Astounding Stories of Super-Science 15

Astounding Stories of Super-Science 15

"Keane!" he pleaded, "Keane! What's happened? I know, I know! It's the

Projector."

 

"Water!" roared Keane, and Quest felt the panic that coursed through him

as he tried to drown out his brother. "Somebody bring water! He needs

it!"

 

At the same time he snatched up Philip's hand in a grip of steel.

Instantly the latter's wild eyes became calm, the flush passed from his

relaxing face, and he slumped down weakly on the couch.

 

* * * * *

 

In that fleeting moment Quest surged into the body of Philip and

confronted his will with a fierce and triumphant ardor. For now his will

would have command of a body with which to fight his fiend of a Control.

 

With a sensation of contempt he met Philip's resistance and buffeted him

ruthlessly backward, crushed down and compressed his feebly struggling

will. And as Philip yielded, Quest felt his own will expanding to

normal, taking possession of the borrowed body with hungry greed, and

flashing from its faded eyes the spark of youth.

 

Burke stared in amazement at the kaleidoscopic rapidity of the changes

in the rescued man's __EXPRESSION__. Strange lights and shadows continued to

flit across Philip's face as Quest's invasion of him proceeded, but with

a diminishing frequency which soon assured Keane that his Agent was

tightening his command.

 

The younger of Burke's aides stood fascinated, his mouth agape. The

other spoke guardedly to his superior:

 

"Dope, eh!"

 

"Nah!" replied Burke, shrugging himself out of his trance. "Shock."

 

The actual duration of the conflict in Philip was something less than

three seconds. It would have been more brief if Quest had exerted

himself to the utmost. But his sensations as he first surged into this

new habitat under Keane's propulsion were so weird and unearthly that

for the moment he was lost in the wonder of the experience. For that

short time, therefore, Philip was able to fight back against the onrush

of the invading will.

 

In the next second Quest became conscious of the resistance. Urged on by

his Control, he must push Philip back and quell him; but his sympathy

for his opponent and his hatred of Keane roused him to sudden revolt. He

wanted to disobey the Master Will, retreat, leave Philip in command of

himself. But he could only go on, unwillingly thrusting back Philip's

will despite the indescribable torment and confusion in his own. Then,

with the feeling that he was ten times worse than the most inhuman

ghoul, he took full possession of his borrowed body.

 

"I'll take him home now," said Keane composedly to Burke. "As you see,

he needs a little extra sleep. Meanwhile, if you have any occasion to

call me, I will be at the factory."

 

* * * * *

 

To the youthful mind of the Agent, used to the lightness of an athletic

physique, the body in which it moved down the stairs to the limousine

seemed strangely heavy and awkward.

 

"I'm badly done up, Keane," he said with Philip's lips as the car got

under way.

 

"Bah!" snorted Keane, "you've had a scare, that's all. Go to bed when

you get home and sleep till nine this evening. At ten a man named Dr.

Nukharin will call for you. He will drive you to a garage, leave the

car, and transfer to another one a few blocks away.

 

"Out near Marbleton you will find an airplane staked in an open field.

Nukharin is a capable pilot. He will fly back southeast along the

lakeshore to the meeting place. You should arrive about twelve-thirty.

The test is set for one o'clock."

 

Quest listened in a state of abject rage. Lacking the power to resist

his Control, he could only boil away in Philip's body like a wild

creature hemmed in by bars of steel.

 

"Bring with you," continued Keane venomously, "the set of papers that

you took from the safe in my office. Hold the other set in readiness to

deliver to Nukharin to-morrow, after he has studied the results of the

test and has notified Paris to release a hundred million dollars in

cash for delivery at your Loop office at 3 p. m."

 

The murderous greed of the man maddened Quest. He tried to revolt, his

will squirming like a physical thing, threshing the ether like a wounded

shark in the sea. For a moment he felt that he was about to burst the

bonds that his demon of a Control had woven around him. So violently did

he resist that the immured and sporelike will of Philip forged up

fitfully out of the blackness and joined his in the hopeless struggle.

