“And you think Kennedy suicided?”
“I’m sure of it,” said Neale. “He knew what was happening to him. Probably there was a progressive deterioration of his control over his muscles. So while he still had some vestige of independent action he threw himself into the generator. I guess that’s preferable to the walking death of the disease otherwise.”
Dollinson sat down heavily. “Marie’s got it.”
“And Radek, Harrell, and Gross. Maybe even more by now. Probably we’re all infected in some degree or another, only we have different periods of incubation. We may be full of white fibers right now, only they haven’t made their move to take over, yet.”
“But—”
“Yes. Our turns will come. Only we won’t make the mistake the last expedition made.”
“What was that?”
“They waited too long to report the disease. Before they could let anybody know, the whole outfit was infected, and then they couldn’t report. So we came down unawares, and caught it. And—my God!” Neale went pale. “Allenson’s team—they’re on their way back to Earth in the Ariel now!”
“The whole ship’s probably infected with it,” Dollinson said.
“Worse than that. The Ariel will be landing on Earth in three months. And Earth won’t be suspecting anything unless we warn them.”
Neale reached for his coat; then, snapping his fingers, he went to his drug rack and detached an ampoule. “Come on,” he said. “We may not have much time left.”
They made their way stealthily into the ground floor of the residence building, not wanting to awaken the Harrells. Cautiously Neale nudged open the door of the section where the Radeks lived.
They were asleep—but with their eyes open. Cold glinting eyes that stared upward, unseeingly. Neale added a sixth name to the growing list: Belle Radek. Now six members of the team were infected. Six out of twelve.
“Get his arm,” Neale whispered.
Dollinson seized Radek’s right arm; Neale took his left. He nodded, and they jerked up suddenly. Radek woke, startled.
“What’s going on? What the hell do you fellows want at this hour?”
“We want you to do a little radio work for us, Sam. Come on. Out of bed.”
“He sounds genuine,” Dollinson said.
“That only means that Sam’s lost the fight with whatever is growing inside him. The stuttering and the stiffness comes from the fact that the mind is struggling against the invader. But Sam’s been completely taken over, and—hold him!”
Radek writhed suddenly and nearly broke loose. He did jerk one arm free and land a punch in Dollinson’s stomach; the ecologist spun backward, just in time to have the awakening Belle Radek climb furiously upon him.
Neale had come prepared. He flipped the trigger on the spray-ampoule he had brought with him and slapped the spray against Radek’s bare arm. The signalman froze a moment in inner conflict, as the nerves of his body strove to quit their jobs and the parasite urged him to continue fighting; then the injection did its work, and he toppled over, unconscious. A moment later his wife followed him.
“What did you do to them?” Dollinson asked.
“Hypnothol.” Neale said. “It’ll knock ’em out for ten minutes or so, and when they wake up they’ll be very cooperative. It’s a fast-action anesthetic as well as a truth drug. Very handy. Let’s get Radek over to the communications shack now, before it wears off.”
They dragged the unconscious man across the clearing to the shack. Neale flipped on the light. Radek sat groggily where he was put, quivering occasionally as the organism within him attempted to regain control over his numbed and useless muscles.
“Sam, can you hear me? Sam?”
“I…hear you.”
“Sam, tell me—what’s happened to you? What kind of thing has taken you over?”
“I am part of It,” Radek said tonelessly.
“It? What do you mean?”
“The oneness…the fulfillment. All is one here on this world, and I am part of It. Of We.”
“You mean a collective mind?” Neale asked.
“Yes.”
“Linked together by—by the network of nerve fiber inside you?”
“Yes.”
Neale was silent a moment. Then he said, “How about the Allenson group. Are they the same way too?”
“Yes. All but the one named Marsh, the doctor. He is not with Us. He is dead. He threatened to contact Earth, but the eleven of them who are with Us killed him just in time. As We will kill you.” The words, toneless, flat, held chilling menace.
Neale glanced at Dollinson. “Mack, lock and bolt the shack door. We may have trouble. Make sure the blasters are loaded, too.” To the slumping Radek he said, “Sam, you mean that everything on this world is part of this one collective mind, including the Allenson people? How about the crew of the Ariel?”
“They have joined Us too. And soon all Earth will belong and then all the universe. We have waited long for the opportunity to extend Ourselves from world to world, and Earth has given this to Us.”
With trembling voice Neale said, “Sam, are you absolutely under my command now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re incapable of obeying the orders of this—thing you belong to, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want you to sit down over by the communications panel and make subradio contact for me with the Central Control of the Survey Department, on Earth. Will you do that?”
“Yes,” Radek said dully.
Neale waited while the somnambulant Radek made mechanical adjustments on the subradio board; lights flashed, indicating that waypoints and relay stations were being contacted. The signal was leaping out across the light-years, through the greyness of hyperspace, toward the home world of Earth.
Neale felt inwardly cold. He saw the whole pattern now, and it left him breathless with horror.
All life on this planet was part of one huge organism. That explained the balanced ecology that Laura had been so puzzled by. And the organism took steps to incorporate within itself all strange forms of life that wandered within its range.
