Fact is, Iwas calling to tell you I'll be a little late."
There was a pause and when the girl spoke again there was an injurednote in her voice.
"Well, that's a fine thing. I wait here deliberately after hours for youto pick me up and now you tell me you'll be late! Just what's so moreimportant than me right now?"
"I haven't got time to tell you now, Joan, but believe me, I've got thebreak of the year. A story that will rock the front pages across thecountry. I'll tell you all about it later. You can wait at Fenwick'splace. He won't mind, will he?"
He could hear the girl sniff on the other end of the wire.
"I don't suppose he will, but I don't think I can say the same formyself."
"That's a good girl," Trent laughed. "Just wait for me. It may be anhour or so--"
"An _hour_ or so! What are you writing, the great American novel?"
He looked up and saw the frowning face of the City Editor approachinghis desk. He spoke hurriedly.
"I've got to sign off now. The boss is coming up. I'll see you later.Give my regards to Brutus."
He replaced the phone as the editor reached his desk.
"What's all this about a remake on the front page, Trent?"
Fred nodded. "That's right, chief. The biggest story since the atombomb. Listen!"
He gave a short account of what had happened, and then added thepersonal details of his talk with Gaddon. He saw the eyes of the editorwiden as he went on, and by the time he had finished, there was a lookof excitement on the editor's face.
"Get to that story, Trent. Write it hot, and write it fast. I'll holdthe first form and tear down the front page. Stress the human interestangle. Play it up big. We'll hit the news wires with it after we go topress."
Then a smile crossed the editor's face. "And you'll get a by-line onthis, Trent, that ought to put you in for some big money. Nice work."
Then he turned on his heel and was hurrying across the city room towardhis glassed-in office, hollering for a copy boy as he went.
Trent turned back to his desk and slipped a sheet of paper into histypewriter. There was a tenseness around his eyes as he brought hisfingers down on the keys. For a moment the old questions rose again inhis mind. _Was Gaddon right? Could it be possible that ..._
Then he forgot everything but the story. And his fingers clicked againstthe keys, putting it down on paper.
* * * * *
The rocket chamber swayed gently through the night air, whistling itsway slowly downward, moving more slowly as the great parachute above itcaught in the rapidly thickening density of the cabin's atmosphere.
Inside it, the thing that had been Gaddon, the thing that was no longera man, sat on the floor of the chamber, idly toying with the dead bodyof the cat.
Strange thoughts coursed through the mind inside its head. Half of themind that belonged to Gaddon, and half of the mind that was an alienthing, a creature unnamed.
There was a thought of killing and the thought was good. The claw-likehands played with the cat's dead body, fondling it idly, wishing itwere still alive so that it might die again.
And the other part of its mind, the part that still knew it was Gaddon,rebelled against the thought. Tried to drive it away. Tried to move thatalien intelligence into the rear of his consciousness.
A growl left his lips as he struggled with it. And then a whimperingsound.
For now the alien thought of killing and the joy it had experienced asthe cat died scant moments before, was replaced by another thought. Athought of loneliness.
It was a weird feeling, an utter loneliness that came from the greatvoid beyond man's planet. It cried out in silent protest for it knew itwas alone in this world of men.
And it knew it would remain alone, friendless. For what manner of mensuch as the other part of its mind showed would react in a friendlyfashion? Where would be their common meeting ground? There could only beone, it knew. And that one was fear. Fear and the hate that went withit.
A growl left its lips again, and Gaddon's thoughts tried to force theirway through. Tried and failed again.
But was it necessary to want companionship? It thought about that for amoment. And then the alien beast thoughts grew sharper, clearer. It knewsuddenly that it did not want man's compassion. It knew that there wasonly one driving thought in it. Hate. Hate that would inspire fear. Fearthat would freeze its victim into terror. And terror that would bereplaced by death. And then it would be happy again. Happy to sit andfondle the thing that had been alive. And it knew something else. Itknew that a hunger would have to be satisfied. A hunger that called forflesh.
Deep, primeval thoughts raced through it then. Thoughts that werespawned in the ancient jungles of a new and steaming world. A worldwhere great cats roamed, where screams of cat-rage split the air astawny bodies arced in lightning leaps to land on the trembling bodies oftheir victims. It was a satisfying thought. A thought that spanned theages of Earth, a sense that was inherent in all cat minds through theages.
And as the thought raced through that portion of its mind, the part thatwas Gaddon struggled to fight it back. For it realized with a sicknessthat spread horror through it that the thought was part of the animalexistence that had been created in him. Part of the monster that lay byinstinct in all feline creatures. And Gaddon knew that the dead creatureat his feet, the limp and twisted body of the cat, had died long beforehis hands had crushed it in their mighty grip. For the essence of thatlife, that animal existence, had been merged with him, fused by a mightysource from outer space.
* * * * *
And as he struggled with the thought, fought to regain the balance ofcontrol of the strange body that was now his, the rocket chamber swayedin a gust of wind from without. And as he clutched the sides of thechamber with his strong claw-like hands, the chamber gave a boundinglurch as it struck the ground a glancing blow.
There was a grating sound as the metal chamber gouged into the earth,sank its weight upon the Arizona soil. And the thing was thrownviolently against the side of the chamber.
Then there was quiet again.
Gaddon's mind fought to the fore, took control of that feline man-shapethat was his, struggled to its feet and moved in a lithe bound to theopposite side of the chamber. A clawed hand reached up where Gaddonknew the release mechanism of the door lay, and pressed it.
The door slid back with a sliding sound and the cool night air rushed inupon it.
Gaddon moved his cat-body through the opening and bounded to the groundin a lithe, powerful movement. He felt new muscles react as he landed onthe ground, and knew that there was a great strength in them. Strengththat was waiting to be used.
And he felt the other thoughts starting to move forward in his mindagain and he forced them back. He knew he must keep control of thatmind. For there was something that he must do.
He thought desperately about it. And the pattern became clearer in hismind.
The cosmic rays. The reaction in his body. He had sought immortality inthe door to outer space and had found a monster waiting for him. A forcethat had changed his glands, grown the shaggy fur on his body. Glandsthat had warped his mind. Opened an age-old cunning of feline thought.
_Glands._
Gaddon's thoughts whipped the word. Held it. Knew it must be the answer.And then it found a prayer of hope. And a name that went with thatthought.
"Fenwick! I've got to reach Fenwick before it's too late. _Before it'stoo late!_"
His voice came hoarsely, strangely formed. And he looked wildly abouthim. He saw, off in the distance, a glowing of lights in the night. Andhe knew somehow that it was the city of Tucson.
And in that city, at its very edge, was a house he must reach.
He stumbled away into the darkness, feeling his limbs move rapidlythen, smoothly, covering the ground in great leaping strides.
And though Gaddon's thoughts kept the balance of control, deep insidehis mind, the monster growled with a cun
ning laughter ...
* * * * *
Fred Trent pulled the last sheet of paper from his typewriter and leanedback in his chair exhausted. That was it, the end of the story. He wavedhis hand at a copy boy and the boy ran up to take the final page. Eachsheet had been taken like that, to be immediately set in the composingroom. Now it was finished, the story of the year.
And as Trent slowly lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, he knew that hehad done a good job on the story. And a smile crossed his face as hethought of it. His future was assured now. There could be no morestopgaps, no more delays in his plans to marry Joan and settle down. Andthe girl would have to agree. For the first time in many months, Fredfelt that his troubles were over with. And the feeling was nice. Itspread through him and he was content.
He glanced at his wrist watch and frowned. The story had taken longerthan he had anticipated. It was nearly