The Keith Laumer MEGAPACK®

by Keith Laumer

Suddenly the wall cleared. Like a surface of moulded glass the stone threw back ghostly highlights. Beyond it, the Niss technicians, seen now in sharp detail, worked busily, silently, their faces like masks of ridged red-brown leather. Directly opposite Bram’s Repellor, an apparatus like an immense camera with a foot-wide silvered lens stood aimed, a black-clad Niss perched in a saddle atop it. The white light flooded the cave, threw black shadows across the floor. Bram hunched over the Repellor, face tensed in strain. A glow built in the air around the Niss machine. The alien technicians stood now, staring with tiny bright-red eyes. Long seconds passed. The black-clad Niss gestured suddenly. Another turned to a red-marked knife-switch, pulled. As suddenly as it had cleared, the wall went milky, then dulled to opacity. Bram slumped back, eyes shut, breathing hoarsely.

  “Near were they then,” he muttered, “I grow weak….”

  “Let me take over,” Tremaine said. “Tell me how.”

  “How can I tell you? You will not understand.”

  “Maybe I’ll understand enough to get us through the night.”

  Bram seemed to gather himself. “Very well. This must you know….

  “I am an agent in the service of the Great World. For centuries we have waged war against the Niss, evil beings who loot the continua. They established an Aperture here, on your Earth. We detected it, and found that a Portal could be set up here briefly. I was dispatched with a crew to counter their move—”

  “You’re talking gibberish,” Tremaine said. “I’ll pass the Great World and the continua…but what’s an Aperture?”

  “A point of material contact between the Niss world and this plane of space-time. Through it they can pump this rich planet dry of oxygen, killing it—then emerge to feed on the corpse.”

  “What’s a Portal?”

  “The Great World lies in a different harmonic series than do Earth and the Niss World. Only at vast intervals can we set up a Portal of temporary identity as the cycles mesh. We monitor the Niss emanations, and forestall them when we can, now in this plane, now in that.”

  “I see: denial to the enemy.”

  “But we were late. Already the multihedron was far advanced. A blinding squall lashed outside the river cave where the Niss had focused the Aperture, and the thunder rolled as the ionization effect was propagated in the atmosphere. I threw my force against the Niss Aperture, but could not destroy it…but neither could they force their entry.”

  “And this was sixty years ago? And they’re still at it?”

  * * * *

  “You must throw off the illusion of time! To the Niss only a few days have passed. But here—where I spend only minutes from each night in the engagement, as the patterns coincide—it has been long years.”

  “Why don’t you bring in help? Why do you have to work alone?”

  “The power required to hold the Portal in focus against the stresses of space-time is tremendous. Even then the cycle is brief. It gave us first a fleeting contact of a few seconds; it was through that that we detected the Niss activity here. The next contact was four days later, and lasted twenty-four minutes—long enough to set up the Repellor. I fought them then…and saw that victory was in doubt. Still, it was a fair world; I could not let it go without a struggle. A third identity was possible twenty days later; I elected to remain here until then, attempt to repel the Niss, then return home at the next contact. The Portal closed, and my crew and I settled down to the engagement.

  “The next night showed us in full the hopelessness of the contest. By day, we emerged from where the Niss had focussed the Aperture, and explored this land, and came to love its small warm sun, its strange blue sky, its mantle of green…and the small humble grass-blades. To us of an ancient world it seemed a paradise of young life. And then I ventured into the town…and there I saw such a maiden as the Cosmos has forgotten, such was her beauty….

  “The twenty days passed. The Niss held their foothold—yet I had kept them back.

  “The Portal reopened. I ordered my crew back. It closed. Since then, have I been alone….”

  “Bram,” Miss Carroll said. “Bram…you stayed when you could have escaped—and I—”

  “I would that I could give you back those lost years, Linda Carroll,” Bram said. “I would that we could have been together under a brighter sun than this.”

  “You gave up your world, to give this one a little time,” Tremaine said. “And we rewarded you with a shotgun blast.”

  “Bram…when will the Portal open again?”

  “Not in my life, Linda Carroll. Not for ten thousand years.”

  “Why didn’t you recruit help?” Tremaine said. “You could have trained someone….”

