Earth's Last Fortress Page 3

  Her voice came into the silence like a wounded, fluttering bird, briefly stricken by shock, then galvanized by agony. “Quick! You must go—till after six. Hurry!”

  Her trembling hands struck at his chest, as if by her blows she would set him running for the door/But the thrust of her strength was lost on the muscles of his breast, defeated by the way he was leaning forward. His body did not even stagger.

  Through a blur, she saw he was staring down at her with a grim, set smile. His voice was hard as chipped steel as he said, “Somebody’s certainly thrown a scare into you. But don’t worry—I’ve got a revolver in my pocket. And don’t think I’m alone in this. I wired the Calonian Embassy at Washington; then notified the police here of their answer. They have no knowledge of this place. The police will arrive in minutes. I came in first to see that you didn’t get hurt in the shuffle. Come on, outside with you, because—”

  It was Norma’s eyes that must have warned him—her eyes glaring past him. She was aware of him whirling to face the dozen men who were trooping out of the back room. The men came stolidly, and she had time to see that they were short, squat, ugly creatures, more roughly built than the lean, finely molded Dr. Lell; and their faces were not so much evil as half dead with unintelligence.

  A dozen pairs of eyes lighted with brief, animal-like curiosity as they stared at the scene outside the window. Then they glanced indifferently at her and at Jack Garson and the revolver he was holding so steadily. Finally, their interest fading visibly, their gazes reverted expectantly to Dr. Lell, who stood smiling laconically on the threshold of the doorway.

  “Ah, yes, Professor Garson, you have a gun, haven’t you? And the police are coming. Fortunately, I have something here that may convince you of the uselessness of your puny plans.”

  His hand came from behind his back, where he had been hiding it. A gasp escaped from Norma as she saw that in it he held a blazing ball, a globe of furious flame, a veritable ball of fire. The thing burned there in his palm, crude and terrible in the illusion of incredible, destroying incandescence. The mockery in Dr. Lell’s voice was utterly convincing, as he said in measured tones to her, “My dear Miss Matheson, I think you will agree that you will not offer further obstacles to our purpose, now that we have enlisted” this valuable young man into the invincible armies of the Glorious—and as for you, Garson, I suggest you drop that gun before it bums off your hand.”

  His words were lost in the cry that came from Jack Garson. Amazed, Norma saw the gun fall to the floor, and lie there burning with a white hot intensity. Garson stared at the weapon; he seemed enthralled, unmindful of danger, as it shrank visibly in that intense fire. In seconds, there was no weapon, no metal; the fire blinked out. The floor where the gun had lain was not even singed.

  From Dr. Lell came a barked command, oddly twisted, foreign-sounding words that nevertheless must have meant: Grab him!”

  She looked up, abruptly sick; but there was no fight. Jack Garson did not resist as the wave of beast men flowed around him. Dr. Lell said, “So far, Professor, you haven’t made a very good showing as a gallant rescuer. But I’m glad to see that you have already recognized the hopelessness of opposing us. It is possible that, if you remain reasonable, we will not have to destroy your personality. And now”—urgency sharpened his tone—“I had intended to wait and capture your burly policemen; but as they have not arrived at the proper moment—a tradition with them, I believe—I think we shall have to go without them. It’s just as well, I suppose.”

  He waved his hand that held the ball of fire, and the men carrying Jack Garson literally ran into the back room. Almost instantly, they were out of sight. Norma had a brief glimpse of the machine blazing into radiance. And then there was only Dr. Lell striding forward, leaning over the bench, his eyes narrowed with menace.

  “Go upstairs instantly! I don’t think the police will recognize you—but if you make one false move, he will pay. Go quickly!”

  As she hurried past the window, she saw his tall figure vanish through the door into the back room. Then she was climbing the stairs. Halfway up, her movements slowed as if she had been struck. Her mirror told the story of her punishment. The lean face of a woman of fifty-five met her stunned gaze. The disaster was complete. Cold, stiff, tearless, she waited for the police.

