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Title: The deadly ones
Author: F. L. Wallace
Release date: April 8, 2024 [eBook #73355]
Language: English
Original publication: New York, NY: King-Size Publications, Inc, 1954
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEADLY ONES ***
The deadly ones
By F. L. Wallace
He preyed on the nightmare fears of mankind,
and the dread food he craved was his in
abundance. Why, why did he have to go exploring?
_F. L. Wallace is one of the bright new stars of science fiction.
He is also a practicing engineer who has designed hydraulic
presses, and gyro instruments. Be warned! When he starts weaving
sound science into the homespun geography of his native Illinois
you may find yourself caught up in a spatial drive which will carry
you clear across the great curve of the universe--on a journey
guaranteed to chill and surprise you!_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Universe July 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Rathsden. I'm sure the name means nothing to you. There are legends, of
course--from old Germany and the greater Reich, colonial America even.
But you can't prove anything very damaging or concrete with legends.
And even when the story is otherwise correct, I've been careful to
keep my name out of it. A clever person shuns publicity, though it may
involve tampering with history. For all practical purposes the name
Rathsden is unknown. I want it kept that way.
I can't remember when the inspiration came. Probably it had lain for a
long time dormant in the back of my mind, like a mole hibernating in
mid-winter. Warmed by the proper circumstances, it emerged at last in
its full vigor to claim my attention.
I've always worked hard, but lately what I got out of my efforts you
couldn't call a living. The Red Cross was largely responsible. You
could never get me to say a good word for that agency--never.
Still, I have made use of them, and in this case they made their
contribution, though it was an unwitting one.
I gave the idea careful thought. From the beginning I knew I needed
help. I'm not superhuman, not in the strict sense, though I suppose I
could give a good account of myself against Wells's Invisible Man, Homo
Superior, or the new crop of mutants that will spring up some day soon.
I needed help, and I carried the problem to a council of my fellows.
We discussed it thoroughly, and in the end, though they didn't give me
their blessing, they consented to aid me.
The problem was flying saucers, or rather how to force one to land. We
debated the matter for a long time, but there didn't seem to be any
way to do it. No jet could keep up with a saucer and present rockets
were equally inadequate. Besides, we didn't have access to any of these
machines.
Someone in the back of the council, whose name I didn't catch suggested
that, if we couldn't force one to land, perhaps we could lure one down.
It didn't matter how, as long as it remained on the ground for an hour
or so, with its ports open. The rest would be up to me.
"Fine," I said. "What do you propose?"
"They're investigating, you know," he said, "in the western part of
the country. Rocket bases, atom bomb sites, anything that indicates
advanced technology. Let's give them another menace."
"Sounds good. What are they interested in?" He was a hard fellow to
locate and I didn't try to visualize his face. He came from Ireland I
believe.
"A spaceship," he said. "A very formidable creation, with an incredible
drive."
There was nothing wrong with the basic concept. The ship wouldn't
be real of course. It would merely seem real from the air. We could
accomplish that.
As for the drive, we could manage that too. In a little investigated
part of the spectrum we could create a low and steady output,
suggesting that the drive was idling, ready for instant takeoff.
None of this was impossible for us.
We? Have I said that we're not human? We've existed for a long time on
earth beside Homo Sapiens, and he has only dimly guessed that we are
here. The ordinary limitations of men don't apply to us.
A few of us working together could create an illusionary spaceship,
and an intriguing drive to go with it. This was something flying
saucers couldn't resist. They'd come down when they found they couldn't
investigate from their customary high level flights.
I nodded at the fellow I couldn't see. "Excellent. However, when the
saucer lands you'll have to maintain the illusion. Logistics are
involved too."
"That's easy," he said. "But what if it isn't manned by robots as
you've assumed? You can get inside all right, but a living creature
will discover you."
I looked at the blank spot where I thought he might be. "Really now.
It _has_ to be a robot. No living creature, except us, can stand the
accelerations we've observed."
"But what if we're wrong?" he persisted.
"In that case we'll have time for one quick look," I said. "If it is
living and we're no match for it, we'll run like hell."