That was what had happened to the Allenson expedition. One by one they had succumbed, as the spore of the alien organism ripened within their bodies; only their medic, Dr. Marsh, had remained untouched, and he had evidently realized what had taken place. He had attempted to warn Earth against Gamma Crucis VII, but the other eleven had prevented him, had killed him before word could go out.
Neale understood now why they had had no further need of medical attention. A wise parasite takes care of its host body and keeps it from harm. The organism living within the Earth people had evidently healed cuts, destroyed disease germs, and maintained the working efficiency of the body that served as its vehicle.
And then the second expedition had landed. The puppets that were the Allenson team were on their way back to Earth to transmit the organism now; having infected the crew of the Ariel, they longed for the greater quarry ahead. And one by one Survey Unit 1198 was succumbing. The Radeks, Gross, Harrell, Kennedy, Marie Dollinson, maybe all the rest of them by now.
Maybe even Laura. And maybe I’m next. Maybe any minute now I’ll feel the alien pull along my nerves, and know that in short moments the personality that is Dr. Michael Neale will be swallowed up in—
“Hurry up, Radek!” Neale barked. “Get that contact set up!”
“It’s almost ready,” Radek muttered tonelessly. “Here—go ahead, now.”
Neale took his seat at the communicator panel, indicating to Dollinson that he should guard Radek carefully in case the effects of the drug should wear off.
He spun the dial. A crisp voice said, “Central Control, Survey Corps. Lieutenant Jesperson speaking. Come in, please.”
“Jesperson, this is Medic Neale of Survey Unit 1198. I want to report an epidemic. It’s already affected at least half of our team, and the entire personnel of the outfit we replaced.”
&nb
sp; “Epidemic?”
“Yes,” Neale said. In quick concise words he sketched in the nature of the “disease,” repeating the information he had dredged from Radek’s drugged mind. He spoke softly but urgently. “That’s the whole story. Except that the Ariel’s coming back to Earth right now, and every man aboard it is infected.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
Neale paused. “Would you want to be the man who said they weren’t?”
Jesperson said irritatedly, “If what you tell us is true, Neale, it means we don’t dare let the Ariel land. We can’t even send a man aboard to examine them. We’ll simply have to send up a missile and blow them out of the sky without warning. There must be a hundred human beings aboard that ship, and billions of dollars’ worth of equipment.”
Very quietly Neale said, “If you let that ship land, it’ll mean the end of civilization on Earth. It’s just as simple as that, and if I sound melodramatic it’s because I mean to sound melodramatic. Once that thing gets loose on earth—dammit, Jesperson it doesn’t matter if fifty innocent people on the Ariel have to die! You have to destroy that ship before it touches Earth!”
“I see that,” Jesperson replied tightly. “Okay. I’ll pass the transcript of your report along to the higher-ups and let them worry about it. We still have some time before the Ariel gets here. How about you people on Gamma Crucis VII, though?”
Neale coughed. “Forget about us. Report the whole team lost on duty.”
“But six of you—”
“Six of us are free of infection, now. But there’s no telling how long it’ll be before we go under. Make sure this planet is never visited again. I’m going to sign off now. I have work to do here. So long, Jesperson.”
“So long, Neale. And—thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I—”
He grunted suddenly as a fist thumped against his back. Radek’s loose, he thought, and whirled up from the panel seat to defend himself.
“Neale! Neale!” came the voice from the speaker grid. “Is everything all right there? Neale!”
Neale ignored the cry. He stared at his attacker.
Not Radek. Radek still sat slumped in drug-induced stupor where they had left him.
It was Dollinson.
“So it’s your turn now, Mack,” Neale murmured. Dollinson’s eyes had the all-too-familiar gleam, now; his face quivered convulsively. He came forward again, swinging his fists, and Neale could see that the fast-dying entity that was Mack Dollinson was vainly trying to reassert control over his unruly body.
Dollinson ran toward him. Neale sidestepped and clubbed down on the back of his neck; Dollinson fell, lay quivering, struggled to get up.
Across the room, Radek was starting to move. And Neale heard pounding on the door of the communications shack. Of course! The creatures were all part of the same organism, and so all were in communication with each other; they knew Neale still survived, immune for some reason, and they were coming to get him.
Dollinson rose and straggled forward. The hinges of the door began to yield.
Neale hit Dollinson again, jumped back, fumbled for his blaster. He fired, once.
It made a neat black hole through the center of Dollinson’s chest. Neale felt sudden bitterness; Dollinson had been his closet friend, and—
Dollinson kept moving.
He was dead; that is, the body of Mack Dollinson was dead. But the thing that inhabited him still retained control over Dollinson’s muscles, still forced him forward, claw-like hands reaching out—
Neale fired again, this time at the head. He held the beam steady, ashing away all that was recognizable of Mack Dollinson. Ashing with it the whitish clump of ganglia that had sprouted inside Dollinson’s head. This time Mack dropped and lay still.
Remember that, Neale thought feverishly. Aim for the heads; killing the body doesn’t stop them, you have to kill the nerve-center.
Radek was next. The signal-man was on his feet and groping forward, having thrown off the remaining effects of the drug. Neale cut Radek down with a short full-intensity blast.