  5

  For Garson, the world of the future began as a long dim corridor that he had a hard time keeping in focus with his unsteady vision. Heavy hands held him erect as he walked.

  A wave of blur blotted out the uncertain picture.

  When he could see again, the pressure of unpleasant hands was gone from him, and he was in a small room, sitting down. His first impression was that he was alone. Yet when he shook his head, and his vision cleared, he saw the desk; and behind the desk was a man.

  The sight of that lean, dark, saturnine face sent a shock along his nerves, and swiftly galvanized a measure of strength back into his body. He leaned forward, his attention gathered on the man, and that was like a signal. Dr. Lell said derisively:

  “I know. You’ve decided to co-operate. It was in your mind even before we left the presence of Norma, to whose rescue you came with such impetuous gallantry. Unfortunately, it isn’t only a matter of making up your mind.”

  The sneer in the man’s voice made Garson uneasy. He thought, not coherently, not even chronologically: Lucky he was here in this room. Damned lucky they hadn’t sprung a complication of futuristic newness on him, and so disorganized his concentration. Now there was time to gather his thoughts, harden his mind to every conceivable development, discount surprises, and stay alive.

  He said, “It’s quite simple. You’ve got Norma. You’ve got me in your power, here in your own age. I’d be a fool to resist.”

  Dr. Lell regarded him almost pityingly for a moment. But the sneer was in his tone again when he spoke. “My dear Professor Garson, discussion at this point would be futile. My purpose is merely to discover if you are the type we can use in our laboratories. If you are not, the alternative is the depersonalizing chamber. I can say this much: men of your character type have not, on the average, been successful in passing our tests.”

  Every word of that was like a penetrating, edged thing. In spite of his contempt, this man was indifferent to him. There was only the test, whatever that was; and his own conscious life at stake. The important thing was to stay calm, and to continue to insist that he would co-operate. Before he could speak, Dr. Lell said in a curiously flat voice:

  “We have a machine that tests human beings for degree of recalcitrancy. The Observer Machine will speak to you now!”

  “What is your name?” said a voice out of the thin air beside Garson.

  Garson jumped. He had a bad moment of mental unbalance. In spite of his determination, he had been caught off guard. Without his being aware of it, he had actually been in a state of extreme tension. With an effort he caught himself. He saw that Dr. Lell was smiling again, and that helped. Trembling, he leaned back in his chair; and, after a moment, he was sufficiently recovered to feel a surge of anger at the way the chill clung to his body, and at the tiny quaver in his voice as he began to answer:

  “My name is John Bellmore Garson; age, thirty-three; research scientist; professor of physics at the University of—”; blood type number…”

  There were too many questions, an exhaustive drain of detail out of his mind, the history of his life and aspirations. In the end, the truth was a cold weight inside him. His life, his awareness was at stake. Here was not comedy, but a precise, thorough, machinelike grilling. He must pass this test.

  “Dr. Lell!” The insistent voice of the machine broke in. “What is the state of this man’s mind at this moment?”

  Dr. Lell said promptly, “Tremendous doubt. He is in a highly disturbed state.”

  Garson drew a deep breath. He felt sick at the simple way he had been demoralized. And by one new thing. Here was a machine that needed neither telephone nor radio—if it was a machin
e. His voice was a rasping thing in his own ears as he snapped, “My disturbed feeling can go straight to hell! I’m a reasonable person. I’ve made up my mind. I play ball with your organization to the limit.”

  The silence that followed was unnaturally long; and when at last the machine spoke, his relief lasted only until its final words penetrated. The disembodied voice said, “I am pessimistic, but bring him over for the test after the usual preliminaries.”

  He began to feel better as he walked behind Dr. Lell along the gray-blue hallway. In a small way, he had won. Whatever these other tests were, how could they possibly ignore his determined conviction that he must co-operate?

