once. He knew he was in the tube-car, for he could feel the cushioned seat beneath him and the faint vibration of the gyro-motors. Then he became aware of another fact.

  He was alone.

  This brought him to his feet, wide-eyed and alert. He felt the weight of his own gun again in his belt, examined it, found it still loaded. Strange!

  Where were the guards? Why should they be sending him somewhere alone? A glance at the crystyte window revealed a flashing panorama of the city. He knew he was moving at terrific speed, probably on a special "right-of-way." To attempt an escape now would be suicide.

  He shrugged, settled down in the seat. His capture had been well planned, but he failed to see what the Council hoped to gain by it! Ketrik felt a surge of cold fury at this treachery—a treachery in which Mark Travers must have had a hand.

  Presently a braking signal flashed green. The tiny car sighed, as though exhausted from its headlong route across the city. It came to a stop against the forward cushion of air, and doors of duraplon slid smoothly back.

  Hand near his gun, Ketrik emerged into a long empty corridor of black and silver. Black marble walls reached sheerly up, to curve away into a filigreed ceiling. Priceless tapestries adorned the walls, caught a hidden overhead glow and shattered it into lances of silver radiance. Ketrik frowned, looking at these tapestries. Their design was interwoven with thousands of Kra plumes, those priceless silvery plumes for which he'd risked his life many times among the wild peaks of Ganymede. Only the very elect could afford them. He knew now, that he must be in Earth's Council Chambers.

  Again he felt a tingling awareness, knew that unseen eyes were upon him. He straightened his shoulders and walked unhurriedly toward a massive door at the end of the corridor. As he neared it, there came a tiny click and the door slid back.

  It was a large room but startlingly bare. A huge table of Martian majagua wood, with a dozen surrounding chairs, occupied the center. The only other article was a magnificent Ethero-Magnum, with screen reaching nearly to the ceiling—an instrument powerful enough for communication with Venus, Mars, even the Callistan colonies.

  To Ketrik's surprise, only one Member of Council was present. This man had risen as Ketrik entered. Ketrik stared and it took him fully a minute to recognize this man. It had been four years since he had last seen him, out there at Perlac—but now Mark Travers seemed to have aged twenty years!

  Mark came slowly around the table, hand thrust out in greeting.

  Ketrik's voice was like a whiplash.

  "Nice going, Travers! I trusted you, so I came right into your little trap! What is it you want—the Frequency Tuner? Or am I just plain under arrest?"

  Mark stopped in his tracks. A pained look swept across his features. Ketrik went on mercilessly.

  "And I expected a better reception than this! Where's the rest of the Council? I'll save you time, though, and tell you that Perlac has ceased negotiating. We're prepared to fight for our independence and free enterprise in the System!"

  "I know that, Ketrik. I'll continue to champion Perlac's cause against all odds here!" Grim-faced, Mark began pacing the room. "As for the other eleven Council Members—they don't even know that you've arrived on Earth. I'm risking my position in Council, perhaps my very life, by bringing an outsider into these chambers without a quorum present!"

  Ketrik's mien underwent a change. "You mean I'm not under arrest?"

  Mark laughed. "Of course you're not! That little show at the spaceport was faked, had to be. And," he smiled a little, "thanks for adding the touch of realism. Moreover, your spacer is in safe hands."

  "Well, son, congratulations!" Ketrik grinned broadly. "You sure had me fooled. But what about the rest of the Council, if they learn that I'm on Earth—"

  "By the time they do, it won't matter. You won't be here." Mark stopped his pacing, turned to the famed adventurer. "Ketrik, I sent for you because I need you desperately! Earth needs you! I have reason to believe that Earth is facing the greatest danger in its history."

  "Earth." The bronzed exile spoke the word quietly, but with a world of contempt.

  "Well, then, the entire System! Even Perlac. I believe it will strike first at Earth, in fact may already have done so."

  "And this danger. Danger from what?"

  "Ketrik, you'll probably think me a fool—but I don't know! It's so damned vague it's terrifying. I do have an accumulation of data that points to Mars. I want you to go there."

