don't want to have to look at your face, you murdering son. You makeme, you say one more word, and I'll turn around and shoot you betweenthe eyes."
Doc Candle nodded. Collins knew then that Michaels really would shoothim in the head if he said anything more, so he kept quiet.
Candle held the door. They managed to get the stretcher down the backsteps, and right into the black panel truck. They fitted the stretcherinto the special sockets for it, and Doc Candle closed the double doorsand slapped his dry palm down on the sealing crevice.
Instantly, there was an answering knock from inside the truck, a dullecho.
* * * * *
"Didn't you hear that?" Collins asked.
"Hear what?" Michaels said.
"What are you hearing now, Sam?" Candle inquired solicitously.
"Oh. Sure," Michaels said. "Kind of a _voice_, wasn't it, Sam? Didn'tunderstand what it said. Wasn't listening too close, not like you."
_Thud-thud-thump-thud._
"No voice," Collins whispered. "That infernal sound, don't you hear it,Ed?"
"I must hurry along," the undertaker said. "Must get ready to work onNancy, get her ready for her parents to see."
"All right, Doc. I'll take care of Sam."
"Where you going to jail me, Ed?" Collins asked, his eyes on the closedtruck doors. "In your storeroom like you did Hank Petrie?"
Michaels' face suddenly began to work. "Jail? Jail you? Jail's too goodfor you. Doc, have you got a tow rope in that truck?"
Ed Michaels was the best shot in town, probably one of the best marksmenin the world. He had been in the Olympics about thirty years ago. He wasWaraxe's one claim to fame. But he wasn't a cowboy. He wasn't a fastdraw.
Collins put all of his weight behind his left fist and landed it on thepoint of Michaels' jaw, just the way he used to do when gangs of boysjumped onto him.
Michaels sprawled out, spread-eagled.
Then Collins wanted to take the revolver out of Ed's belt, and press itinto Ed's hand, curling his fingers around the grip and over thetrigger, and then he wanted to shake Ed awake, slap his face and shakehim....
Collins spun around, clawed open the door to the truck cab and threwhimself behind the steering wheel.
He stopped wanting to make Ed Michaels shoot him.
He flipped the ignition switch, levered the floor shift and drove away.
And he was going to drive on and on and on and on.
And on and on and on.
IV
Collins turned onto the old McHenty blacktop, his foot pressed to thefloorboards. Ed Michaels didn't own a car; he would have to borrow onefrom somebody. That would take time. Maybe Candle would give him hishearse to use to follow the Black Rachel.
Trees, fences, barns whizzed past the windows of the cab and then thesteel link-mesh fence took up, the fence surrounding the New KansasNational Spaceport. Behind it, further from town, some of the concretehad been poured and the horizon was a remote, sterile gray sweep.
The McHenty Road would soon be closed to civilian traffic. But right nowthe government wanted people to drive along and see that the spaceshipwas nothing terrible, nothing to fear.
The girl, Nancy Comstock, was alive in the back. He knew that. But hecouldn't stop to prove it or to help her. Candle would make them lynchhim first.
Why hadn't Candle stopped him from getting away?
He had managed to break his control for a second. He had done thatbefore when he deflected Nancy's aim. But he couldn't resist Candle forlong. Why hadn't Candle made him turn around and come back?
Candle's control of him had seemed to stop when he got inside the cab ofthe truck. Could it be that the metal shield of the cab could protect anEarthling from the strange mental powers of the creature from anotherplanet which was inhabiting the body of Doc Candle?
Collins shook his head.
More likely Candle was doing this just to get his hopes up. He probablywould seize control of him any time he wanted to. But Collins decided togo on playing it as if he did have some hope, as if a shield of metalcould protect him from Candle's control. Otherwise ... there was nootherwise.
* * * * *
Collins suddenly saw an opening.
The steel mesh fence was ruptured by a huge semitrailer truck turned onits side. Twenty feet of fence on either side was down. This wasrestricted government property, but of course spaceships were hardlyprime military secrets any longer. Repairs in the fence had not beenmade instantaneously, and the wreckage was not guarded.
Collins swerved the wheel and drove the old wagon across thewaffle-plate obstruction, onto the smooth tarmac beyond.
He raced, raced, raced through the falling night, not sure where he washeaded.
Up above he saw the shelter of shadows from a cluster of half-finishedbuildings. He drove into them and parked.
Collins sat still for a moment, then threw open the door and ran aroundto the back of the truck, jerking open the handles.
Nancy fell out into his arms.
"What kind of ambulance is this?" she demanded. "It doesn't look like anambulance. It doesn't smell like an ambulance. It looks like--lookslike--"
Collins said, "Shut up. Get out of there. We've got to hide."
"Why?"
"They think I murdered you."
