Collected Short Fiction, page 179
“I don’t know. The creatures won’t harm him, and they’re under orders not to touch me unless I leave his protection—which I have. But as for you and the rest of the world, I don’t think Daddy cares at all. Chuck, he’s out of his head!”
“We’ve got to stop him,” I said grimly. “We’ve got to close that gateway and drive off the things he’s let through. But how?”
“The generator’s in his basement,” Laura said. “If we could get in there and smash it, somehow, and—”
“How would we kill the Invaders that have already come through? There must be thousands of them!”
“We’ll find some way, Chuck. There must be a way.” I looked out the window. The rain was letting up, and there were only occasional flashes of lightning in the dark tormented-looking sky. “The Invaders will be coming back soon,” I said. “Do you want to risk a dash over to your place to try to get at the generator?”
She nodded. “If we wait any longer, we won’t be able to make it. But—”
She gasped and pointed to the rear window. I turned, saw what she was trying to show me. Abel Harwood, hovering twenty feet off the ground, riding on a cloud of Invaders.
“COME OUT of there, Laura!” His voice was somehow amplified and it seemed to shake my little room. Horror-stricken, we watched as the buzzing horrors bore Harwood closer and closer to my window. Laura shrank back against the wall and tried to flatten herself into invisibility. With a sudden nervous gesture I pushed the table containing my unfinished generator into the closet, and turned to face Harwood.
He was right outside the window now. I saw the old man’s staring eyes blazing at me, as he stood there astride two of the Invaders. They droned like defective neon signs, a horrifying slow buzz.
I picked up a heavy soldering iron and waited as they reached the window. Then Harwood reached out and contemptuously smashed the glass and stepped through—stepped right off the backs of his hideous mounts and into my room. One of the Invaders entered also, squeezing its bulk through the window. There was a pungent odor of ozone in the air.
“Get back, Harwood. You can’t have her,” I said.
He laughed. “Who are you to give me orders? Come here, Laura.” Laura shrank back even further. I gripped the hot soldering iron tightly and sprang forward, plunging it into the Invader that hovered between me and Harwood. I stabbed again and again—and it was like stabbing air. Finally Harwood made an impatient gesture, and the Invader glowed a brilliant red for an instant.
I dropped the soldering iron and clutched at my burned hand. “For the last time, Laura—will you come with me?”
“No! I hate you!” she shrieked.
Harwood frowned and started toward her. As he came past me, I grabbed him with my one good hand and tried to pull him back. I had thirty years on him, but my right hand was badly seared and he was no weakling even at his age. He shoved me away and sent me sprawling against the wall. I saw him grab Laura roughly. The alien hummed ominously above my head.
I made a mad dash for Harwood, caught him by the throat, started to squeeze. The humming sound grew louder, and then suddenly there was a blinding wave of heat sweeping through the apartment, and I fell back, clawing at the floor.
When I was able to open my eyes, a few minutes later, I dashed to the window just in time to see Harwood holding the struggling form of Laura and riding off into the night on the backs of his extra-dimensional Invaders.
I SAT DOWN heavily on the bed and stayed there for what might have been hours, recovering my strength. The Invader had given me just a glancing shock, just enough to stun me and singe my eyebrows—and Harwood had grabbed Laura.
Now I had to find the answer. I had to close the gateway and find some way of killing the Invaders—and get Laura out of her father’s clutches.
It was nearly morning by the time I shook off the last effects of my stunning and was able to think clearly again. I pulled my generator out of the closet and looked at it, wondering what needed to be done.
The gateway, first of all. It was a doorway to some alien dimension, Harwood had said. All right. I’d accept that at face value.
The Invaders—what were they? Pure radiation? Energy-eaters? They were intangible, immaterial, but yet very much present. Perhaps, I thought wildly, their corporeal bodies were still in whatever dimension of infra-space they came from, and merely their essences, their elans, had come through?
Could be, I thought. And if it were true, I might have the answer.