  "Mars? A second-rate power. Their race is dying out, and their science goes with it."

  Mark shook his head. "Don't underrate Dar Vaajo! He's an old man now, but cunning. An opportunist. He's never forgotten how Princess Aladdian of Venus, through her treaty with Earth, put an end to his dreams of conquest." [2]

  "Yes, I remember it well." Ketrik was thoughtful. "But how could Dar Vaajo make a play now against the power of Earth, or for that matter Perlac?"

  Mark permitted himself a smile. He didn't miss the implication that Perlac, too, was fast becoming a power to be reckoned with.

  "I'll give you the facts," he said quietly, "and you can judge. About two years ago, Dar Vaajo stopped all Uranium shipments from Mars. That in itself is comparatively unimportant. What is important, is the Earth Council. Now consider, Ketrik—I've been close to these men for four years. Very often it has seemed to me that where rudimentary logic should dictate a course of action, they incomprehensibly choose to follow another. So it was with this Uranium embargo. They might easily have forced a showdown, but instead, they seemed satisfied with Dar Vaajo's peculiar evasions.

  "Of course, about this time Earth's quarrel with Perlac was reaching a crisis. But even there, I noticed definite trends of irrational thinking on the part of the Members. At our frequent sessions to discuss the Perlac question, they seemed to appreciate all the factors involved—even that we were fast losing our best scientific talent to Perlac. Yet their damned egotisms crept through, dictating to their reason. Ketrik, I swear to you that when they voted sending a fleet of Patrollers out to Jupiter to prevent your men from landing there, I did everything in my power to prevent it. But again my voice was one against eleven. And believe me, the majority vote of Council is final—irrevocable."

  "I have reason to know that," Ketrik said. "But, Mark, I still fail to see this danger you spoke of."

  "I'm getting to it. And this is the part that's frightening. About a month ago, in my own home, I set up a secret Cerebro-Scanner. Know what that is?"

  "Never heard of it."

  "It's new, and plenty dangerous in the wrong hands. Works on a ray principle. Produces elaborate graphs of an individual's mental and emotional coordinates. Well, on a secret wavelength I probed the minds of my fellow Council Members!" Mark smiled. "Yes, I'd probably receive sentence of death if they knew, but the end justified the means. Ketrik, the resulting graphs rev
eal that the cerebrothalamic coordinates of the Council Members do not vary in the slightest! They are the same down to ten decimal points!"

  Ketrik gestured helplessly. "Is this important?"

  Mark stared at him. "Important—it's unprecedented! Much the same as finding eleven identical sets of fingerprints! But what is worse, the graphs show elements of—of—it's hard to explain. Certainly not disloyalty! Rather the opposite. An intense loyalty, but governed by unreason. Their minds seem directed along a single channel, toward a definite end. And that is—the utter humbling of Perlac! Nothing else seems to matter!"

  Ketrik nodded. Then he asked the obvious question.

  "Did you employ this Scanner on yourself?"

  "To make the record complete—yes! Needless to say, this tenacity of purpose concerning Perlac is utterly missing from my own mental coordinates."

  "Hmm. How do you account for that?"

  "I can't. But this mental trend in the others seems to be induced. Now, you begin to see the implications?"

  Ketrik nodded slowly. "Yes, son, and you're right! It even begins to scare me a little. Suppose Dar Vaajo in some way has gained control of those eleven minds—is that what you mean? But why Dar Vaajo?"

  "There's one more item that completes the pattern, and points to Mars. During the past year, as many as four of our spacers have disappeared on the Earth-Mars route. No trace has ever been found. However, about a month ago, a life-boat from the missing Terra III was found drifting near the orbit of our moon. Aboard was one survivor—Dr. Curt Ransome, the brilliant physicist and mathematician, returning from a lecture tour on Mars."

  "And could you learn nothing from him?"

  "No." Mark's voice was tragic. "We learned nothing, because—his brilliant mind was gone! The doctors say it's doubtful if he'll ever respond to treatment. He babbles incessantly, has the mind of a week-old infant!"