  “I tried, at first. But what can one do with frightened rustics? They spoke of witchcraft, and fled.”

  “But you can’t hold out forever. Tell me how this thing works. It’s time somebody gave you a break!”

  V

  Bram talked for half an hour, while Tremaine listened. “If I should fail,” he concluded, “take my place at the Repellor. Place the circlet on your neck. When the wall clears, grip the handles and pit your mind against the Niss. Will that they do not come through. When the thunder rolls, you will know that you have failed.”

  “All right. I’ll be ready. But let me get one thing straight: this Repellor of yours responds to thoughts, is that right? It amplifies them—”

  “It serves to focus the power of the mind. But now let us make haste. Soon, I fear, will they renew the attack.”

  “It will be twenty minutes or so, I think,” said Tremaine. “Stay where you are and get some rest.”

  Bram looked at him, his blue eyes grim under white brows. “What do you know of this matter, young man?”

  “I think I’ve doped out the pattern; I’ve been monitoring these transmissions for weeks. My ideas seemed to prove out okay the last few nights.”

  “No one but I in all this world knew of the Niss attack. How could you have analyzed that which you knew not of?”

  “Maybe you don’t know it, Bram, but this Repellor of yours has been playing hell with our communications. Recently we developed what we thought was a Top Secret project—and you’re blasting us off the air.”

  “This is only a small portable unit, poorly screened,” Bram said. “The resonance effects are unpredictable. When one seeks to channel the power of thought—”

  “Wait a minute!” Tremaine burst out.

  “What is it?” Miss Carroll said, alarmed.

  “Hyperwave,” Tremaine said. “Instantaneous transmission. And thought. No wonder people had headaches—and nightmares! We’ve been broadcasting on the same band as the human mind!”

  “This ‘hyperwave’,” Bram said. “You say it is instantaneous?”

  “That’s supposed to be classified information.”

  “Such a device is new in the cosmos,” Bram said. “Only a protoplasmic brain is known to produce a null-lag excitation state.”

  Tremaine frowned. “Bram, this Repellor focuses what I’ll call thought waves for want of a better term. It uses an interference effect to damp out the Niss harmonic generator. What if we poured more power to the Repellor?”

  “No. The power of the mind cannot be amplified—”

  “I don’t mean amplification; I mean an additional source. I have a hyperwave receiver here. With a little rewiring, it’ll act as a transmitter. Can we tie it in?”

  Bram shook his head. “Would that I were a technician,” he said. “I know only what is required to operate the device.”

  “Let me take a look,” Tremaine said. “Maybe I can figure it out.”

  “Take care. Without it, we fall before the Niss.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Tremaine went to the machine, examined it, tracing leads, identifying components.

  “This seems clear enough,” he said. “These would be powerful magnets here; they give a sort of pinch effect. And these are refracting-field coils. Simple, and brilliant. With this idea, w
e could beam hyperwave—”

  “First let us deal with the Niss!”

  “Sure.” Tremaine looked at Bram. “I think I can link my apparatus to this,” he said. “Okay if I try?”

  “How long?”

  “It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.”

  “That leaves little time.”

  “The cycle is tightening,” Tremaine said. “I figure the next transmissions…or attacks…will come at intervals of under five minutes for several hours now; this may be the last chance.”

  “Then try,” said Bram.

  Tremaine nodded, went to the suitcase, took out tools and a heavy black box, set to work. Linda Carroll sat by Bram’s side, speaking softly to him. The minutes passed.

  “Okay,” Tremaine said. “This unit is ready.” He went to the Repellor, hesitated a moment, then turned two nuts and removed a cover.

  “We’re off the air,” he said. “I hope my formula holds.”

  * * * *

  Bram and Miss Carroll watched silently as Tremaine worked. He strung wires, taped junctions, then flipped a switch on the hyperwave set and tuned it, his eyes on the dials of a smaller unit.

  “Nineteen minutes have passed since the last attack,” Bram said. “Make haste.”

  “I’m almost done,” Tremaine said.

  A sharp cry came from the wall. Tremaine jumped. “What the hell makes those sounds?”

  “They are nothing—mere static. But they warn that the harmonic generators are warming.” Bram struggled to his feet. “Now comes the assault.”