Ignoring the fierce pangs of hunger shooting through me, I got back to work and concentrated steadily. The thought of Laura was with me always—the image of her riding off in the sky with her father’s arms locked tightly around her. Riding off as if kidnapped by a witch on a broomstick.
I don’t know how long it took, but finally my generator was finished. Finished, and portable. I strapped it to my back and picked up my longest and sharpest kitchen knife. I didn’t have a gun, but it didn’t matter. If my theory was correct, a knife would be just as good—and if I were wrong, a gun wouldn’t help anyway.
Then, without stopping to ponder, I ran downstairs and out into the street for the test.
Fresh air smelled good after days of being cooped up in my little apartment. I stood in the middle of the street and surveyed the wreckage.
Bodies lay everywhere, charred and lifeless. Overturned automobiles lay piled here and there, stalled trucks, artillery batteries and tanks. The defensive maneuver had failed, and what few people remained were in hiding. I stood alone in the middle of the street, the heavy generator on my back, and waved my kitchen-knife as triumphantly as if it were Excalibur.
“Come and get me,” I yelled. “Come on Invaders. Let’s see what you can do!”
I looked up. There were a few clusters of them, browsing idly around some television antennas atop a neighboring building. They ignored me for a few minutes; maybe they were so surprised to see a living human in the streets that they were unable to move. I shook my fists at them.
“Come down here where I can get at you!” I shouted.
They hovered uncertainly—and then they came.
SIX OF THEM swooped down, humming and buzzing, glowing faintly and billowing in and out as they dropped toward me. I waited, waited until they were no more than three or four feet above my head, waited until I was dizzy with the strain and suspense and could wait no more.
Then I snapped on the generator.
It was like catching flies in molasses. The six aliens stopped dead in their tracks as my force-field spread out around them, engulfed them, imprisoned them. Suddenly they were forced to contend with more radiation than they could possibly swallow. It pinned them there, nine feet above the ground.
I listened to their frenzied buzzing as they stretched themselves, elongated fantastically in an attempt to free themselves from the unexpected thing that had grabbed them. And then I stretched up on tiptoes and began to stab.
My knife flashed once, twice—and the buzzing became an unbearable shriek. My heart surged as I struck home again and again. Now we had them! Now they were vulnerable!
Snared in the force-field, they no longer were able to flicker out of phase with our dimension every time a weapon approached. They were anchored now, mired in our continuum, helpless before my savage attack.
I kept stabbing until all six of them were torn and wounded, and then I snapped off the force-field. And they were gone. Instantly, without lapse, they popped out of existence like so many snuffed flames.
Six down, I thought grimly. Six down, and untold thousands to go. But now we have a weapon.
I thumbed my power-pack and the field spread out around me. I began to cut my way through the streets to the Harwood house.
The aliens took notice of me, now. No more hovering around tv antennae; they clustered in the air, just outside range of my forcefield, and chattered and buzzed for all they were worth. Every once in a while, one would blunder into my field, and a swift upward cut with the knife would take care of him. One cut. They were like balloons, and the first puncture did it. I didn’t dare shut off the force-field to see if they’d pop out of existence, for fear the clouds of them in the air would swoop in on me before I could turn it on again—but as I moved on, through the dead and deserted streets, I could see the string of dead Invaders hanging in the air vanishing one by one as I moved out of range.
And then I was standing in front of Laura’s home, right in front of the vortex itself. It was still there, and the aliens came thundering through at a rate of ten or twenty a minute.
I stepped past the vortex, ignoring the aliens that clustered around me, as helpless against me as humanity had been against them only a few hours before. There was no point in dealing with the Invaders yet—not until the source was cut off.
I STRODE UP to the porch and peered in the window. I saw Laura huddled in a far corner of the sitting-room, and behind her Abel Harwood marching up and down, probably delivering a fiery parental harangue. It was a nightmare scene, with a dead city outside, hordes of alien invaders swarming in the air—and the man responsible for it busy delivering a lecture to his unruly daughter!
