Front matter (continued 2)

John picked up his telephone and placed a call to the C.I.D. "The starman, Herb," he said, "has just left Senator Council's office. You can pick him up outside. If you hurry."

Bud dismissed his bodyguard, and he and George supported Norma between them as they left the building by private elevator and subway to the garage. Bud's face was grey, his lips bloodless.

The Oligarch had presented him with a choice. Tomorrow morning, some high government official would receive in the mail Frank's head, along with Bud's signed confession. If Bud did not, before then, speak the key words that would blow up the planet. Bud, in the first stunned instant, cried: "Take me with you!" But even as he spoke, he knew that he was doomed. Knowledge did not prevent appeal, but it helped develop resignation. Bud thrust out with entreaties and debased himself with cowardly promises, and seeing them fail, tried threats which failed equally. His mind splintered into a thousand shards and reality became abstracted fragments of himself: the world ceased then to exist for him, and he lived in a phantom land, and his ego seized upon icebergs that drifted across the chill sea of thought.

He became noble.

Norma came to consciousness as the car, driven inexpertly by the Senator, rolled toward the airport. Early afternoon sunlight slanted down across the Capitol.

She lay very quiet in the back seat, listening to the hiss of the tires. Her neck was swollen and throbbing. Don't kill her yet, her own brother had said, and then, out of the silence of the car, came his own voice again, contradicting what had gone before.

"Dearer to me than all gold," Bud said. "Child of my beloved mother."

"We will take her with us," the starman answered soothingly, reassuringly.

"She's all that's left," Bud said.

Norma lay quiet, unmoving, not daring to open her eyes.

"You can't know what she means to me," Bud said. "You must tell her that. You must promise to tell her."

"I will do it. I promise you."

Bud said intently, "You must promise, I must know."

"I promise."

"Nothing will happen to her? She's all I have left. All. Child of my beloved mother."

Tension accumulated between Bud and the starman. Norma realized that her brother was no longer sane.

The car slowed and stopped. Still Norma did not move. She was too terrified. They came to her door and opened it.

George pulled her roughly from the seat. She moaned but she did not open her eyes. His hard muscles against her were deadly and threatening, and her knees were so weak that, had she wanted to, she could not have supported herself.

She heard a starman's feet on the steel ladder that descended from the spider ship. She felt herself scooped up and dropped over his shoulder. In the background she heard her brother's voice, "Child of...." The agony of the voice was almost unendurable. "You must tell her what I did to save her."

And she was jolted harshly upon the starman's shoulder as he swung her up the ladder.

George's feet clanged behind her on the steel, and she heard the sharp, laboring hiss of the breath of the man carrying her.

They were at the port. They entered, and the starman dropped her roughly to the floor, and George clanged the door.

"You attended to the other ships?" George asked in the alien tongue of Brionimar.

"Yes," the starman said. "They will both explode shortly after takeoff."

"The others are all aboard? We are the only ones on this one?"

"Yes."

"Good. I will remember this. You have done a good day's work. You follow instructions well. I won't forget."

"Thank you."

"Watch the girl. I'll give the signal to leave."

"What do we do with her?"

"Dump her out as soon as we hit open space."

George's feet went forward. It was over, he was done. The issue lay between Bud and himself and between Bud and Herb, an exciting and dangerous situation that held, in its solution, the Oligarch's (and the Oligarchy's) fate: the fate of two worlds. The stakes were high. The Oligarch, thinking how free he was of the final responsibility, went first to wash the Earth germs from his contaminated hands.

Norma had not understood the conversation that muttered above her. But her terror was replaced by a sense of desperation. She moaned and opened her eyes.

The starman, looking down at her with a cold, impersonal gaze, grunted something unintelligible.

Norma struggled to her feet. He made no move to prevent or assist her. She steadied herself against the wall. Near her hand, in a clip holder, was a short, steel fire extinguishing rod. When the starman drew back his hand to hit her, she cringed away. Instinctively she found the rod and jerked it loose. Before she was aware of the action with her conscious mind, the starman sank to the floor, and the bar clattered from her nerveless fingers.

Heart racing, she turned for the door. A moment later, she was outside, clambering down the ladder.

There were no taxis in sight. A jeep, driven by a uniformed messenger, drew to the curb. Herb, holding his breath, crossed to it. The driver cut the motor and got out. When he disappeared in the building across the street, Herb slipped behind the wheel. He was a technician. He began to experiment. Recently acquired knowledge came to his aid.

