“Why haven’t they been killed before now?” Billy Kasker asked. “These museums were opened over forty years ago. Surely—”
“I don’t know about that,” the instructor answered. “I think probably our rulers are waiting for a propitious time, or perhaps for an incident that will give them an excuse to carry out their plan.”
“I hope they don’t wait too long,” Joe Buckner said. “Golly, I want to be a Thorgunner and get in on the mop-up when it comes!”
The group stirred, seemed to look forward to the day of the final slaughter.
“Any other questions?” the instructor asked.
“I have one,” Billy Kasker said hesitantly. “It doesn’t exactly have anything to do with our trip through the museum—it’s something I ran across in a book—but I don’t quite understand it, and I wondered—”
“Go right ahead, Billy. What do you have on your mind?”
“Well, ah, did—did you ever hear of a changeling? I know it’s a kind of a silly question but—”
“A changeling?” The instructor frowned.
“I think it comes out of a fairy story or something like that,” Billy Kasker said.
“Oh, yes. Now I recall the word.” The instructor’s face lighted. “It’s a story about the fairies taking one child from its crib and substituting another for it. The substituted child was called a changeling. Or perhaps some poor mother, wishing to give her child a better chance, stole the child of a rich mother and put her child in its place. I really don’t remember too much about it.”
“Thank you, sir. You have explained it very lucidly.”
The instructor beamed.
Joe Buckner sniffed. “Asking a question, then telling the instructor he has explained it very clearly when you didn’t even ask a sensible question in the first place—that’s what I call sucking in! Who ever heard of a changeling?”
The group moved on. They came to the section of the city that had been repaired. The streets had been cleared of the rubble, houses had been rebuilt, and here and there little touches of green grass showed where an attempt to add a touch of beauty had been made.
They saw very few of the natives. Far ahead of them they occasionally glimpsed a native slipping furtively out of the way. Behind them, always at a distance, heads occasionally poked around corners at them.
“They’re very cowardly,” the instructor said.
“Where’s Billy Kasker?” Susan Sidwell suddenly asked.
The group halted. Billy Kasker was no longer following them. A little stir of consternation ran through them as they realized the class president was missing.
“Billy! Billy!” the instructor called.
There was no answer.
“I just don’t understand this. He knows he should remain with us.”
“Maybe some of these horrible natives grabbed him!” Susan Sidwell said. The group was startled—and suddenly afraid.
* * * *
The instructor took a deep breath. “I have a Thor gun. I’ll go find him. Joe, you are in charge of the group until I return. All of you remain in the middle of the street and don’t move.”
The instructor went back along the street. He was exasperated and a little alarmed. If anything happened to Billy, how could he explain the matter to the gate captain or to Billy’s parents?
“Billy!” he called again and again.
Suddenly he had an answer from an alley.
“Here, sir—here I am. Are you looking for me? I’m sorry, sir.” Billy himself appeared in the alley.
Reassured at the sight of the youth, but angry, the instructor moved into the alley. “What is the meaning of this? You have alarmed all of us.”
“I’m awfully sorry, sir. But I saw something back here that interested me, and I stopped to take a look. I hope you will forgive me.” His manner was so contrite and his chagrin so complete that the instructor had no choice but to forgive him.
“Of course, Billy. But you mustn’t do anything like this again. It might be dangerous.”
“I won’t, sir. I promise. But I wonder, since you are here, if you would be good enough to explain to me the thing I saw back here. It will only take a minute.”
“What is it?”
“It’s something in one of the houses. I came back looking at something else, then caught a glimpse of this. If you will come into the back yard you can see it. I would really like to have you explain it to me, sir. You are always so clear in your explanations.” Billy Kasker’s manner was very winning.
“Well, if it will only take a minute—” The instructor followed Billy into the back yard. At the rear was a shed with an open window. A plot of grass separated the shed from the house. On the second floor of the house, a window had been shattered.
“There’s something up there in that broken window. If you will come here, sir, you can see it better.”
“Um. Ah! Oh, yes.” The instructor’s back was to the open window of the shed. He stared upward at the house.
Two brown-coated arms came out of the window of the shed and clamped a fierce grip around his throat, jerking him backward against the wall. He grabbed frantically for the Thor gun.
The face of the brown native appeared in the window of the shed. “Get that gun, Billy!”
Billy Kasker was already in action. He snatched the gun from the instructor’s flailing hands.
The brown native leaned from the window. Muscles bulging in his powerful arms, he lifted the instructor upward and through the window. A thump came from inside the shed. Billy Kasker, Thor gun ready for use, went through the door.
The instructor was writhing on the floor. The native had a knee on his chest, a knife in his hand.
“This is for the race you think you’ve conquered!” the native said. He plunged the knife into the instructor’s throat. Green liquid spurted from the wound.
“Green blood!” the native said. “One of the chemical differences.” He came to his feet. The dying instructor was forgotten. The native’s hand went out. “Billy, am I glad to see you. I was afraid you wouldn’t recognize me in spite of the tune I was whistling as I walked past you on the street.”