There was general laughter and the fellow raised no further objections.
For all I know, he went home. The meeting broke up and everyone except
a few volunteers left. We continued to discuss ways and means.
When the plans seemed fool-proof, I got up. "Just a minute." Another
fellow I didn't recognize interposed. "Suppose everything works the way
you say it will. The saucer lands, and you succeed in getting inside.
What makes you think it will go back to the home planet?"
"Don't overlook our fake spaceship," I said. "If the robot investigator
from the saucer found a real spaceship, that would be important
information. It would be important enough to warrant a quick trip back
to the local base, wherever that may be situated.
"But when the robot can't locate anything, in spite of the evidence
on the instruments, it will be dealing with _top priority_ stuff.
Logically it will have to report back to the prime evaluation center,
on the home planet. I think I'm safe in anticipating a short journey."
"I hope so." He shook his head dubiously. "But what about us? We don't
have to worry about humans, and probably those things out there haven't
come close enough to learn about us. But they're pretty advanced. What
if they should?"
"You think they can detect us when we're dematerialized?" I smiled.
"Don't be naive. Anyway, nothing risked, you know."
I shouldn't have said that. I talk too much. "Nothing gained." He
completed the sentence for me. He didn't look altruistic. "Just what do
we stand to gain?"
The others hadn't thought of it, and neither had I, from that angle. I
ad-libbed. "It's not been good here lately. There's too many factors
against us, agencies that I don't have to mention.
"Feast or famine, mostly the last. And what are we going to do after an
atomic war, when mutants come along? Are you sure we can compete with
them? As bad as it is now, it can get worse." I paused to let the dire
predictions sink in.
"Someone has to do it, and I intend to be the one to find new worlds
for us," I said.
My confidence impressed the others, but not the heckler. "I can see
that you'll find it for yourself. But how are you going to let us know?"
"Just now I can't communicate from here to Philadelphia," I said. "It's
a harassing business, merely trying to stay alive. Here I haven't had
time to practice mental communication. But there conditions will be
ideal and I expect to develop myself so that I can reach out anywhere
in the galaxy."
Objectively that was true. Subjectively I could have changed my mind
about sharing my prize. They didn't think of that and I didn't mention
it.
The last objection was silenced. They went about their preparations and
I about mine.
* * * * *
We set up the decoy in Illinois. No real reason I suppose, except that
most of us are allergic to desert, the logical place to build spaceport
and ships. Deserts are hot, dry and bright, and there are few humans
there. In our own way we're fond of men, though they may not think so.
Illinois it was, and if there was a note of incongruity in it, so
much the better. A spaceship looked strange in the middle of the flat
cornfields? Very well, it did. Let the robot investigator find out why
it was there.
The creation was not difficult. There was a haze in the air and the
fields were green, and the spaceship pointed a sleek nose toward the
sky. It was impalpable from below. A farmer plowed right through the
stern tubes without knowing they were there. An inconvenience only; we
blacked him out as seen from above. The farmhouse we converted into a
control tower and the barn became a disembarkation structure.
There were side manifestations of course. Dogs growled uneasily and
barked, then ran away and hid in the woods. Roosters could not crow
nor hens lay eggs. Milk curdled, in cows and cans, and all the butter
turned rancid. Unfortunately we don't often use our entire minds--and
when we do there are peripheral effects. However, no human in the area
noticed us, and life went on pretty much as usual.
Radio reception was poor over all North America, and television was
disrupted for a thousand miles. The disruption was deliberately
planned. We had to attract the attention of the saucers, and that was
the easiest way to do it. The radiation was supposed to represent a
power leak from our hypothecated interstellar drive.
They came the second night and it was good they did. The strain was
telling on everyone in the project. It's not easy to keep up such a big
illusion.
The flight of saucers wheeled across the sky, lights out and
undoubtedly ready for action. They had located us all right, and they
wanted to see just what it was we had. But they couldn't find out from
the air no matter how many times they passed over.
It must have been quite a jolt. They had earth all pegged down to the
last improvement in a self locking nut. And suddenly here was something
new which didn't belong.