After what seemed a timeless heat and an endless exposure, he had the motor running.

The C.I.D. man, who had come over on the subway from the House, stepped out into the sunshine. He surveyed the street with a practiced eye.

Herb spun the jeep away from the curb and sent it careening erratically toward the airport. The C.I.D. man (fairly confident of his identification of Herb) fired twice. Herb heard one of the bullets make an explosive pop as it passed near his ear. He hunched over the wheel and gunned the motor.

Norma stumbled from the ladder and started to run. The spider ships loomed menacingly behind her. An army guard started forward to question her, and a jeep leaped suddenly into sight from around the corner of the Administration Building. A heart beat later the jeep skewed around beside her, and Herb, his face twisted with hate and fury cried, "Where's Bud?"

One of the spider ships behind them became airborne; and then a second leaped away.

CHAPTER XII

George was at the controls of the ship. As his hand hovered at the firing stud, he heard someone enter behind him. He turned.

It was the starman. His hair was matted with blood. There was a wild, rebellious glint in his eyes. He snarled like an animal.

"She hit me!" he cried. And then he smashed a fist into George's face. George went down and the starman stepped across him to the control panel. His resentment had been accumulating for a life time. He had just sabotaged two ships and sent his fellow starmen to death at the orders of the Oligarch; and he must have known (even if he told himself otherwise) that he, too, would not return to Brionimar: that alone of all who had been on the surface of Earth, the Oligarch would survive. But even in this knowledge, he had still remained loyal, caught like Herb, like his whole civilization, by the specter of chaos and held helpless. But now, thinking the destruction of Earth a certainty, his resentment rechanneled, he was able to strike—even kill, if necessary—the Oligarch in order to revenge himself upon the Earth girl who had struck him.

He snapped on the scanner and searched the airport. He saw Norma climb into the jeep. He sent the spider ship lumbering toward her. The jeep began to run.

The spider legs moved faster, and the ship, like a drunk, lurched awkwardly across the runway in pursuit. He was no pilot, but his hands jerked levers and twisted wheels and the ship moved. He sighted the underbelly heat ray.

Just as he depressed the firing lever, the ship stumbled across a transport plane that lay passively interdicting its path. The ship veered sharply to the left, throwing the sighting off target and causing the ray to turn the ground molten short of the speeding car.

The starman struggled to right his vehicle.

George found his weapon. He was numb and horrified. If Norma were actually killed ... if Bud found out...!

George moved his weapon slowly so as not to attract the starman's attention. He was terribly, desperately frightened and unsure of himself.

The starman reached again for the firing lever. George shot twice. The starman's hand fluttered as if in indecision, and George shot again. The starman fell backwards, and the ship shuddered to a stop.

George rolled to his feet. If Norma were not already dead, he must recapture her.

The C.I.D. man arrived in time to see the fantastic sight of a red and silver, tri-legged Leviathan from space stumbling after a surplus jeep. He slammed his car to a halt before the army guard station and cried, "Shoot him! Shoot him!" Demonstrating, he fired wildly in the direction of the jeep. "C.I.D.!" he cried. "Shoot, damn it!"

Herb heard the sinister pop of the hand gun and, glancing out of the corner of his eye, saw the rifles aligning themselves in his direction. He huddled lower over the wheel and screamed to Norma, "Hold on!"

Norma was transfixed with terror. The huge spider ship seemed almost upon them.

Herb was going too fast for the quick turn he attempted. The steering wheel was wrenched from his hand, and the jeep, like a tripped animal, twisted and threw itself to the ground and rolled over.

At the first bone shattering crash, Norma slammed into Herb, and his head cracked the steering wheel solidly.

Far to the west, the sky flashed dull red as the first spider ship exploded in flight. The sky flashed red again. Soldiers were running toward the wreck when the first shock wave rolled in.

In giant strides, George brought his own ship to the overturned jeep. It straddled the wreck like a defiant parent and seemed to challenge the advancing soldiers. George hurried to the port.

He slammed the door back and cried, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" The outer ladder fell away at the touch of his hand, and a second later his feet were hurrying down it.

Once on the ground, he was at the jeep in a heart beat. There was no blood, but both figures were very still. "Help me!" he cried to the arriving soldiers.

Two came forward, laid aside their guns, and together, with gentle hands, lifted Norma and then Herb free of the wreckage.