“I wouldn’t forget,” Billy Kasker said.
“But, Billy, it’s been twelve years since I traded you, as a kid of five, for one of their brats—changing the bracelet as I changed you. Many times since then I’ve thought you had forgotten, or that I wouldn’t live to see the day when you came back here with a graduating class.”
“I don’t forget,” Billy Kasker said. “I’m even class president!” The words burst out of him as if he was still having trouble understanding what they meant.
“That’s wonderful, Billy. You’re accepted as one of them, but you’re one of us all the time. You’re in with them, you’re set. You have done a wonderful job and I’m proud of you.”
The glow in the native’s eyes was a wonderful sight to behold. In it there showed the hope of the future for all the conquered natives of this lost planet that had once been called Earth—the faith, the sure knowledge that they would rise again…indeed, that they were already rising.
“Thank you! But—” Billy nodded toward the body of the instructor, then spun hastily as a sound came from the rear of the shed, the Thor gun coming to focus. A trap door was rising there. Three natives were looking up from under it.
“They’re all right,” the brown native said quickly. “They’re with us.”
Three ragged men scrambled up from below. They looked at the brown native, then at the body of the instructor on the floor. A look of fierce exultation appeared on their faces. Then they looked at Billy Kasker and at the Thor gun he was holding.
“Give the Thor gun to Jim,” the brown native said.
Without hesitation Billy Kasker handed the gun to the native who reached for it. Jim did everything but
kiss the weapon. “God, the years I’ve spent dreaming of the moment when I would get one of these babies into my hands! One was all I needed.”
“Don’t stand there gloating, Jim—get moving,” the brown native said. “Within a month I want you not only to know how a Thor gun works but to be manufacturing them by the dozens, including the large sizes. This is the gun that has been stopping us all these years—it is the gun that is going to take us out of these pig pens they call museums. Get moving!”
“Yes, sir.” Jim was already gone through the trap door.
* * * *
The brown native jerked off the instructor’s clothes, then worked quickly but deftly with his knife. As he finished, the instructor’s hand separated from the arm at the wrist.
“He said no one would ever think of doing anything like that,” Billy Kasker said.
“Nobody but one of us stinking natives.” The brown man removed the plasticum bracelet, began to work with the fingers of his left hand. “I’ve spent years learning how to throw my thumb out of joint, just getting ready for the time—”
The plasticum bracelet slipped over the collapsed thumb. It fitted very snugly on his wrist. He held it up.
“Neat, eh. This makes me one of the conquerors.”
“A nice fit. But we have very little time. The group will become alarmed.”
The second native began to take the instructor’s body down the trap door. The brown native swiftly slipped off his clothes and donned the garments the instructor had worn.
“Ed, where’s that Thor gun model? I’ve got to have something that looks and feels like a genuine Thor gun to turn in at the gate.”
“Here it is, sir.” The third native handed a gleaming replica of the Thor gun to the brown man. He slipped it into the holster. It fitted snugly.
“How do I look, Billy?”
Billy Kasker surveyed the brown native. He was remarkably changed. No longer did he look like one of the natives, he looked like a conqueror. “Just a little higher on the nose with the glasses. And maybe a little less stuffing inside the brim of the hat. But—can you carry off the part of the instructor?”
“I can carry it off or die trying,” the brown native said.
“Good!” The two shook hands, then turned and went out the door. As they left, Billy Kasker saw that Ed was mopping the last remnants of the green blood from the floor.
“Perfect, down to the last detail,” Billy Kasker said. “You’re a genius at planning.”
“You have to be a genius to stay alive. Okay, Billy. Here is where we go into our act.”
They had moved into the street and the group had seen them. The voice that came from the brown native’s mouth was the voice of the instructor, hot and angry.
“Billy, this sort of conduct is intolerable. You know better than to wander off like this. What possible explanation can you offer for your conduct?”
Billy Kasker was very penitent. He was embarrassed, he was humiliated, and he showed both very clearly. He had lost all of his air of easy aplomb. “I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t think—”
“That’s just it, you didn’t think. You saw nothing in that alley, yet you asked me to come back and look. Is that the way you waste your and my time?”
“It won’t happen again, sir,” Billy Kasker said contritely.
“See that it doesn’t.”
“Yah!” Joe Buckner gloated. “This is one time the class president got it in the neck!”
“A very good point you have brought out,” the instructor said. “Billy has just demonstrated his unfitness to be class president. I am therefore removing him from this position and appointing you in his stead.”
“What?” Joe Buckner gasped, giddy with pleasure.
Billy Kasker took his position in line. No longer did he bring up the rear. Joe Buckner now had that position of honor. The group showed some sympathy for Billy, but not very much or very long. When he lost his position as president they seemed to change their minds about him.
The group moved slowly through the city. As if nothing had happened, the instructor explained what they were seeing. When they asked questions, he answered them. Billy Kasker asked no more questions.