I banged on the door. “Come on out of there, Harwood!”
He looked up, astonished. I saw Laura’s pale face brighten as she recognized me, then grow downcast as Harwood started to come toward me.
I walked off the porch into the garden and waited there for him. He emerged, eyes blazing, and said, “How did you get here? How did you get past my guards?”
“Your guards don’t worry me any more, Harwood. I’m going to put a stop to all this now!”
He chuckled. “You’re a very troublesome young man, Mr. Matthews. I spared you once, for my daughter’s sake—but I’ll have no such scruples this time.” He gestured imperiously to the thick swarm of Invaders billowing out of the vortex.
“You don’t scare me, Harwood.” I drew a deep breath, reached around back, and cut off the force-field for the barest fraction of a second, then restored it. It was just enough time to trap twenty or so aliens in a glowing ring right above my head.
Smiling, I drew my trusty kitchen knife and began to lay about. I heard Harwood’s flustered exclamations as, one by one, the imprisoned Invaders winked out, darkened, and died.
I finished off the twenty and folded my arms. “Care to send some more, Harwood? It’s easier than swatting gnats!”
He sputtered a few unintelligible words, then rushed from the porch toward me.
He was a big man—big, and heavy. I was under the handicap of the heavy force-field generator, which I knew I had to keep from his grasp or else I was finished. All he had to do was to smash the generator, and I’d be roasted the next second.
Harwood barrelled into me, sweeping away the kitchen knife while I was still debating whether or not to use it. It went clattering into a pile of rocks in one corner of the garden, and then his fists hit me.
I backed away, making sure I kept the generator out of his reach, and flicked out a few defensive gestures. His face was contorted with rage. He was almost blind with fury, and I could hardly blame him. Here I stood, threatening to wreck whatever monument of villainy it was that he had been erecting for twenty years.
We closed in a tight clinch, and his fists pummelled my stomach. I drove upward and felt teeth splinter as I connected. He spat out a mouthful of blood and backed off.
“Why did you have to do it?” he muttered. “Why did you ruin everything?”
“You pitiful madman,” I said. “For the sake of silly revenge on a world that rightfully regarded you as a crackpot, you—”
His eyes blazed and he came driving in at me again. In the background, I heard the continuing buzzing of the Invaders, who hovered out of reach of my force-field, unable to help their master. And overriding the dull droning of the aliens was a steady pattern of sobbing coming from the porch.
Laura. Watching her father and the man she loved fighting to the death in her front yard.
Harwood grasped me in a tight bear-hug, his thick fingers reaching for the power-pack on my back. I danced away and landed a solid punch in the midsection, and he countered with a wild roundhouse that staggered me and knocked me within a few inches of the garden fence.
He came lumbering after me, obviously determined to flatten me against the fence and crush the generator that way. I didn’t have any way of escaping to the right or the left: I could only wait there and hope to withstand his assault.
As he drew near, I tensed my legs and crouched. Then he hit me, and I pushed upward with all my strength. The fate of a whole world—and Laura and me—depended on my strength at that instant.
It worked. His heavy body lifted, and he grunted in pain as I rammed upward. He went up, up, over the garden fence—
And then, to my horror, he cleared the garden fence and, with a soul-splitting cry, fell into the gaping mouth of his own vortex!
I leaned against the fence, gaping—and before I could think of what to do, the vortex was gone, winked out as if it had never been!
Then Laura was on the porch, white-faced, terrified.
“What happened? Where’s Daddy?”
I ran to her side. “He’s gone,” I said. “Tripped and fell into the vortex, and then—”
“Oh!” She gave a little cry and I thought she was going to faint, but she caught herself with an effort and straightened up. Speaking carefully, syllable by syllable, she said, “I—just—smashed—Daddy’s—machine-ery.”
“You what?”
“While you were fighting—I ran down to the basement and wrecked everything. Everything!”