  It was more than just staying alive. For a man of his training this world of the future offered endless opportunities. Surely, he could resign himself to his lot for the duration of this war and concentrate on the amazing immensity of a science that included time portation, fireballs, and Observer Machines that judged men with a cold, remorseless logic and spoke out of the air. He frowned. There must be some trick to that, some “telephone” in the nearby wall. Damned if he’d believe any force could focus sound without intermediary instruments, just as Norma couldn’t have been made older that day in the police station without something mechanical.

  The thought ended in a gasp of alarm. For a moment he stared, half paralyzed, down to where the floor had been. It wasn’t there! Garson grabbed at the opaque wall; and then, as a low laugh came from the doctor, and the continued hardness beneath his feet told the extent of the illusion, he controlled himself, and stared in gathering fascination.

  Below him was a section of a room whose limits he could not see because the opaque walls barred his vision on either side. A milling pack of men filled every available foot of space that he could see.

  The ironic voice of Dr. Lell came to him, echoing his thoughts with brittle words. “Men, yes, ‘men! Recruits from all times. Soldiers-to-be from the ages, and not yet do they know their destiny.”

  The voice ended, but the confusion below went on. Men squirmed, shoved, fought. Upturned faces showed puzzlement, anger, fear, amusement, and combinations of emotions. There were men in clothes that sparkled with every color of the rainbow; there were the drab-colored, the in-betweens; there were more than he could ever count.

  Garson caught his flitting mind, and began to observe the scene more closely. In spite of the radical difference in the dress styles of the men who floundered down there like sheep in a slaughterhouse pen, there was a sameness about them that could only mean one thing.

  “You’re right!” It was that cool, taunting voice again. “They’re all Americans, all from this one city now called Delpa. From our several thousand machines located in the various ages of Delpa, we obtain about four thousand men an hour during the daylight hours. What you see below is the main receiving room. The recruits come sliding down the time chutes, and are promptly revived and shoved in there. Naturally, at this stage there is a certain amount of disorder. But let us proceed further.”

  Garson scarcely noticed as the solid floor leaped into place beneath his feet. He did think that at no time had he seen Dr. Lell press a button or manipulate a control of any kind, neither when the Observer Machine spoke with ventriloquistic wizardry, nor when the floor was made invisible, nor when it again became opaque. Possibly here was some form of mental control. His mind leaped to a personal danger. What was the purpose of this preliminary? Were they showing him horror, then watching his reactions? He felt rage. What did they expect from a man brought up in a twentieth century environment? Nothing here had anything to do with his intellectual conviction that he was caught and that therefore he must cooperate. But four thousand men in one hour from one city! He felt shocked and unhappy.

  “And here,” said Dr. Lell, and his voice was as calm and placid as the waters of a lily pond, “we have one of several hundred smaller rooms that make a great circle around the primary time machine. You can see the confusion has diminished.”

  It was an understatement, Garson thought. There was no confusion at all. Men sat on lounges and chairs. Some were looking at books. Others chatted like people in a silent movie: their lips moved, but no sound penetrated the illusive transparency of the floor.

  “I didn’t,” came that calm, smooth, confident voice, “show you the intermediate stage that -leads up to this clublike atmosphere. A thousand frightened men confronted with danger could make trouble. But we winnow them down, psychologically and physically, until we have one man going through that door at the end of the room—ah, there’s one going now. Let us by all means follow him. You see, at this point we dispense with coddling and bring forth the naked reality.”

  The reality was a metal, boiler-shaped affair with a furnacelike door; and four beast humans simply grabbed the startled newcomer and thrust him feet first into the door.

  The man must have screamed, for his face twisted upward, and the contorted fear, the almost idiotic gaping and working of the mouth, came at Garson like an enormous physical blow. As from a great distance, he heard Dr. Lell say, “It helps at this stage to disorganize the patient’s mind, for then the depersonalizing machine can do a better job.”

  Abruptly, the indifference went out of his voice. In an icily curt tone, he said, “It is useless to continue this little lecture tour. To my mind, your reactions have fully justified the pessimism of the Observer. There will be no further delay.”