  Ketrik was aghast. "What has the Council done?"

  "Nothing, of course!" Mark laughed bitterly. "They're pre-occupied with Perlac! I've personally contacted Dar Vaajo on the Ethero-Magnum. He expresses regret and puzzlement, offers every aid in tracing the disappearing ships. But there's an under-current of evasion. As a desperate measure I sent two secret operatives to Mars."

  "Good," Ketrik nodded his approval. "They get through all right?"

  "Yes, apparently just in time. Dar Vaajo has thrown a close guard about the planet. Anyway, my operatives managed to set up a communications base in the wilds of the K'Mari Range, half a day's flight from Turibek, capital of South Mars. I've contacted them twice. They report strange activities at Turibek, something in the nature of a vast scientific experiment! And another thing. Dar Vaajo apparently has made a truce with the Rajecs."

  "The Rajecs! Those Martian Outlanders?" Ketrik's face was dark with real concern. This news seemed to affect him more than anything Mark had said.

  "We've really never learned much about those strange desert tribes," Mark went on. "But—"

  "It's impossible!" Ketrik said. "Those Outlanders hate the Upper Martians with a hatred beyond our understanding. Nothing would impel them to make truce, absolutely nothing! I know, for I once lived among them for six months." Ketrik was as near to being excited as was possible for him. "Yes, Mark, I'll go to Mars. This really begins to interest me!"

  II

  They spent much of that night in going over their plans. Ketrik had no misapprehensions about landing on Mars; he could do that despite Vaajo's patrols. Turibek presented the real problem.

  Carefully he perused the tele-strip recordings from Mark's operatives, E-39 and EV-5. There had only been two reports, and they were brief.

  "This last one was sent two weeks ago," Mark said, "and I haven't been able to contact them since. The channel's dead. I'm afraid it means their hide-out was discovered!"

  Ketrik studied the rough map Mark had made, showing the location of the hide-out in the K'Mari Range, and its position from Turibek.

  "This will help. I'll try to get over there, see if anything's left of their sending equipment. Then I want to make a try for the city. If I can get inside of Turibek, and maybe get a line on this scientific thing they're working up ... I was at Turibek eight years ago, and know it fairly well."

  "Here's a photostatic air view," Mark said. "Afraid it doesn't show much."

  "It shows one thing," Ketrik said, studying the film. "Dar Vaajo's had a wall built completely around the city. That wasn't there eight years ago! And those towers stationed around the wall—what do you suppose they are?"

  "Control towers. That's an electronic wall! And you'll observe there's another within the city itself, surrounding that group of buildings which must be the laboratories. Ketrik—if you ever get in there...." His voice dwindled away in doubt.

  "You don't think I can do it? I don't either, Mark—not as an Earthman!"

  "Come. We'll fix that."

  They passed through endless corridors, arrived finally at a large white-enameled room. It was complete with operating tables, instruments, plastics, ray-lamps—everything necessary to Earth's espionage system.

  Ketrik stripped piecemeal, allowed every inch of his superbly muscled body to be subjected to the stinging Ulmo lamps. Gradually under the hot rays, the very pigmentation of his skin changed to the deep reddish-copper of a Martian. Mark proved himself an expert at this. Even the insides of Ketrik's ears did not escape the ray.

  "Don't worry," Mark told him. "This will all wear off eventually."

  "Yes? How long?"

  "In about two years! Now, your eyes. You never saw a Martian with gray eyes. Look up just a moment."

  A few drops of liquid, a harmless vegetable composition, changed Ketrik's eyes to a muddy golden color.

  "Those bangs have got to come off!" Mark went to work in earnest. Ten minutes under another ray, and Ketrik's unruly hair was transformed into tight, crisp curls in keeping with the Martian fashion. His features presented the hardest problem, but Mark worked miracles with the plastics and equipment.

