Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Space Science Fiction July 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
INFINITE INTRUDER
BY ALAN E. NOURSE
ILLUSTRATED BY SMITH
When Roger Strang found that someone was killing his son--killing him horribly and often--he started investigating. He wasn't prepared to find the results of another investigation--this time about his own life.
* * * * *
It was the second time they tried that Roger Strang realized someonewas trying to kill his son.
The first time there had been no particular question. Accidentshappen. Even in those days, with all the Base safety regulations andstrict speed-way lane laws, young boys would occasionally try to guntheir monowheels out of the slow lanes into the terribly swifttraffic; when they did, accidents did occur. The first time, when theybrought David home in the Base ambulance, shaken but unhurt, with thetwisted smashed remains of his monowheel, Roger and Ann Strang hadbreathed weakly, and decided between themselves that the boy should bescolded within an inch of his young life. And the fact that Davidmaintained tenaciously that he had never swerved from the slowmonowheel lane didn't bother his parents a bit. They were acquaintedwith another small-boy frailty. Small boys, on occasion, are inclinedto fib.
But the second time, David was not fibbing. Roger Strang _saw_ the_accident_ the second time. He saw all the circumstances involved. Andhe realized, with horrible clarity, that someone, somehow, was tryingto kill his son.
It had been late on a Saturday afternoon. The free week-ends that theBarrier Base engineers had once enjoyed to take their families forpicnics "outside," or to rest and relax, were things of the past, forthe work on the Barrier was reaching a critical stage, demanding moreand more of the technicians, scientists and engineers engaged in itsdevelopment. Already diplomatic relations with the Eurasian Combinewere becoming more and more impossible; the Barrier _had_ to be built,and quickly, or another more terrible New York City would be theresult. Roger had never cleared from his mind the flaming picture ofthat night of horror, just five years before, when the mightymetropolis had burst into radioactive flame, to announce the beginningof the first Atomic War. The year 2078 was engraved in millions ofminds as the year of the most horrible--and the shortest--war in allhistory, for an armistice had been signed not four days after thefirst bomb had been dropped. An armistice, but an uneasy peace, forneither of the great nations had really known what atomic war would belike until it had happened. And once upon them, they found that atomicwar was not practical, for both mighty opponents would have beengutted in a matter of weeks. The armistice had stopped the bombs, buthostilities continued, until the combined scientific forces of onenation could succeed in preparing a defense.
That particular Saturday afternoon had been busy in the Main Labs onthe Barrier Base. The problem of erecting a continent-long electronicBarrier to cover the coast of North America was a staggeringproposition. Roger Strang was nearly finished and ready for home asdusk was falling. Leaving his work at the desk, he was slipping on hisjacket when David came into the lab. He was small for twelve years,with tousled sand-brown hair standing up at odd angles about a sharp,intelligent face. "I came to get you, Daddy," he said.
Roger smiled. "You rode all the way down here--just to go home withme?"
"Maybe we could get some Icy-pops for supper on the way home," Davidremarked innocently.
Roger grinned broadly and slapped the boy on the back. "You'd sellyour soul for an Icy-pop," he grinned.
The corridor was dark. The man and boy walked down to the elevator,and in a moment were swishing down to the dark and deserted lobbybelow.
David stepped first from the elevator when the men struck. One stoodon either side of the door in the shadow. The boy screamed and reeledfrom the blow across the neck. Suddenly Roger heard the sharp pistolreports. David dropped with a groan, and Roger staggered against thewall from a powerful blow in the face. He shook his head groggily,catching a glimpse of the two men running through the door into thestreet below, as three or four people ran into the lobby, flushed outby the shots.
* * * * *
Roger shouted, pointing to the door, but the people were looking atthe boy. Roger sank down beside his son, deft fingers loosening theblouse. The boy's small face was deathly white, fearful sobs chokinghis breath as he closed his eyes and shivered. Roger searched underhis blouse, trying to find the bullet holes--and found to his chagrinthat there weren't any bullet holes.
"Where did you feel the gun?"
David pointed vaguely at his lower ribs. "Right there," he said. "Ithurt when they shoved the gun at me."
"But they couldn't have pulled the trigger, if the gun was pointedthere--" He examined the unbroken skin on the boy's chest, feartearing through his mind.
A Security man was there suddenly, asking about the accident, takingRoger's name, checking over the boy. Roger resented the tall man inthe gray uniform, felt his temper rise at the slightly sarcastic toneof the questions. Finally the trooper stood up, shaking his head. "Theboy must have been mistaken," he said. "Kids always have wild storiesto tell. Whoever it was may have been after _somebody_, but theyweren't aiming for the boy."
Roger scowled. "This boy is no liar," he snapped. "I saw them shoot--"
The trooper shrugged. "Well, he isn't hurt. Why don't you go on home?"
Roger helped the boy up, angrily. "You're not going to do anythingabout this?"
"What can I do? Nobody saw who the men were."
Roger grabbed the boy's hand, helped him to his feet, and turnedangrily to the door. In the failing light outside the improbability ofthe attack struck through him strongly. He turned to the boy, his facedark. "David," he said evenly, "you wouldn't be making up storiesabout feeling that gun in your ribs, would you?"
David shook his head vigorously, eyes still wide with fear. "Honest,dad. I told you the truth."
"But they _couldn't_ have shot you in the chest without breaking theskin--" He glanced down at the boy's blouse and jacket, and stoppedsuddenly, seeing the blackened holes in the ripped cloth. He stoopeddown and sniffed the holes suspiciously, and shivered suddenly in thecold evening air.
The burned holes smelled like gunpowder.
* * * * *
"Strang, you must have been wrong." The large man settled back in hischair, his graying hair smoothed over a bald spot. "Someone trying tokill you I could see--there's plenty of espionage going on, and you'redoing important work here. But your boy!" The chief of the BarrierBase Security shook his head. "You must have been mistaken."
"But I _wasn't_ mistaken!" Roger Strang sat forward in his chair, hishands gripping the arms until his knuckles were white. "I told youexactly what happened. They got him as he came off the elevator, andshot at him. Not at me, Morrel, at my son. They just clubbed me in theface to get me out of the way--"
"What sort of men?" Morrel's eyes were sharp.
Roger scowled, running his hand through his hair. "It was too dark tosee. They wore hats and field jackets. The gun could be identified byballistics. But they were _fast_, Morrel. They knew who they werelooking for."
Morrel rose suddenly, his face impatient. "Strang," he said. "You'vebeen here at the Base for quite awhile. Ever since a month after thewar, isn't that right? August, 2078? Somewhere around there, I know.But you've been working hard. I
think maybe a rest would do you somegood--"
"Rest!" Roger exploded. "Look, man--I'm not joking. This isn't thefirst time. The boy had a monowheel accident three weeks ago, and heswore he was riding in a safe lane where he belonged. It looked likean accident then--now it looks like a murder attempt. The slugs fromthe gun _must_ be in the building--embedded in the plasterworksomewhere. Surely you could try to trace the gun." He glared at theman's impassive face bitterly, "Or maybe you don't want to trace thegun--"
Morrel scowled. "I've already checked on it. The gun wasn't registeredin the Base. Security has a check on every firearm within a fifty-milerange. The attackers must have been outsiders."
Roger's face