When they were stretched out on the ground, George knelt. Perspiration wetted his upper lip. He poised above Norma, seeking some sign of life, and he was aware of Herb stirring uneasily to his rear. Norma's eyelids fluttered, and a wave of relief and exultation enveloped George.

"She's all right," George said loudly. "Make sure the newspapers carry that. The girl is all right."

"Who is she?"

"She's one of ours," the Oligarch said with nice possessiveness. Bud would know better: that was all that mattered. He would know that the girl was Norma and that the girl was safe. The delicate equation of his decision was once more in balance. "Help me get them aboard the ship."

A small crowd was gathering, and an Army major pushed his way forward. The C.I.D. man, over-awed by the Oligarch's presence, and uncertain of what to do now, held back watching.

"What's this?" the major demanded. "What's this?"

George stood up. "It's our personal problem. This renegade—"

"Is he the one who escaped from you? The nutty one?"

"Yes," George said.

"What about your other two ships? They exploded. They just exploded."

Instantly the surrounding Earthmen rustled suspiciously.

"He—" George said.... "It was sabotage. He is responsible. Terrible. Terrible. I'm stunned. We haven't any time to waste. I've got to get this girl back to our big ship out there in space for medical attention."

"We've sent for a doctor," the major said stiffly.

"We have doctors. For God's sake, man, help me get them aboard. There's no time to stand here talking. We have advanced techniques, if I can only get there in time, that may mean the difference between life and death...."

The major hesitated. "All right. You two soldiers—take the girl up the ladder."

"Herb, too," the Oligarch said. "If he survives, he will be tried."

The major grunted at two more soldiers.

George followed them up the ladder. He greeted the capture of Herb with bitterness. The game was over; he had been denied the excitement of it being played out. And yet there was relief: although he had once more been thrust into a role of player, it was not of his own volition. The conspiracy of events had released him from free choice. It was not his fault that it was necessary to remove Herb prematurely from the arena. He was uncomfortably aware that the major was following him.

Inside the ship, George directed the soldiers to put their burdens in the first compartment to the left. Then he turned to the major. "Your prompt action may well have saved her life." He was tense and frightened. Now that he was sure it would be reported that a girl had been returned to the ship and hurried to medical attention, it was of paramount importance to get the soldiers and the major out of the ship. If Norma were unexpectedly to recover and begin to talk, the major might prove difficult to handle.

The crush of danger hung upon him. An instant, in which he wished to surrender and confess, was transplanted by dedication to victory. The sense of mission returned.

"I don't think I should permit you to leave, sir," the major said politely. "I've thought it over."

"Sir?"

"In view of what happened to the other two ships. How do you know this one hasn't been sabotaged, too? In your understandable anxiousness to get this girl...."

"I'm sure," George said evenly. "I tell you this ship is all right."

"Well, how do you know? Obviously, you knew the other two ships were all right, too; only they weren't...."

The Oligarch restrained an impulse to command. "This is too important a matter to delay with explanations."

The four soldiers clustering around the major seemed ominous.

"Our doctor will be here in a moment. Immediate aid can be given the girl."

George's hands trembled with rage and maddening anxiety. "I am going to takeoff immediately. Explanations can come later when the girl has been treated. I will hold you personally responsible for any further delay." He went toward the control room.

The major started to follow.

The Oligarch whirled to face him. "You will be responsible for her death. I am going to leave. If necessary, I will take all of you with me. You will have to use force to stop me."

The major stood with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. There was silence. The fists slowly unclenched.

"I would advise you to get off the ship at once," George said. He turned once more. This time he did not look back.

A thrill of uncertainty grew within the major. He swallowed stiffly and then snapped angrily to the waiting soldiers, "All right, get the lead out! Let's go! Let's go, let's go!" He seemed to want to push them physically toward the exit.

The Oligarch was in the control room by the time they dropped off the ladder to the ground. A flick of the switch, and the ladder retreated. The ship trembled. A savage jab, and the ship became airborne. It was too late now for them to stop him. He had made a successful escape. He was weak with reaction. A few moments more....

He studied the dials. Earth fell away.