Toward midnight, with five of them still skimming the clouds, the sixth
came down. I was ready, and had everything I needed with me. The saucer
landed in a field a half mile away. The vegetation burned invisibly
where it settled. A section of the saucer opened, and a much littler
saucer came out.
The little saucer was a robot. I was sure of that the instant I saw
it, mostly because it had wheels. There is nothing to indicate that a
life form can't have wheels, but it does pose a nice problem of what
a living creature will use for bearings. It was a robot then, and it
came out and headed for our ship, which was still holding together
splendidly, needle nose aimed at the sky.
It was time for me to go to work. I started toward the big saucer.
"It's coming closer." This was the thought of the individual who had
created the ship out of his own dematerialized atoms.
"Put out a force field and keep it away." He sounded shaky and I
thought a wry jest would help. The containers I was carrying were
heavy.
The ship snorted. "I wish I could. But seriously, how long do I have to
stay here?"
"Keep it up," I said. "I've got lots of supplies."
The terror in his voice was real. "I don't like that thing. It's
snooping around."
"Waken the farmer. Maybe he'll kick up a disturbance and the robot will
investigate."
With a shotgun the farmer couldn't do much, but a lucky shot might put
a wheel out of commission. The robot wouldn't like that.
"I can't make the farmer open his eyes. The saucer put him to sleep and
I can't touch his mind."
The saucers had a good brand of hypnotism, if that's what it was. We
knew they had space travel, and now it was evident that they were
equally advanced in other ways.
"Use your judgment," I told the ship. "Hold it as long as you can and
then pretend to go out into space, or forward in time. Anything that
will look good."
I needed time. I could have dematerialized where I stood, and
rematerialized inside the saucer. But if I did, I would have to leave
most of my supplies behind. A short journey, I had said. And that
was true--short as far as interstellar distances were concerned. But
it would be long by normal methods of reckoning, and I had to live
through it. I couldn't abandon my supplies.
I succeeded in transporting all the food to a place just outside the
large saucer before our ship disappeared. It didn't go out into space,
nor into time as I expected. Instead it sank rapidly into the ground,
and left no hole behind. This, I think, confused the robot. I heard it
thrashing around in the cornfield, possibly in bewilderment.
I gathered some of the containers and carried them inside the saucer.
It was lighted all right, and the lighting scheme was as weird as the
interior. They used the spectrum below the red, and above the violet.
Why this should be so I don't know. I merely report what I found.
Apparently they didn't react to what we consider visible light.
I adjusted my eyes.
I found an empty space which I assumed was for the storage of
specimens. I put my food in there. Outside I went for more, and
then back again. I repeated my trips until everything was loaded.
Unpalatable food, of course, concentrated and not tasty, but it would
last until I stepped out on the planet at the opposite end. After that
there would be other problems.
I went outside for the last communication with my fellows. The
ship I could examine later. I looked around. The control tower and
disembarkation structure were still visible, though they were wavering
in the dim light.
"Are you there?" I thought.
"I am." The control tower thought back. "I wish I wasn't."
"It's just a robot," I said reassuringly. "It's not interested in a
building."
"Maybe not," conceded the control tower. "But it's inside, examining
sleeping people. I wish it would go away."
He was losing control of himself and that didn't suit my purpose. "It's
just a machine. Hold on for a little longer."
He held on.
The robot left the illusionary control tower and headed toward the
saucer. For a squat ungainly contrivance it covered the distance in an
amazing fashion. I had barely time to get inside before it rumbled into
the saucer. It was carrying something. We took off before I could see
what it was.
We left earth smoothly, though any kind of takeoff would have suited
me. Inertia had never been my problem. Neither was the possibility that
the robot would discover me. I was certain I didn't register on light
sensitive cells, and I had other tricks I could use if I had to.
The robot had tentacles I hadn't noticed before because they had been
retracted. They weren't retracted now, and they held a farmer. He was
unconscious.
The robot was monkeying around with the farmer, but it was hardly
the time to interfere. Needles stabbed the farmer in several places.
Withdrawing the blood and storing it, probably inside the robot.
