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_The entities were utterly, ambitiously evil; their line of defense, apparently, was absolutely impregnable._
I'll Kill You Tomorrow
By Helen Huber
Illustrated by Kelly Freas
It was not a sinister silence. No silence is sinister until it acquiresa background of understandable menace. Here there was only the nightquiet of Maternity, the silence of noiseless rubber heels on thehospital corridor floor, the faint brush of starched white skirtsbrushing through doorways into darkened and semi-darkened rooms.
But there was something wrong with the silence in the "basket room" ofMaternity, the glass-walled room containing row on row, the tiny hopesof tomorrow. The curtain was drawn across the window through which,during visiting hours, peered the proud fathers who did the hoping. Thenight-light was dim.
The silence should not have been there.
Lorry Kane, standing in the doorway, looked out over the rows of silentbaskets and felt her blonde hair tighten at the roots. The tighteningcame from instinct, even before her brain had a chance to function, fromthe instincts and training of a registered nurse.
Thirty-odd babies grouped in one room and--_complete silence_.
Not a single whimper. Not one tiny cry of protest against the annoyingphenomenon of birth.
Thirty babies--_dead_? That was the thought that flashed, unbidden, intoLorry's pretty head. The absurdity of it followed swiftly, and Lorrymoved on rubber soles between a line of baskets. She bent down andexplored with practiced fingers.
A warm, living bundle in a white basket.
The feeling of relief was genuine. Relief, even from an absurdity, is awelcome thing. Lorry smiled and bent closer.
Staring up at Lorry from the basket were two clear blue eyes. Two eyes,steady and fixed in a round baby face. An immobile, pink baby facehousing two blue eyes that stared up into Lorry's with a quietconcentration that was chilling.
Lorry said, "What's the matter with you?" She spoke in a whisper and wasaddressing herself. She'd gone short on sleep lately--the only way,really, to get a few hours with Pete. Pete was an interne at GeneralHospital, and the kind of a homely grinning carrot-top a girl like Lorrycould put into dreams as the center of a satisfactory future.
But all this didn't justify a case of jitters in the "basket room."
Lorry said. "Hi, short stuff," and lifted Baby Newcomb--Male, out of hiscrib for a cuddling.
Baby Newcomb didn't object. The blue eyes came closer. The week-old eyeswith the hundred-year-old look. Lorry laid the bundle over her shoulderand smiled into the dimness.
"You want to be president, Shorty?" Lorry felt the warmth of a new life,felt the little body wriggle in snug contentment. "I wouldn't advise it.Tough job." Baby Newcomb twisted in his blanket. Lorry stiffened.
_Snug contentment?_
Lorry felt two tiny hands clutch and dig into her throat. Not justpawing baby hands. Little fingers that reached and explored for thewindpipe.
She uncuddled the soft bundle, held it out. There were the eyes. Shechilled. No imagination here. No spectre from lack of sleep.
Ancient murder-hatred glowing in new-born eyes.
* * * * *
"Careful, you fool! You'll drop this body." A thin piping voice. Ashrill symphony in malevolence.
Fear weakened Lorry. She found a chair and sat down. She held the boybaby in her hands. Training would not allow her to drop Baby Newcomb.Even if she had fainted, she would not have let go.
* * * * *
The shrill voice: "It was stupid of me. Very stupid."
Lorry was cold, sick, mute.
"Very stupid. These hands are too fragile. There are no muscles in thearms. I couldn't have killed you."
"Please--I ..."
"Dreaming? No. I'm surprised at--well, at your surprise. You have atrained mind. You should have learned, long ago, to trust your senses."
"I don't understand."
"Don't look at the doorway. Nobody's coming in. Look at me. Give me alittle attention and I'll explain."
"Explain?" Lorry pulled her eyes down to the cherubic little face as sheparroted dully.
"I'll begin by reminding you that there are more things in existencethan your obscene medical books tell you about."
"Who are you? What are you?"
"One of those things."
"You're not a baby!"
"Of course not. I'm ..." The beastly, brittle voice drifted into silenceas though halted by an intruding thought. Then the thought voiced--voicedwith a yearning at once pathetic and terrible: "It would be nice to killyou. Someday I will. Someday I'll kill you if I can find you."
"Why? Why?" Insane words in an insane world. But life had not stoppedeven though madness had taken over. "Why?"
The voice was matter-of-fact again. No more time for pleasant daydreams."I'm something your books didn't tell you about. Naturally you'rebewildered. Did you ever hear of a bodyless entity?"
Lorry shuddered in silence.
"You've heard of bodyless entities, of course--but you denied theirexistence in your smug world of precise tidy detail. I'm a bodylessentity. I'm one of a swarm. We come from a dimension your mind wouldn'taccept even if I explained it, so I'll save words. We of the swarm seekunfoldment--fulfillment--even as you in your stupid, blind world. Do youwant to hear more?"
"I ..."
"You're a fool, but I enjoy practicing with these new vocal chords, justas I enjoyed flexing the fingers and muscles. That's why I revealedmyself. We are, basically of course, parasites. In the dimension wherewe exist in profusion, evolution has provided for us. There, we seek outand move into a dimensional entity far more intelligent than yourself.We destroy it in a way you wouldn't understand, and it is not importantthat you should. In fact, I can't see what importance there is in yourexisting at all."
"You plan to--kill all these babies?"
"Let me congratulate you. You've finally managed to voice an intelligentquestion. The answer is, no. We aren't strong enough to kill them. Wedwelt in a far more delicate dimension than this one and all was inproportion. That was our difficulty when we came here. We could find noentities weak enough to take possession of until we came upon thisroomful of infants."
"Then, if you're helpless ..."
"What do we plan to do? That's quite simple. These material entitieswill grow. We will remain attached--ingrained, so to speak. When thebodies enlarge sufficiently ..."
"_Thirty potential assassins...._" Lorry spoke again to herself, thenhurled the words back into her own mind as her sickness deepened.
The shrill chirping: "What do you mean, potential? The word expresses adoubt. Here there is none." The entity's chuckle sounded like a baby,content over a full bottle. "Thirty certain assassins."
"But why must you kill?"
Lorry was sure the tiny shoulders shrugged. "Why? I don't know. I neverthought to wonder. Why must you join with a man and propagate some day?Why do you feel sorry for what you term an unfortunate? Explain yourinstincts and I'll explain mine."
Lorry felt herself rising. Stiffly, she put Baby Newcomb back into hisbasket. As she did so, a ripple of shrill, jerky laughter crackledthrough the room. Lorry put her hands to her ears. "You know I can't sayanything. You'd keep quiet. They'd call me mad."
"Precisely."
Malicious laughter, like driven sleet, cut into her ears as she fledfrom the room.
* * * * *
Peter Larchmont, M.D., was smoking a quick cigarette by an openfire-escape door on the third floor. He turned as Lorry came down thecorridor,
flipped his cigarette down into the alley and grinned. "Womenshouldn't float on rubber heels," he said. "A man should have warning."
Lorry came close. "Kiss me. Kiss me--hard."
Pete kissed her, then held her away. "You're trembling. Anticipation,pet?" He looked into her face and the grin faded. "Lorry, what is it?"
"Pete--Pete. I'm crazy. I've gone mad. Hold me."
He could have laughed, but he had looked closely into her eyes and hewas a doctor. He didn't laugh. "Tell me. Just stand here. I'll hang ontoyou and you tell me."
"The babies--they've gone mad." She clung to him. "Not exactly