He could hurry. He only need save enough fuel for a tie in. He waited impatiently for altitude. Earth shrank. The features of her surface blurred. A cloud occluded her face completely. The air resistance lessened. Gravity weakened. He was able to pour the fuel into the space jets. He fired the first and second banks. Fuel gauges descended. Acceleration pressed against him like a hand. More jets. He was in a hurry. His mission was accomplished. Within two hours he would be out of the danger area of the Earth explosion. But he was not overly worried about that. He did not expect it until an hour or so after sunrise over Washington.

He locked the ship on automatic. Time enough later to finish computing the trajectory.

He was now free to dispose of Herb and Norma.

The sense of elation increased as he left the control room. He fingered his hand weapon and smiled to himself. Less than a minute later, he stepped into the doorway of the room containing the two people, his gun raised.

CHAPTER XIII

Herb had regained consciousness.

Herb shot, and flame leaped toward the Oligarch. The room roared with the explosion.

George jerked back, and in mid-motion, something caught him low in his chest, on the left side of his body and slapped him savagely off his feet.

Incredibly, he had been hit!

He shook his head and got one knee under him. His left side was numb. He looked down and saw blood start to color his shirt.

He got to his feet and backed along the corridor. His knees were weak. He covered the door with a trembling hand and prayed for Herb to show himself.

The ship was silent.

He had to sit down. He wanted to be sick.

Perhaps Herb had taken the other door out!

He whirled.

No movement.

He had to have a place to hide. He had to hide, and wait, and when Herb came searching for him—

He staggered back. His side began to throb dully.

The ship was very quiet.

"He's out there," Herb said, knowing that his words would carry over the hidden microphones. "I will manage to kill him before we reach the big ship."

Norma was breathing shallowly, not yet fully recovered from the wreck. "What about Earth?"

"It's too late."

"If we could—if we could destroy the ... that ship ... if we could ram it: prevent it from setting off the charge...."

"It's too late," Herb said doggedly. But even with the words, he felt the first hesitant flicker of hope. If he could take over this ship, and with it assault the great ship in space, there capture the remote-control mechanism by which the charge would be detonated then perhaps Earth could really be saved. First kill the Oligarch. Then....

Norma whimpered to herself.

"You stay here," he hissed, too softly, he hoped for the microphones to pick up his voice.

Her eyes widened in protest. "Don't go. He'll...."

"Shhhhhh," he silenced her. Bending, he whispered, "I'll find him first. You'll be all right."

He left her. At the doorway, he looked back. She seemed crumpled and lifeless and defeated.

The Oligarch was somewhere to his left. In the corridor, waiting? Herb could not know. There was only one way to find out. He stepped from the room, gun ready to fire.

The corridor was empty.

Where? In the control room? In the office? In the kitchen? The messhall?

Herb moved forward silently.

The Oligarch had backed across the messhall. One hand clutched at his left side. His breathing was too loud. Herb would surely hear it.

He stood in the far doorway that opened into the short corridor leading to his office and that extended beyond his office to open into the main corridor. Herb would have to cross before its open face should he come forward. From the doorway, the Oligarch also commanded a view of the main messhall entrance, should Herb stop to inspect that room first. By ducking either in or out, he could place a protecting wall between himself and his pursuer. The Oligarch knew that Herb would come. His left side was terrifying testimony that the lifetime of conditioning had been stripped away.

It would be so easy to dart to his own office; but the unprotected space between him and it was a barrier more solid than a rock cliff. If Herb should emerge as he was making the exposed crossing, he would be a perfect target. His movements were sluggish. He had to locate Herb in order to know in which direction safety lay. But to be safe in the office, with the door barricaded....

Herb saw the drops of blood drying slowly along the floor of the corridor.

The Oligarch had entered the messhall. Herb approached cautiously.

Standing just outside, not exposing himself, he could see a clot of blood beyond the main door. Probably the Oligarch had hesitated there, undecided—or resting.

He held the gun more tightly. His heart beat rapidly, and his mouth was dry. But he was not afraid. There was an iciness far down inside of him.

He stepped across the threshold, and just as suddenly, leaped back.

He heard the stumble of the Oligarch's fleeing feet, heard the office door open and slam.

Herb waited, listening: a feint?

No. There was no sound.

Again he stepped into the messhall. It was empty.

"Herb!" Norma called. "Herb! Are you all right?" She was running down the corridor toward him.

"Get back!" Herb called, but she came on, and then she was beside him.

"He's in the office. I'm going after him. You stay here."

"No. Leave him there. Prop the door. Keep him in. Take the ship...."