  At last the job was done. When Ketrik surveyed himself in the mirror he saw a tall, somewhat arrogant Martian of the middle class, with slightly flaring nostrils, bulging cheek-bones and lips curving in a thin, cruel smile. He nodded, more than satisfied.

  Mark consulted his wrist-chrono. "Four hours until dawn. Better grab a few hours' sleep, it may be your last for a while."

  "Sure, but I'll rest better if I know one thing. Where's my ship?"

  "My guards moved it secretly to the underground repair locks. Right now it's undergoing as radical a change as I just performed on you." Mark smiled. "When you leave Earth, it will be in a slow-powered ore freighter ostensibly bound for the Moon!"

  An hour before the dawn, Mark wakened Ketrik. But Mark hadn't been idle in those hours. He handed the other a small, compact instrument.

  "Here's a Scanner disc I just finished assembling. It only works within a very short range, but you may have need of it."

  They took the swift tube-car across the city and arrived at the spaceport amidst surprising activity. A Callistan freighter had just berthed. Bright lights were trained upon it, men and trucks were moving about handling the cargo.

  "I planned it for this hour," Mark explained, "because now less attention will be drawn to you. We can't be too careful." He pointed to a dark, far corner of the field where a clumsy bulk rested. "Believe it or not, that's your ship. The exterior's been changed but that's all. You still have the Frequency Tuner." They paused for a moment in solemn thought. "I can't impress upon you too much, Ketrik, what this—"

  "That's right, Mark, you can't. So let's not mention it." Ketrik was brusque. "Believe me, son, I know what I'm up against."

  "Send any news at all as to what Dar Vaajo's up to. If I learn that, I can rouse the people of Earth to preparedness in spite of the Council." He thrust out his hand. "I'll say goodby now—and good luck!"

  Ketrik said simply, "You'll be hearing from me, Mark." He
moved across the field, keeping to the shadows, the collar of his space tunic turned up. He wondered how many of the men working about this field were Martian "Specials." Some of them, surely. If he, an Earthman, could be molded into Martian guise, Dar Vaajo could certainly perform the same miracle in reverse and probably had.

  He reached his ship undetected. All was dark and quiet. The hull, he noticed, had been painted solid black. He entered and flicked on the lights. Mark was right, nothing on the inside had been changed.

  He explored the ship to make sure. Then he moved forward to the control-console, remembering that this was supposed to be a clumsy Moon freighter. The rockets roared. The ship moved with slow acceleration up the step locks, to finally catapult into the stratosphere.

  And five minutes later, just as he was clearing Earth's gravity, he heard the voice behind him:

  "Well, Ketrik, at last! Really—I thought you were never going to make it!"

  Ketrik had long since learned caution in these matters. He turned slowly now and was glad he did. The first thing he saw was the gun—a powerful weapon, an electro. The fist wrapped around it looked firm and experienced. Ketrik's gaze went to the man's face.

  It was the Captain of the Guard, the same captain who had met him at his landing eight hours before. The man was cold-eyed now. He kept a few paces away from Ketrik.

  Ketrik said, "I searched the ship. Where were you?"

  "You failed to look in the emergency fuel locker. It was a tight squeeze for me." He smiled tightly, surveying Ketrik's transformed figure. "A nice job. Slightly tall for a Martian but, withal very nice. Too bad all that ingenuity has to be wasted at the very outset."

  Ketrik's muscles tightened. As though it were a signal, the other's voice became brittle.

  "Up! Up with those hands, Ketrik. I have a few questions to ask, and then—"

  It seemed ridiculously easy, the way Ketrik did it. He let his eyes go dull. He sighed and raised his hands, slowly. He saw the other's gun-fist relax ever so slightly. Then Ketrik's legs gave way and he went swiftly downward. The captain fired but Ketrik wasn't there, his powerful muscles had launched him forward, beneath the hissing beam. His shoulder caught the other just below the midriff and bent him double, carried him backward. They crashed into the controlroom door. Ketrik's left hand found the other's gun-wrist and twisted powerfully. A bone snapped, the electro skidded away. The captain began a curse but it was cut short by Ketrik's right hand at his throat.