  The threat scarcely touched Garson. He was drained of emotion, of hope; and that first blaze of scientific eagerness was a dull ember. After that incredible succession of blows, he accepted the verdict of failure.

  6

  He came slowly out of that defeatist mood. Damn it, there was still the fact that he was committed to this world. He’d have to harden himself, narrow his emotions down to a channel that would include only Norma and himself. If these people and their machine condemned on the basis of feelings, then he’d have to show them how stony-cold his intellect could be. Where the devil was this all-knowing machine?

  The corridor ended abruptly in a plain black door exactly like all the other doors. It held no promise of anything important beyond. The others had led to rooms and other corridors. This one opened onto a street.

  A street of the city of the future!

  Garson stiffened. His brain soared beyond contemplation of his own danger in a burning anticipation; and then, almost instantly, began to sag. Puzzled, he stared at a scene that was different from his expectations. In a vague way, mindful of the effects of war, he had pictured devastated magnificence. But it was not like that.

  Before him stretched a depressingly narrow, unsightly street. Dark, unwashed buildings towered up to hide the sun. A trickle of the squat, semi-human men and women, beastlike creatures, moved stolidly along narrow areas of pavement marked off by black lines. That seemed to be the only method by which the road was distinguished from the sidewalk. The street stretched away into distance and it was all like that, as far as he could see. Intensely disappointed, conscious even of disgust, Garson turned away—and grew aware that Dr. Lell was staring at him with that grim smile.

  The doctor said, “What you are looking for, Professor Garson, you will not find, not in this or similar cities of the ‘slaves,’ but in the palace cities of the Glorious and the Planetarians—” He stopped, as if his words had brought an unpleasant thought. To Garson’s amazement, his face twisted with rage. His voice was harsh as he spat, “Those damnable Planetarians! When I think what their so-called ideals are bringing the world to, I—”

  The fury passed. He went on quietly, “Several hundred years ago, a mixed commission of Glorious and Planetarians surveyed the entire physical resources of the solar system. Men had made themselves practically immortal; theoretically, this body of mine will last a million years, barring major accidents. It was decided that available resources would maintain ten million men on Earth, ten million on Venus, five million on Mars, and ten million altogether on the moons of Jupiter for one mi
llion years at the then-existing high standard of consumption. Roughly, this would amount to about four million dollars a year per person by your standards of value, circa 1960.

  “If in the meantime man conquered the stars, all these figures were subject to revision, though then, as now, the latter possibility was considered as remote as the stars themselves. Under examination, the problem of interstellar transport, apparently so simple, had shown itself intricate beyond the scope of our mathematics.”

  He paused, and Garson ventured, “We had versions of planned states too, but they always broke down because of human nature. That seems to have happened again.”

  Carson did not think of the possibility of bis statement being dangerous to him. The effect of his words was startling. The lean, handsome face became like frozen marble. Harshly, Dr. Lell said:

  “Do not dare to compare your primitive societies to us/ We are the rulers of all future time, and who in the past could ever stand against us if we chose to dominate? We shall win this war, in spite of being on the verge of defeat, for we are building the greatest time-energy barrier that has ever existed. With it, we shall ensure that we win—or no one will win! We’ll teach those moralistic scum of the planets to prate about man’s rights and freedom of the spirit. Blast them all!”

  He spoke with violent emotion. But Garson did not back down. He had his opinions, and it was clear that he could not hope to conceal them from either Dr. Lell or the Observer, so he said:

  “I see an aristocratic hierarchy and a swarm of beast-men slaves. How do they fit into the picture, anyway? What about the resources they require? There certainly seem to be hundreds of thousands in this city alone.”

  The man was staring at him in rigid hostility. Garson felt a sudden chill. He hadn’t expected that any reasonable statement he might make would be used against him. Dr. Lell said, too quietly, “Basically, they do not use any resources. They live in cities of stone and brick, and eat the produce of the indefatigable soil.”