The pounding on the door grew louder. The door started to split. Neale glanced around frantically, found a window, leaped through just as the mob of them broke into the shack in quest of him.
He began to run. It was night now, and dark shadows were all around. He looked back and saw figures come running out of the shack in search of him.
They wanted him, now. They were too late to keep him from warning Earth—thank God for that!—but they wanted to kill him anyway, since he obstinately refused to contract the disease.
At least Earth has been warned, he thought. What happens to us doesn’t matter.
A tree swiped at him from above. He ducked. Any moment, he thought, the entire mobilized force of the planet would be after him, hordes of vultures and jagtoothed cats and insects that stung, determined to mow him down.
In the gathering darkness, a figure came by—Donna Harrell, the coordinator’s statuesque wife. Neale paused in flight.
“Donna?”
She turned to face him. Hatred was in her cold, alien eyes. Her face bore the tic.
Neale did not hesitate. He fired, twice, and she fell. Four of the twelve were dead, now. And of those who survived, all but Laura, Peg Kennedy, and Sallie Gross were known to harbor the alien life-form now.
I’ll wipe them out, he thought. Better a clean quick death than a lifetime as part of—that.
His first stop was the infirmary, but as he suspected, Sallie was gone. She was out with the hunters, then, in search of him. That left only Laura and Peg Kennedy among the possible immunes.
He heard the infirmary door slam. A dark figure stood down below—tall, broad. Only two men of the survey unit remained alive besides Neale, and one of them, Gross, was small. The man down there could only be Coordinator Clee Harrell.
“Neale!” came the hoarse voice. “Neale, have you gone crazy? You killed Dollinson and Radek in cold blood! Come down out of there, Neale. We know you’re there.”
In the darkness Neale felt his body streaming with perspiration. It’s a trick, he thought feverishly. A trick. I know Harrell’s been taken over. I saw him.
A blaster bolt suddenly squirted through the blackness at him and splatted against the wall over his head, sending the plastic wall cascading outward. Immediately Neale returned fire. He heard a groan; he had hit.
He ran down the stairs. Harrell lay there, writhing, his right arm seared away. But his eyes were not human eyes, and Neale felt no compassion for him. He fired once, at the coordinator’s head.
Five down, now. And how many to go?
They were surrounding the infirmary, Neale saw. He ducked away into the shrubbery and crouched there, waiting, watching them move past him.
There were too many of them for him to fire now. He counted: Gross, Sallie, Belle Radek, Peg Kennedy, and—he uttered a harsh little sob—Laura.
All of them, then. He was the only one left. And he knew his turn could not be long delayed.
Around him, the shrubbery rippled suddenly. Thorny arms stabbed at his eyes. Even the plants! he thought. Part of the single great evil mind that was the world of Gamma Crucis VII.
Overhead wings flapped. Time was running short now, Neale thought. He burst from the clearing.
There was no cry of “There he is!” from those who saw him. They were telepathically linked; they had no need to communicate out loud. But Neale saw shadowy shapes moving toward him in the night.
He collided suddenly with a figure coming in the opposite direction, and, startled, reeled away. He had forgotten Marie Dollinson. She grappled with him now, fighting with a demonic strength no woman had ever possessed, but Neale broke away and put a blaster shot through the thing that infested her brain. The blurt of energy lit the darkness for a moment, then subsided.
Pausing for breath, he counted the survivors in his mind: The Grosses, Peg Kennedy, Belle Radek, and Laura. Five of them. Briefly he prayed that
he would have a chance to get all of them before they found him, or before the change happened.
Maybe I’m immune, he thought. Why me, though? Why should I be singled out?
The forest around him seemed angry and menacing. He knew he was lost either way: it made no difference whether he were ultimately absorbed into the group-mind of the parasites, or if he remained immune and were killed by the unit-mind. But he was not ready to give up.
He ran on desperately.
Rounding the main residence housing, he encountered Ferd Gross, who was armed with a blaster. But Gross’ aim went wild—perhaps Ferdie was still fighting back, trapped helplessly in his own body—and Neale incinerated him with a single well-placed shot.
That left four. Peg, Belle, Sallie, Laura.
Belle was the first. He spotted her on the side of the hill, near the tree where the blue-green apples grew, and brought her down at long range. After that came Peg and Sallie in swift succession. There was no sign of Laura. He called to her, but she did not appear, and Neale was relieved at that.
Wearily he made his way to his office, locked himself in, and threw the bolt. The dissected body of Don Kennedy still lay on the table.
Ignoring it, Neale threw himself down at his desk and put his head in his hands, sobbing with the release of accumulated fear and tension. After a while he looked at his watch. It read 0215.
In a little less than an hour, Neale thought with odd clarity, I’ve killed nine fellow human beings. One man rampage of killing.
Then he shook his head. He was being foolish. The nine human beings had died long since—or, even more horribly, remained alive, trapped within their own flesh. He had merely liberated them. He had destroyed nine containers for the weird group-life that infested this planet; he had sent nine Earthmen to rest instead of leaving them for an eternal existence within the corporate entity.