  “The shadows!” Miss Carroll cried.

  Bram sank into the chair, leaned back, his face pale as wax in the faint glow from the wall. The glow grew brighter; the shadows swam into focus.

  “Hurry, James,” Miss Carroll said. “It comes quickly.”

  Bram watched through half-closed eyes. “I must man the Repellor. I….” He fell back in the chair, his head lolling.

  “Bram!” Miss Carroll cried. Tremaine snapped the cover in place, whirled to the chair, dragged it and its occupant away from the machine, then turned, seized the grips. On the wall the Niss moved in silence, readying the attack. The black-clad figure was visible, climbing to his place. The wall cleared. Tremaine stared across at the narrow room, the gray-clad Niss. They stood now, eyes on him. One pointed. Others erected leathery crests.

  Stay out, you ugly devils, Tremaine thought. Go back, retreat, give up….

  Now the blue glow built in a flickering arc across the Niss machine. The technicians stood, staring across the narrow gap, tiny red eyes glittering in the narrow alien faces. Tremaine squinted against the brilliant white light from the high-vaulted Niss Command Center. The last suggestion of the sloping surface of the limestone wall was gone. Tremaine felt a draft stir; dust whirled up, clouded the air. There was an odor of iodine.

  Back, Tremaine thought. Stay back….

  There was a restless stir among the waiting rank of Niss. Tremaine heard the dry shuffle of horny feet against the floor, the whine of the harmonic generator. His eyes burned. As a hot gust swept around him he choked and coughed.

  NO! he thought, hurling negation like a weightless bomb. FAIL! RETREAT!

  * * * *

  Now the Niss moved, readying a wheeled machine, rolling it into place. Tremaine coughed rackingly, fought to draw a breath, blinking back blindness. A deep thrumming started up; grit particles stung his cheek, the backs of his hands. The Niss worked rapidly, their throat gills visibly dilated now in the unaccustomed flood of oxygen….

  Our oxygen, Tremaine thought. The looting has started already, and I’ve failed, and the people of Earth will choke and die….

  From what seemed an immense distance, a roll of thunder trembled at the brink of audibility, swelling.

  The black-clad Niss on the alien machine half rose, erecting a black-scaled crest, exulting. Then, shockingly, his eyes fixed on Tremaine’s, his trap-like mouth gaped, exposing a tongue like a scarlet snake, a cavernous pink throat set with a row of needle-like snow-white teeth. The tongue flicked out, a gesture of utter contempt.

  And suddenly Tremaine was cold with deadly rage. We have a treatment for snakes in this world, he thought with savage intensity. We crush ’em under our heels…. He pictured a writhing rattler, broken-backed, a club descending; a darting red coral snake, its venom ready, slashed in the blades of a power mower; a cottonmouth, smashed into red ruin by a shotgun blast….

  BACK, SNAKE, he thought. DIE! DIE!

  The thunder faded.

  And atop the Niss Generator, the black-clad Niss snapped his mouth shut, crouched.

  “DIE!” Tremaine shouted. “Die!”

  The Niss seemed to shrink in on himself, shivering. His crest went flaccid, twitched twice. The red eyes winked out and the Niss toppled from the machine. Tremaine coughed, gripped the handles, turned his eyes to a gray-uniformed Niss who scrambled up to replace the operator.

  I SAID DIE, SNAKE!

  The Niss faltered, tumbled back among his fellows, who darted about now like ants in a broached anthill. One turned red eyes on Tremaine, then scrambled for the red cut-out switch.

  NO, YOU DON’T, Tremaine thought. IT’S NOT THAT EASY, SNAKE. DIE!

  The Niss collapsed. Tremaine drew a rasping breath, blinked back tears of pain, took in a group of Niss in a glance.

  Die!

  * * * *

  They fell. The others turned to flee then, but like a scythe Tremaine’s mind cut them down, left them in windrows. Hate walked naked among the Niss and left none living.

  Now the machines. Tremaine thought. He fixed his eyes on the harmonic generator. It melted into slag. Behind it, the high panels set with jewel-like lights blackened, crumpled into wreckage. Suddenly the air was clean again. Tremaine breathed deep. Before him the surface of the rock swam into view.