But along the attenuated conduits that still chained Quest to the Master

Will Keane caught the impulse of the mutiny, and his eyes darted flame

as he countered with a will-shock that paralyzed his unruly Agent.

 

"Listen! you whimpering dog," he snarled. "Think as I tell you--and

nothing more! You are going to apologize to Dr. Nukharin for your

previous unwillingness to sell the Projector. You are going to tell him

that I am at fault--that I held out--but that you found a way to force

my compliance. You understand?"

 

Quest could find no words. With Philip's head he nodded meekly. Just

then the car stopped and the chauffeur threw open the door.

 

* * * * *

 

Dr. Nukharin flew high despite the masses of cumulus cloud which

frequently reduced visibility to zero. He had merely to follow the rim

of the lake to his destination, and an occasional glimpse of the water

was sufficient to hold him on his course.

 

In the back seat hunched Philip, his body crumbling under the weight of

Quest's despair. For hours the latter had gone on vaguely, hoping

somehow to thwart this horrible transaction that was rushing the world

to its doom, thinking he might grow strong enough to wrench himself free

and so liberate Philip from the dominance of his conscienceless brother.

Even though such a move should leave his own will forever separate from

his body, he was ready and anxious to make the sacrifice.

 

Suddenly the crash of the motor ceased and Nukharin banked the ship up

in a spiral glide. Quest had never been in the air before, and the long

whirl down into the darkness on this devil's errand was to him as eery

as a ride to perdition in a white-hot projectile.

 

His mind seemed to trail out in a great nebular helix behind the

descending ship. He felt that he had suddenly crossed some cosmic

meridian into a new plane of existence, where he was changed to a gas,

yet continued capable of thought. But even here his obsession remained

the same. Keane Clason--trickster, traitor, arch-criminal--must be

destroyed!

 

"I'll get him!" vowed Quest in words that were no less real for being

soundless. "I'll trail him to the end of space and bring him to

account!"

 

* * * * *

 

Then wheels touched earth and the cold, bare facts of his destiny rushed

in on him with redoubled force. He felt the nearness of his Control

seconds before he perceived him through the eyes of Philip. With a

sensation like a stab he realized that now he must speak, play his part,

be any bloodless hypocrite that Keane Clason chose to make him. The

silent order surged down the conduits promptly enough; he responded as

an automaton obeys the pressure of a button.

 

"Well, Doctor," chuckled Philip with a cunning leer, "here's the magic

tower, just as I promised you. We'll run it up in a jiffy. This test is

going to be so vivid and conclusive that not even a hard-headed skeptic

like you can raise a question."

 

"You misunderstand me," returned Nukharin in an injured tone. "So far as

I am concerned this procedure is only a formality, but it is none the

less necessary. Suppose that I should spend a hundred million of my

government's money and the purchase prove worthless? You may guess that

my folly would cost me dear."

 

Keane Clason was waiting on the platform of a giant truck, the motor of

which was idling. All the apparatus was in readiness except that the

three demountable sections of the tower had yet to be run up into

position.

 

"One of the beauties of the D. P.," said Philip gleefully to the Doctor,

while Keane smiled slyly to himself, "is that this pint-size dynamo

provides all the current needed for the test. We pick the power for our

radio right out of the air by means of a wave trap and mensurator

invented by this bright little brother of mine," and he clapped Keane

patronizingly on the back.

 

"Yes, ah--Dr. Nukharin," ventured Keane timidly, and at that moment

Quest experienced the raging red hatred that causes men to murder.

"Philip has promised me that you will employ this device only as a

threat to hold the ambitions of the larger powers in check."

 

"Of course, of course!" replied the Doctor heartily. "But now let's have

the test. Even at night I'm not too fond of these open-air

performances."

 

* * * * *

 

The height of the tower as they ran the upper sections into place was

forty feet. When all connections had been inspected, first by Keane,

then by Philip, the former led Nukharin aloft.

 

As the climax of his plot approached, Keane's excitement bordered on a

cataleptic state, hints of which came confusedly through the conduits to

Quest. With a peculiar satisfaction he felt that Keane was suffering.