I shivered. No wonder the vortex had vanished. At the very instant Abel Harwood was tumbling into it, his daughter was busily destroying the generator that operated it.
Her control broke. She burst into sobs and huddled in my arms. Finallly she said, “I—hated him. He was out of his mind.”
“Try not to think about it,” I told her. “Try to forget him. It’s all over. There’s just us now.”
“I know,” she said.
I looked up at the sky, which was dark with the Invaders. It was a frightening sight—but I no longer feared them. The Gateway was closed, and Abel Harwood dead, so far as we were concerned. I didn’t want to think of what might be happening to him in whatever universe he was in.
There would be a lot of work to do. I would have to find the authorities, if any were left, and show them how to build my generator. Then would begin the long, slow war of eradication against the remaining Invaders.
Laura was still sobbing. “Don’t worry,” I said soothingly. “It’s all over now.”
We had won.
THE END
Slaughter on Dornel IV
Fighting an alien champ was always risky business for an Earthman. So Filmore decided he might pick up a pointer or two before the big—
LARRY FILMORE stared at his beer and mentally roasted his fight manager for the fiftieth time. Human beings were supposed to be the toughest race that the Galaxy had ever spawned, but as a fighter, Larry didn’t put too much faith in the theory. He had fought a good many races throughout the Galaxy, and, although he had always come out the winner, he had plenty of scars to show for it.
He looked around the bar. It was full of various beings, none of them human except himself.
What am I doing here? he asked himself. I’m sitting in a cheap little bar on Dornel IV, waiting for a Dornellian fighter to kill me tomorrow.
But there was no way out of it, Filmore thought bitterly. Blackmer, his manager, had the whole thing sewed up. Larry had found out, three months before, that Blackmer was cheating him—but that had been too late. According to the contract, Larry had to finish the season or go to prison. If he quit, he would, according to the law, be cheating his manager.
On the other hand, if he got killed during the battle, his entire check would go to Blackmer.
So Blackmer had done the smart thing—for him. He had lined up Larry with Fornax Kedrin, the champion of Dornel.
The Dornellians were big—eight feet high, with fingers that ended in razor-sharp claws. Of course, Larry would be provided with steel extensions on his fingers, but they wouldn’t help much; Larry had never learned to use them. Fornax Kedrin would kill him in the first round.
Larry took another sip of his beer and stared forlornly at the bar. With his fingers, he traced meaningless designs in the moisture left by the cold glass.
Maybe he was taking the coward’s way out—but it was the only way he could see. Better a live coward, he thought, than a dead hero.
“Another beer, bartender,” he called, finishing the one he held.
“Coming up, Earthman.”
The beer arrived and he took a sip. Training? The hell with it, he thought happily. He was going to get himself completely stewed tonight. Live high, die young, and have a good-looking corpse.
Or maybe it would be better simply to get aboard a spaceship and try to get away. Maybe the Interstellar Police would never find him.
He shook his head dismally. That wouldn’t work, either. Nothing would work.
If only he’d had some practice fighting a Dornellian!
He reached out for his beer, not noticing that someone had taken the vacant seat next to him. His elbow collided with a glass. The glass tipped, pouring a green, bubbling liquor all over the Dornellian sitting next to him.
“Stupid Earthman!” snapped the Dornellian contemptuously. “A clumsy beast like you shouldn’t be allowed to enter a public place!”
With one hairy paw, the Dornellian shoved against Larry’s shoulder, intending to push him off the bar stool.
Larry moved back, more in astonishment than anything else. He hadn’t known that Dornellians had any particular prejudice against Earthmen, but there was unmistakable racial hatred in the alien’s voice. He put out his hand to the bar and stopped himself from falling off the stool.
“What’s the idea of that?” Larry growled. “That was an accident, and—”
“Are you trying to argue with me? Here is the rest of the drink!” The Dornellian laughed and heaved the remaining contents of the glass in Larry’s face.