"Murdered me? But I'm alive. Can't they see I'm alive?"
Collins shook his head. "I doubt it. I don't know why, but I don't thinkit would be that simple. Come with me."
The blood on her breast had dried, and he could see it was only ashallow groove dug by the bullet. But she flinched in pain as she beganto walk, pulling the muscles.
They stopped and leaned against a half-finished metallic shed.
"Where are we? Where are you taking me?"
"This is the spaceport. Now shut up."
"Let me go."
"No."
"I'm not dead," Nancy insisted. "You know I'm not dead. I won't presscharges against you--just let me go free."
"I told you it wasn't that simple. He wants them to think you're dead,and that's what they'll think."
Nancy passed fingers across her eyes. "Who? Who are you talking about?"
"Doc Candle. He won't let them know you're alive."
Nancy rubbed her forehead with both hands. "Sam, you don't know whatyou're doing. You don't--know what you're getting yourself into. Justlet me show myself to someone. They'll know I'm not dead. Really theywill."
"Okay," he said. "Let's find somebody."
He led her toward a more nearly completed building, showing rectanglesof light. They looked through the windows to see several men in uniformsbending over blueprints on a desk jury-rigged of sawhorses and planks.
"Sam," Nancy said, "one of those men is Terry Elston. He's a Waraxe boy.I went to school with him. He'll know me. Let's go in...."
"No," Collins said. "We don't go in."
"But--" Nancy started to protest, but stopped. "Wait. He's coming out."
Collins slid along the wall and stood behind the door. "Tell him who youare when he comes out. I'll stay here."
They waited. After a few seconds, the door opened.
Nancy stepped into the rectangle of light thrown on the concrete fromthe window.
"Terry," she said. "Terry, it's me--Nancy Comstock."
The blue-jawed young man in uniform frowned. "Who did you say you were?Have you got clearance from this area?"
"It's me, Terry. Nancy. Nancy Comstock."
Terry Elston stepped front and center. "That's not a very good joke. Iknew Nancy. Hell of a way to die, killed by some maniac."
"Terry, _I'm_ Nancy. Don't you recognize me?"
Elston squinted. "You look familiar. You look a little like Nancy. Butyou can't be her, because she's dead."
"I'm here, and I tell you I'm _not_ dead."
"Nancy's dead," Elston repeated mechanically. "Say, what are you tryingto pull?"
"Terry, be
hind you. A maniac!"
"Sure," Elston said. "Sure. There's a maniac _behind_ me."
Collins stepped forward and hit Elston behind the ear. He fell silently.
Nancy stared down at him.
"He refused to recognize me. He acted like I was crazy, pretending to beNancy Comstock."
"Come on along," Collins urged. "They'll probably shoot us on sight astrespassers."
She looked around herself without comprehension.
"Which way?"
"_This way._"
Collins did not say those words.
They were said by the man with the gun in the uniform like the one wornby Elston. He motioned impatiently.
"This way, this way."
* * * * *
"No priority," Colonel Smith-Boerke said as he paced back and forth, gunin hand.
From time to time he waved it threateningly at Collins and Nancy who saton the couch in Smith-Boerke's office. They had been sitting for closeto two hours. Collins now knew the Colonel did not intend to turn himover to the authorities. They were being held for reasons ofSmith-Boerke's own.
"They sneak the ship in here, plan for an unscheduled hop from anuncompleted base--the strictest security we've used in ten or fifteenyears--and now they cancel it. This is bound to get leaked by somebody!They'll call it off. It'll never fly now."
Collins sat quietly. He had been listening to this all evening.Smith-Boerke had been drinking, although it wasn't very obvious.
Smith-Boerke turned to Collins.
"I've been waiting for somebody like you. Just waiting for you to comealong. And here you are, a wanted fugitive, completely in my power!Perfect, _perfect_."
Collins nodded to himself. Of course, Colonel Smith-Boerke had beenwaiting for him. And Doc Candle had driven him right to him. It wasinescapable. He had been intended to escape and turn up right here allalong.
"What do you want with me?"
Smith-Boerke's flushed face brightened. "You want to become a hero? Ahero so big that all these trumped-up charges against you will bedropped? It'll be romantic. Back to Lindbergh-to-Paris. Tell me,Collins, how would you like to be the first man to travel faster thanlight?"
Collins knew there was no way out.
"All right," he said.
Smith-Boerke wiped a hand across his dry mouth.
"Project Silver _has_ to come off. My whole career depends on it. Youdon't have anything to do. Everything's cybernetic. Just ride along andprove a human being can survive. Nothing to it. No hyperdrives, none ofthat kind of stuff. We had an engine that could go half lightspeed andnow we've made it twice as efficient and more. No superstitions aboutEinstein, I hope? No? Good."