  NO! Tremaine thought thunderously. HOLD THAT APERTURE OPEN!

  The rock-face shimmered, faded. Tremaine looked into the white-lit room, at the blackened walls, the huddled dead. No pity, he thought. You would have sunk those white teeth into soft human throats, sleeping in the dark…as you’ve done on a hundred worlds. You’re a cancer in the cosmos. And I have the cure.

  WALLS, he thought, COLLAPSE!

  The roof before him sagged, fell in. Debris rained down from above, the walls tottered, went down. A cloud of roiled dust swirled, cleared to show a sky blazing with stars.

  Dust, stay clear, Tremaine thought. I want good air to breathe for the work ahead. He looked out across a landscape of rock, ghostly white in the starlight.

  LET THE ROCKS MELT AND FLOW LIKE WATER!

  An upreared slab glowed, slumped, ran off in yellow rivulets that were lost in the radiance of the crust as it bubbled, belching released gasses. A wave of heat struck Tremaine. Let it be cool here, he thought. Now, Niss world….

  “No!” Bram’s voice shouted. “Stop, stop!”

  Tremaine hesitated. He stared at the vista of volcanic fury before him.

  I could destroy it all, he thought. And the stars in the Niss sky….

  “Great is the power of your hate, man of Earth,” Bram cried. “But curb it now, before you destroy us all!”

  “Why?” Tremaine shouted. “I can wipe out the Niss and their whole diseased universe with them, with a thought!”

  “Master yourself,” Bram said hoarsely. “Your rage destroys you! One of the suns you see in the Niss sky is your Sol!”

  “Sol?” Tremaine said. “Then it’s the Sol of a thousand years ago. Light takes time to cross a galaxy. And the earth is still here…so it wasn’t destroyed!”

  “Wise are you,” Bram said. “Your race is a wonder in the Cosmos, and deadly is your hate. But you know nothing of the forces you unloose now. Past time is as mutable as the steel and rock you melted but now.”

  “Listen to him, James,” Miss Carroll pleaded. “Please listen.”

  Tremaine twisted to look at her, still holding the twin grips. She looked back s
teadily, her head held high. Beside her, Bram’s eyes were sunken deep in his lined face.

  “Jess said you looked like a princess once, Miss Carroll,” Tremaine said, “when you drove past with your red hair piled up high. And Bram: you were young, and you loved her. The Niss took your youth from you. You’ve spent your life here, fighting them, alone. And Linda Carroll waited through the years, because she loved you…and feared you. The Niss did that. And you want me to spare them?”

  “You have mastered them,” said Bram. “And you are drunk with the power in you. But the power of love is greater than the power of hate. Our love sustained us; your hate can only destroy.”

  Tremaine locked eyes with the old man. He drew a deep breath at last, let it out shudderingly. “All right,” he said “I guess the God complex got me.” He looked back once more at the devastated landscape. “The Niss will remember this encounter, I think. They won’t try Earth again.”

  “You’ve fought valiantly, James, and won,” Miss Carroll said. “Now let the power go.”

  Tremaine turned again to look at her. “You deserve better than this, Miss Carroll,” he said. “Bram, you said time is mutable. Suppose—”

  “Let well enough alone,” Bram said. “Let it go!”

  “Once, long ago, you tried to explain this to Linda Carroll. But there was too much against it; she couldn’t understand. She was afraid. And you’ve suffered for sixty years. Suppose those years had never been. Suppose I had come that night…instead of now—”

  “It could never be!”

  “It can if I will it!” Tremaine gripped the handles tighter. Let this be THAT night, he thought fiercely. The night in 1901, when Bram’s last contact failed. Let it be that night, five minutes before the portal closed. Only this machine and I remain as we are now; outside there are gas lights in the farm houses along the dirt road to Elsby, and in the town horses stand in the stables along the cinder alleys behind the houses; and President McKinley is having dinner in the White House….

  * * * *

  There was a sound behind Tremaine. He whirled. The ravaged scene was gone. A great disc mirror stood across the cave, intersecting the limestone wall. A man stepped through it, froze at the sight of Tremaine. He was tall, with curly blond hair, fine-chiseled features, broad shoulders.