"I'm going in after him," Herb said. "I've got to. It's more than him, more than killing or getting killed. I've got to."

"It's so senseless," she said. "If we could get control of the ship...."

He shook his head. "You stay here!"

He walked across the messhall. He stepped out into the narrow corridor.

"Get away!" the Oligarch cried frantically. His voice was no longer vigorous, and it sounded pathetic and child-like through the door.

Herb, going toward it, said, "I'm coming in!" He tried the door. Locked.

He fired twice at the lock. He stepped back and kicked. The door swung inward.

The Oligarch did not fire. Herb, pressed against the wall, could not see into the room.

"I'm coming in, damn you!"

"Don't," the Oligarch cried weakly. "Please, don't. Don't now!"

Herb heard a gun clatter to the floor.

"Don't," the Oligarch moaned. "I've thrown it away. I'm helpless."

Herb balanced on the balls of his feet. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped into the doorway, his body framed beautifully between the two jambs. He held his gun at ready and then lowered it.

The Oligarch was slumped over his desk.

Herb heard Norma come up behind him.

"He's dying," she said.

Reaction set in, and Herb's knees almost collapsed. His body was trembling and drenched with perspiration.

The Oligarch coughed.

The Oligarch said something in his own language.

"What?" Herb asked.

"Make him tell us. How we can keep them from setting off the explosion!" Norma said.

The Oligarch wanted to talk, and he made a motion—a feeble one—to silence them both. The girl's pathetic conviction that the explosion could be prevented infuriated the Oligarch. There was nothing she could do. The cleverness with which he had executed his mission defied time and eternity.

"It won't be set off in the big ship," the Oligarch said. "I had intended to leave you at the site, Herb, to trigger it personally." He spoke English and was disappointed to see that his vision began to mist. He would have liked to watch the girl's face. "But your later dream forms made me deny you martyrdom. I think I might have done it any way, if you hadn't left. You have the idealism. You were the one I had counted on. And after you, of course, there was only Bud."

Norma choked weakly and her knees half gave way. The sound was satisfying to the Oligarch.

"I told Bud the explosion was planted," the Oligarch said. "Then I ... I told him...." He coughed again. "I told him that I had mailed his brother's head along with his confession to ... to.... Then I gave him a telephone number. He phones long distance, gives the number. At the bomb site, the receiver ... lifts automatically.... He says, 'Frank Council' ... his brother's name ... the key.... The trigger falls." The Oligarch's hands scrabbled on the desk. "Don't you think he'll do it, in the knowledge of his own personal destruction?... Oh, he will, yes.... And this is the final...." Blood dribbled from the Oligarch's mouth. "I didn't mail his brother's head.... I lied to him. Don't you see what a beautiful ... what a satisfying lie that was?" He laughed, coughed again, and slumped forward. And the chase ended.

And Herb, looking at death, grabbed Norma by the arm and ran toward the control room.

... And back on Earth, Bud Council sat sick and trembling, his eyes fastened on the telephone beside him....

CHAPTER XIV

Herb thought first of the bomb site. The chill desert night would be fresh upon it. Overhead, the pale moon would ride toward the terrible Apocalypse of dawn—if Bud waited until then to make his phone call.

In a few hours (he thought) he could bring the spider ship down upon the desert. The long dark night beyond would give him time....

He visualized the scene as he remembered it from TV: the single sentry shack where an Army guard protected the alien handiwork.

"I'll talk to them when we land. I'll explain about Bud. They'll find him and keep him away from the telephone. They'll tell long distance operators not to place any calls until they can find him. All I need is a few hours to convince someone that Bud, that Bud...."

Norma was in his arms, shaking hysterically. "He ... he did that to Frank. Bud did that!"

"We've got to hurry," Herb said.

She shivered against him. Gently he disengaged himself.

"In an hour, now...." he said. His hand rested on the forward firing stud.

Rested and withdrew.

"What's wrong?" Norma asked.

"The fuel. I haven't got enough left to brake the ship, to turn it, and then land against Earth gravity."

"No," Norma said. "No! That can't be right!"

Herb re-sorted the information available from the dials, seeking a method to defy the dictates of inertia. Once more he weighed the remaining fuel against that necessary to brake and turn the ship, and still there was none left over to counteract Earth's gravity and the long planetfall. He projected trajectories.

"Maybe I can throw the ship in a long orbit," he said. "If I can kill the speed against the atmosphere...."