They finally came to the gate and the same resplendent captain greeted them. He accepted the Thor gun and the holster, handed them to the guard.
“How are things in the museum?”
“Everything is in good order, sir.”
“Good. I’ve had the impression they were getting a little restless lately.”
“I saw no signs of it.”
“Fine. Did you have any trouble with the group?”
“Very little. Billy Kasker wandered off for a few moments and I had to demote him. But it was nothing. See you next year when I bring another graduating class through to show them around.”
The group began to separate to go to their own homes. Billy Kasker lingered a little, to speak to the instructor. “I’ve already asked my folks, sir, so I know it will be all right with them, so if you would like to come home with me tonight—”
“Hmmmm.”
“Trying to suck in again,” Joe Buckner said. “It won’t do you any good now. You’re cooked for good this time!”
Billy Kasker seemed not to hear him. His eyes were on the instructor. “We would be very glad to have you, sir. We could talk about a great many things.”
“Why, Billy, in that case I will be glad to come home with you.”
They moved away together. “There’s one thing I want made completely clear,” Billy Kasker said.
“What is that?”
“When the time comes, there is one conqueror I’ve got on my list!”
“That jerk I made class president? Of course, Billy. We will be glad to save him for you alone.” The instructor’s smile was a happy one.
“Good. That’s agreed then.” In the gathering dusk, Billy Kasker’s voice was as sharp as the edge of a knife driving home into a throat from which green blood spurted.…
THE LOST WARSHIP
Amazing Stories, January 1943.
CHAPTER I
The sun came up over a glassy, motionless sea. In the life-boat, Craig arranged the piece of sail to protect them from the sun. He hoisted it to the top of the improvised mast, spreading it so that it threw a shadow on the boat. There was no wind. There had been no wind for three days.
Craig stood up and swept his eyes around the circle of the sea. The horizon was unbroken. As he sat down he was aware that the girl, Margy Sharp, who had been sleeping at his feet, had awakened.
“See anything, pal?” she whispered.
He shook his head.
Her pinched face seemed to become more pinched at his gesture. She sat up. Her eyes went involuntarily to the keg of water beside Craig. She licked her parched, cracked lips.
“How’s for a drink, pal?” she asked.
“A quarter of a cup is all we get today,” Craig said. “Do you want your share now or will you wait and take it later?”
“I’m terribly thirsty,” the girl said. She glanced quickly back at the others in the boat. They were still sleeping.
“How about slipping me a whole cup?” she asked, her bold blue eyes fixed intently on Craig’s face.
Craig looked at the sea.
“They’re asleep,” the girl said quickly. “They won’t ever know.”
Craig said nothing.
“Please,” the girl begged.
Craig sat in silence. He was a big man with a great thatch of black hair and hard gray eyes. He was clad in a pair of torn duck trousers. Rolled bottoms revealed bare feet. He wore no shirt. Holstered on his belt was a heavy pistol.
“Look, big boy,” the girl cajoled. “Me and you could get along all right.”
“What makes you think so?” Craig questioned.
<
br /> This was apparently not the answer she had expected. She seemed to be startled. For a moment her eyes measured the man.
“You’ve been looking for something that you wanted very badly,” she said. “You haven’t found it. Because you haven’t found it, you have become bitter.”
Her words made Craig uncomfortable. They came too close to the truth. He shifted his position on the seat.
“So what?” he said.
“So nothing,” the girl answered. “Except that we are two of a kind.”
“And because we are two of a kind, we can get along?” he questioned.
“Yes,” she answered. She made no effort to hide the longing in her eyes. “Look, Craig, me and you, we’re tough.” She gestured contemptuously at the others in the boat. “They aren’t tough.”
“Aren’t they?”
“No.” The words came faster now, as if she had made up her mind to say what she had to say and be damned with the consequences. “They’re going to die. Oh, you needn’t shake your head. You haven’t fooled me for a minute with your pretending there will be a ship along to pick us up. There won’t be a ship. Our only hope is that we may drift ashore on an island. It may be days before we find an island. There isn’t enough water to keep us all alive that long. So—”
She couldn’t quite finish what she had to say. Craig watched her, his eyes cold and unrevealing. Her gaze dropped.
“So why don’t you and I split the water and let the others die of thirst because we are tough and they aren’t? Is that what you mean?” he asked.
“No—” She faltered. “N—no.” Defiance hardened her face. “Yes!” she snapped. “That’s what I mean. Why should we take care of them? We don’t owe them anything. Why should we die with them? What have they—or anybody else—ever done for us? I’ll tell you the answer. Nothing. Nothing! Nothing!”
“Because they have done nothing for us and because we are the stronger, we let them die. Is that what you mean?”
“Y—yes.”
* * * *
Craig sat in silence for a moment. Dark thoughts were in his mind but his face showed nothing. “I have a gun,” he said, “the only gun in the boat. That makes me the boss. Why don’t I keep all the water for myself and let the rest of you die of thirst?”
The 22nd Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 24