The first needles were jerked out, and replaced by others. Again this
was logical: pumping a fluid into the farmer's veins with the intent of
suspending the life force until they reached the home planet.
The whole procedure made sense. When the robot couldn't find the
spaceship it had taken someone in the vicinity for questioning. They'd
be surprised what they'd learn from the farmer though. Absolutely
nothing! We had protected ourselves too well. The farmer's ordeal had
no bearing on the success of _my_ enterprise. Nevertheless I became
slightly ill at the waste involved.
The robot dropped the farmer in a place similar to the one in which I
had hidden my supplies. Then it crouched down and became motionless,
waiting. There was nothing for it to do.
Nor for myself either. We were out of the atmosphere and on our way.
* * * * *
The journey was six months of monotony. Avoiding the robot was easy
because it didn't move. The ship was all mine but I couldn't make use
of it. I puttered around, but there was nothing much to learn. The
drive was in operation, and as long as it was, I couldn't get close.
I had no idea of what it was nor how it worked, but the force that
surrounded it was, for me at least, an absolute barrier.
The rest of the saucer was equally confounding. There were several
low ceilinged compartments which held instruments at whose functions
I could not guess. There were no star charts anywhere, but I had to
assume the ship knew where it was going.
Whatever our destination, we were approaching it faster than light.
Occasionally I looked out of the vision ports, and what I saw didn't
resemble suns, though of course they were. It was the light shaft which
changed their appearance.
One day the saucer gave a lurch and we were simultaneously below the
speed of light, and near our goal. Dead ahead was a multiple star
system. Where it lay with relation to Earth I don't know. Within fifty
to a thousand light years I suppose.
For the first time in months the robot stirred, went to the farmer and
began to work on him. I kept out of the way. It seemed the sensible
thing to do. No matter how often I looked, I couldn't determine the
location of the planet toward which we were bound. The ship knew, but I
was in ignorance.
From behind, in the next compartment, came the labored sounds of the
robot. Then there was another sound and it didn't come from the robot.
I looked in. The farmer sat up, gazed around, understood some or little
of what he saw. That understanding was enough for him. He collapsed. He
was still breathing, though; in spasmodic gasps.
The revivification was a complete success. I decided to keep the man in
mind. He was an important source of reserve strength.
My hopes leapt high when I saw the planet. It was something less than
the size of Saturn, but much larger than Earth. It was large enough to
support a tremendous population. I hadn't bargained for anything so
good.
I had only a vague plan to go by. I had made the journey in complete
safety, and that was most important. My next move would depend on
circumstances. I could dematerialize myself off the ship, and onto the
planet. With an extreme expenditure of energy I could even take the
remainder of my food supply with me.
But it didn't seem worth the effort. I had done all right so far by
remaining quiet, and letting events occur as they would. I decided to
see it through on the same basis. I stayed in the ship, and let it land.
That was not my first mistake, landing with the ship. If anything,
the error began a thousand years earlier, in my infancy, the first
night I saw the light of the moon. No one asked me to come. I did it
voluntarily, for reasons my total personality found acceptable. In my
own mind I added up the advantages in leaving Earth, and then schemed
until I found a way to do it.
I had been dissatisfied with the way things were going among men. I
objected to blood spilled uselessly. And so I had contrived an escape.
Greener pastures? Not exactly. I don't like salads. Still the saying
conveys something of the way I felt. Long before the ship landed it was
too late, though I didn't know it.
* * * * *
The robot scurried about the saucer, chirruping mechanically and
creaking. When it finished the duties it picked up the farmer, and
carried him out. The man was still unconscious, but he began to scream.
Soon after it left, other robots came into the ship. Slightly different
from the kind I had seen, they must have been repair robots. They went
about tasks that were unfamiliar to me, and they talked.
This was new. I couldn't understand what they said until I found the
speech center of one, and let my mind reach out, lightly.
"A master says there is a stow-away on one of the ships."
It was unforeseen. Nothing I had encountered could detect my existence
without registering on my consciousness. These _masters_ were going to
be tougher than humans. I waited while the other replied:
"Do they know what ship he's on?"