"Can you do it?"

Herb's hands eased fuel into the forward port jet and sparked it. "I'm tilting for the orbit."

The gauge dropped alarmingly, and as momentum changed, the center of gravity shifted. The ship nosed up and fell sideways and slipped away to the right.

Norma held her breath, afraid to interrupt even with encouragement.

"It's an ellipse," Herb said. "It's a long fall now, but I'm afraid to make it shorter." He set the controls.

"How long will it take?" Norma asked.

"I'll have to make half a dozen bounces. The first one won't be for nearly six hours.... We won't be able to land until sunup."

Norma bit her lip. "But that's...."

"We won't have much time. We'll have to try to get to Bud ourselves."

When the time came, he turned to her. "I've got to hit the atmosphere now. We'll have to strap down."

Numb with tension, she sat in one of the shock-chairs and buckled herself in. Then, in his chair before the panel, Herb adjusted the buckles and waited the few remaining minutes. "This will be the worst," he said.

The ship hit the upper gases—gases, made by speed into an iron curtain; and as the air clawed at the strange shape of the ship, and as the interior cooling system whined into overdrive, he fought against wild, erratic movements, firing precious fuel to brake and stabilize.... And then they were free, and shooting away along a shortened and slower ellipse.

Finally they were well into the atmosphere, but they were very high, too high to be more than a speck, so high that the sound spread too thinly to be heard on the surface.

"I'll set down outside Washington," Herb said. "Somewhere outside, where we can get away from the ship before they get there to start asking questions."

He released his blast, and the ship turned nose up. Gravity became heavier. The ship plummeted down.

"Here's the last of the jets," Herb hissed, and he eased them in, slowing the fall, slowing it....

Down the ship came.

The Earth expanded and a fantastically fast painter seemed to be sketching in the details of the landscape.

The sun was cut off by the horizon. A few lights sparkled in slowly waking Washington.

The jets sputtered, and the ship slipped; the jets caught, sputtered, and died.

Herb slammed on the low lift controls. The aerodynamically designed platform-like wings spun and hissed against the air. For a long moment, Herb was afraid they would not brake the fall, but the lifts caught, and the ship jerked, and Herb felt the buoyancy through the ship and through his mind and through his body.

CHAPTER XV

Less than five minutes later, they were stationary. The slowing lifts purred and the landing ladder hissed down.

Herb and Norma were upon it.

"About a—five hundred yards," Herb said. "Over that way: the highway. Let's go!"

Running at his side, Norma prayed desperately for a car to come soon.

They sprinted the last short distance because of growing headlights from the south. The car was coming fast, and Herb jumped into the roadway, waving his hands.

The car came on, sounding its horn hysterically. Herb waved and brakes squealed, and the car, at almost the last instant, veered away from him. The wind of its passing rustled his hair, and the horn still bleating, it slowly dwindled as the red tail lights faded into the darkness.

They waited. Five minutes passed.

"One's got to come!"

Early fire hung over the ocean from the as yet invisible sun. Dew lay on the plowed field behind them. The air was chill.

It seemed that the sun was symbolic fire slowly creeping and coloring the sky, slowly spreading over the world.

"What time is it?" Herb asked.

"Here's a car! Here's a car!"

Both of them leaped into the highway, waving and jumping up and down.

A long way away, the driver set his brakes, and the car coasted slowly, passed them, and finally stopped.

They ran to it. Herb jerked open the door. "You've got to take us to Washington!" Herb said.

Norma, arriving behind him, said, "It's a matter of life and death!"

"Then get in," the man said.

Overhead a jet thundered in to locate the spider ship.

They were in the car.

"You've got to drive us to an apartment in Georgetown," Norma said.

"Lady, I've been driving all night."

"You've got to!" The urgency in her voice was nearly that of hysteria.

The driver started the car. "If it's that urgent...."

"It is," Herb said.

"Hurry, please, please hurry. Don't ask us to explain. Just hurry."

The driver stepped down on the gas. The car leaped ahead.

CHAPTER XVI

The new buildings pressed against the new sidewalks. The streets were empty except for their car and a turret-like Mobile Sweeper whose gutter broom whispered against the curb. A light here and there in a window heralded the end of sleep. A lone car crossed at an intersection ahead, moving slowly as if fatigued by a night-long vigil.

The sun seemed reluctant to plunge the world into daylight; it balanced on the horizon in indecision. The moon was high and tiny and rode the growing blueness with a ghostlike pallor.