"I'll go," Collins said. "But what if I had said 'no'."
Smith-Boerke put the gun away in a desk drawer.
"Then you could have walked out of here, straight into the MP's."
"Why didn't they come in here after me?"
"They don't have security clearance for this building."
"_Don't_ leave me alone," Nancy said urgently. "I don't understandwhat's happening. I feel so helpless. I need help."
"You're asking the wrong man," Collins said briefly.
* * * * *
Collins felt safe when the airlock kissed shut its metal lips.
It was not like the house, but yet he felt safe, surrounded by all thecomplicated, expensive electronic equipment. It was big, solid,sterilely gleaming.
Another thing--he had reason to believe that Doc Candle's power couldnot reach him through metal.
"But I'm not outside," Doc Candle said, "I'm in here, with you."
Collins yelled and cursed, he tried to pull off the acceleration webbingand claw through the airlock. Nobody paid any attention to him. Countdowns had been automated. Smith-Boerke was handling this one himself,and he cut off the Audio-In switch from the spaceship. Doc Candle saidnothing else for a moment, and the spaceship, almost an entity itself,went on with its work.
The faster-than-light spaceship took off.
At first it was like any other rocket takeoff.
The glow of its exhaust spread over the field of the spaceport, thenover the hills and valleys, and then the town of Waraxe, spreadingillumination even as far as Sam Collins' silent house.
After a time of being sick, Collins lay back and accepted this too.
"That's right, that's it," Doc Candle said. "Take it and die with it.That's the ticket."
Collins' eyes settled on a gauge. Three quarters lightspeed. Climbing.
Nothing strange, nothing untoward happened when you reached lightspeed.It was only an arbitrary number. All else was superstition. Forget it,forget it, forget it.
_Something_ was telling him that. At first he thought it was Doc Candlebut then he knew it was the ship.
Collins sat back and took it, and what he was taking was death. It wascreeping over him, seeping into his feet, filling him like liquid does asponge.
Not will, but curiosity, caused him to turn his head.
He saw Doc Candle.
The old body was dying. He was in the emergency seat, broken, a ribbonof blood lacing his chin. But Doc Candle continued to laugh triumphantlyin Collins' head.
"Why? Why do you have to kill me?" Collins asked.
"Because I am evil."
"How do you know you're evil?"
"_They told me so!_" Candle shouted back in the thundering silence ofDeath's approach. "They were always saying I was bad."
_They._
* * * * *
Collins got a picture of something incredibly old and incredibly wise,but long unused to the young, clumsy gods. Something that could mar themolding of a godling and make it mortal.
"But I'm not really so very bad," Doc Candle went on. "I had todestroy, but I picked someone who really didn't care if he weredestroyed or not. An almost absolutely passive human being, Sam. You."
Collins nodded.
"And even then," said the superhuman alien from outer space, "I couldnot just destroy. I have created a work of art."
"Work of art?"
"Yes. I have taken your life and turned it into a horror story, Sam! Achilling, demonic, black-hearted horror!"
Collins nodded again.
_LIGHTSPEED._
There was finally something human within Sam Collins that he could notdeny. He wanted to live. It wasn't true. He did care what happened.
You do? said somebody.
He does? asked somebody else, surprised, and suddenly he again got theimage of wiser, older creatures, a little ashamed because of what theyhad done to the creature named Doc Candle.
He does, chorused several voices, and Sam Collins cried aloud: "I do! Iwant to live!" They were just touching lightspeed; he felt it.
This time it was not just a biological response. He really wanted help.He wanted to stay alive.
From the older, wiser voices he got help, though he never knew how; hefelt the ship move slipwise under him, and then a crash.
And Doc Candle got help too, the only help even the older, wiser onescould give him.
* * * * *
They pulled him out of the combined wreckage of the spaceship and hishouse. Both were demolished.
It was strange how the spaceship Sam Collins was on crashed right intohis house. Ed Michaels recalled a time in a tornado when Sy Baxter's carwas picked up, lifted across town and dropped into his living room.
When the men from the spaceport lifted away tons of rubble, they foundhim and said, "He's dead."
No, I'm not, Collins thought. I'm alive.
And then they saw that he really was alive, that he had come through italive somehow, and nobody remembered anything like it since the airlinercrash in '59.
A while later, after they found Doc Candle's body and court-martialedSmith-Boerke, who took drugs, Nancy was nuzzling him on his hospi
talbed. It was nice, but he wasn't paying much attention.
I'm free, Collins thought as the girl hugged him. _Free!_ He kissed her.
Well, he thought while she was kissing him back, as free as I want tobe, anyway.
END
[Transcriber's Note:
This e-text was produced from Worlds of If January 1962. Extensiveresearch did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on thispublication was renewed.]
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