My robot waved a tentacle. "There are ten thousand ships here, each
waiting for a checkover before reassignment. Would they bother to
search each ship?"
"Physically, you mean?" asked the other. "No. They will take him off as
the ship leaves."
Getting me off was going to take some doing, though the _masters_
didn't know it. They may have gauged humans correctly, but they hadn't
met me. Nevertheless I was uneasy.
"Why does he stay on the ship?" asked my robot.
The other chuckled. "Maybe he's changed his mind, and wants to go home.
He'll be surprised when he learns where he's bound for."
I'll admit I panicked then--because a robot chuckled. It's not the
friendly sound you might think. And also because of what it said. I had
no intention of going home, but I liked to think I could if I wanted
to. Now I saw that, due to their system of rotating assignments, it was
next to impossible to determine which ship was going back to Earth. I
made up my mind quickly.
Several things happened simultaneously. I dematerialized myself where I
was, and rematerialized tenuously inside the robot. At the same time I
took control of its motor and brain centers.
I forced it away from the job, and commanded it to go to the storage
space where the last of my food was hidden. The other robot didn't
notice. I surmised they didn't take orders from each other but from
someone above. For the moment _I_ was above.
Out of the ship we went, and into the confusion of the repair shops.
Nothing but ships and robots, and I'd had enough of these.
I needed a hiding place to rest, and plan my forays against the
creatures of this planet. I rummaged hurriedly through the robot
brain, and learned that we were near the edge of a large city. Without
cataloguing all the information I received, I forced the robot through
obscure alleys toward the open plain that surrounded the city.
It was cramped and uncomfortable inside the robot even though I didn't
exist as solid matter. And I had to operate blind. I couldn't adjust
my sight to that of the robot, and had to function once removed from
reality, through its incomplete senses.
The last alley we entered ended on the open plain. The robot rolled
down it--and stopped. I couldn't see what was in front of us, but I
could guess--one of the creatures of the planet, the things that made
the flying saucers. Without hesitation I directed the robot to attack.
It didn't.
It's refusal was not unexpected. They would have been quite insane to
build robots without installing some safeguards. It meant, however,
that the next step was up to me. I took it.
I dematerialized out of the robot and rematerialized facing my
antagonist. On the average it takes me a few microseconds to evaluate a
foe, and find his weakness. I looked longer than that. It was the first
time I had seen anything that could destroy at a glance my confidence
in my own survival capacity.
And there was no weakness.
* * * * *
What I did then was not cowardice, it was pure survival, the
reaction of a nervous system shocked to the limits of endurance. I
dematerialized myself from where I stood and rematerialized far out on
the open plain. Twice I repeated the process until the city was out of
sight over the horizon. The creature didn't follow, though it could
have done so easily enough--if it had wanted to.
I know my strength. On Earth it's the source of legends--the shadowy
half-believed stories of werewolves and vampires. Fact and fancy mixed
together to chill the minds and hearts of men. For myself, and others
like me, it's a distinct advantage to have our existence doubted. A
victim paralyzed with fear, too shocked and demoralized to cry out, is
easier to subdue.
But the strength I was so confident of is meaningless here. Crouched
in the shadow of the boulder, the only shade on the arid plain, it
suddenly dawned on me that the creatures who rule this planet knew
about me from the beginning, when I thought I was hidden. It amused
them, I think.
I can't go back to the city and find the farmer. He's their meat. And I
have limitations. I can't dematerialize myself off this planet. A few
drops of fluid are left in the container with the Red Cross stamp on
it, my last link with Earth.
I was born knowing the facts of _my_ life. For a thousand years I've
taken my food where, and how I could get it. But these creatures are
different, not only in body chemistry. They are tougher than teflon
skin and have hydrofluoric acid in their veins. I've always killed
for food, but they--kill for pleasure. And their appearance exactly
coincides with their character. I ought to know.
But there's one escape they forgot about, and I will take it. When they
come hunting, they won't find me. Self-destruction is preferable to
meeting those horrors face to face again.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEADLY ONES ***
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