Herb, leaning forward tensely, thought: Suppose Bud isn't there? Suppose he's somewhere else?

"Turn left up here," Norma said. "It's only a few blocks."

The buildings anchored time to the Earth, encapsulating the past in steel and concrete. Morning shadows walked before the onrushing future.

"Here!" Norma cried.

The car braked to a stop.

The driver watched them run wildly, and an uneasiness settled upon him. He glanced to the east. The morning was chill. The excitement their urgency had generated had not vanished with their departure. What the devil? he thought. Whadda you suppose it's all about?

Inside, Norma said, "Third floor. He's got guards. I'll take the elevator. You take the stairs. I'll try to get the guards' attention."

Herb nodded. He bolted for the stairway. The carpet blanketed his footfalls. He heard the elevator doors click and the cage rattle upward.

First landing.

Silence.

Second landing.

His heart was loud. His feet became delicate, and he balanced on his toes, moving toward the final encounter.

There.

Norma had the guard. There was only one. She was speaking intently. The guard faced away from Herb.

Herb was in the corridor. He moved like a sigh, and the space between him and the guard shortened.

The guard turned, and Herb sprang. He crashed into the guard before the police automatic was clear of the shiny holster. The impact of his body spun the gun away.

They were down, wrestling viciously. Herb felt his head ring. He stifled a cry. Pain nestled in his groin. He struck out.

The guard smashed an elbow into Herb's nose. He got up and kicked Herb in the face, and Herb jerked his leg savagely. Unbalanced, he went down. Herb was upon him. Breath hissed out, and Herb struck viciously with his gun butt. Panting, he stood.

"It's locked," he said, testing the door. Norma had recovered the guard's automatic. Whitefaced she stood.

Bloody nosed, bleeding, Herb threw himself into the panel. There was a great, kettle drum boom and the panel held. Again he slammed into it. It splintered away. He fought through the shards of maple; and was halfway into the room when Bud, looking up from the telephone, fired. Herb sighed and fell to the left and his gun slipped from his hand.

CHAPTER XVII

Bud, drained of color, cried "Hurry that call, operator!"

His gun was on the door when Norma filled it. "Stop, Bud!"

His eyes dulled. Conflicting emotions ran jagged edges over his face. One hand held the phone, the other the gun. Norma was afraid to fire for fear she would miss. "I'll kill you if you try to stop me!" he screamed. He could not place the person in the doorway. And then he realized that it was the Devil cleverly disguised as his sister.

Norma stepped into the room, drawing closer. Her hand trembled violently. Bud was perspiring.

"Bud," she said. Her voice choked. "He didn't mail ... he didn't mail the ... package ... the ... the package." Tears ran down her cheeks.

"Get away! Get away!"

"He didn't mail it! No one need ... you're safe ... your secret.... Put down the phone, Bud. Please, now. Put down the phone!"

Very clever nonsense, Bud thought, not believing it for a moment. What package? There was no.... He must shoot this creature, now, before she....

The operator said in his ear: "Here is your number, sir."

"Put me on!"

The Devil was nearer. It was too late, he thought. Norma thought: Now, now, now.

Bud's hand whitened at the knuckles. His throat was dry. He was ready to scream the Name. He did not see Herb's hand close on the weapon nor see the muzzle elevate.

"Bud, Bud, Bud, please, please, Bud!" Norma said. The trigger of her gun would not respond.

"Get away," Bud said. He opened his mouth. "Frank C——"

And Herb fired until the weapon was empty.

There was echoing silence, and then Bud fell.

Norma was upon the telephone, ripping it free from the wall.

Herb staggered erect. Blood covered his suit. It hurt to move. A broken collar bone, he thought. Too high for the lungs.

He found Norma weeping hysterically in his arm. The other arm hung limp, and he winced with pain as he drew her tight.

He choked and bent to her ear and said, "Yes, yes," and suddenly he bent to kiss her tear stained lips, and he wanted to brush away the hair from her face, but that arm refused to move. She trembled against him, and he whispered, "Yes."

The sunlight came in the broad windows and slanted across Bud's face, boyish and petulant still in death; the sun, moving toward noon, bathed the whole awakening world with light, and far beyond it, in space but not in time, lay other stars.

And Herb felt free. For the first time in his life. Here, on Earth....

It was a wonderful feeling.