The inventor's jaws became rigid, as though his blood had changed to

liquid air and frozen him, and he had difficulty in controlling the

movements of his arms.

 

Now he was afraid! Genuinely afraid, this time. Quest caught the impulse

too clearly to doubt its meaning. This was no sham! Keane was doubting

his own machine, fearing that in the crisis some element in the finely

calculated mechanism might fail to operate, thus cheating him of the

blood-money on which his heart was set. Then he was speaking, and even

Nukharin noticed the tremor in his voice:

 

"These nine tubes, which look like a row of gun barrels, are molded from

silicon paste. Each shoots a beam of invisible light and a radio dart of

precisely the same wave length. The destructive effect depends chiefly

upon this exactness of synchronization."

 

"A question occurs to me," said the Doctor: "will others be able to

manipulate the machine as successfully as you can?"

 

"It's fool-proof," chattered Keane, almost losing control of his voice,

"absolutely fool-proof. Surely you have scientists in your country who

can follow written directions! Nothing more is necessary."

 

"Very well," shrugged Nukharin. "I only want to be sure that no

unforeseen difficulties may arise in an emergency."

 

"See this range-setter?" continued Keane. "The thread on the vertical

shaft enables us not only to limit the range by angling the beams into

the ground, but it can also be disengaged and the Projector revolved in

a flat circle for maximum ranges."

 

"And is there no danger of the machine going wrong--of destroying itself

and us?" suggested Nukharin.

 

"None whatever, Doctor. There is no explosive force and no great

electrical voltage involved. As long as we stand back of the muzzles we

have nothing to fear.

 

"Now look. I have set the micrometer at three hundred yards, which will

just about cover the stretch between ourselves and the lake. I will cut

a swath for you--and every bush, every blade of grass, every insect in

this swath will be withered to ash in the twinkling of an eye. The

destruction will be absolute."

 

"Please proceed," said Nukharin grimly.

 

Keane pulled a lever in its slot, then pressed it down into its lock as

his projection battery swung lakeward at the desired angle. Then with

one hand poised on another lever, he pressed an electric button.

 

At the controls below, a bulb flashed on and off. The signal was

superfluous, for already Quest had received his silent command from the

Master Will. An icy dread fastened on him. He must obey the unspoken

command; he had no will of his own with which to resist. The test would

be a success; the Projector would be sold; the world would be turned

into a shambles. And he, Owen Quest, would be the destroyer, the

murderer, the weak fool who made this horror possible.

 

All this flashed through the Agent's mind in the fraction of a second

that it took him to extend Philip's hand, close the switch of the

dynamo, and snap on the alternating lights in the housing over the

tellurium filter.

 

For an interminable five seconds he waited, in a ferment of revolt which

the paralysis of his will made it impossible to put into action. Then

again the command pulsed within him, the signal bulb flashed, and he

reversed his motions of the moment before.

 

Cold sweat cascaded down Philip's face as Quest felt the ladder

vibrating under descending feet. He longed for the power to hurl Keane

Clason to the ground and turn the Projector upon him. But with an awful

irony the Master Will forced him to his feet, and to speak in a tone

that withered the manhood within him.

 

"Come," said Philip in a triumphant tone to Nukharin, "and I will show

you that Clason inventions perform as well as they sound."

 

Flashlight in hand, he started toward the lake with Nukharin and his

brother close behind him. Twenty paces, and the long meadow grass

suddenly vanished from beneath their feet.

 

"See that!" whispered Philip excitedly, waving the light from side to

side to show the forty-foot swath that stretched away before them. "Not

a trace of life left, not a blade of grass--nothing but dust!"

 

The only response was a gurgling sound that issued from Nukharin's

throat.

 

"Look!" Quest formed the word with Philip's lips under the urge of the

Master Will. "Here was a tall bush. What do you see now? Just a

teaspoonful of ash. When you examine the remains by daylight, you will

find that even the root has disintegrated to a depth of two feet."

 

"Enough of this," croaked Nukharin in horror. "The deal is closed."

 

His face was convulsed with fear. Without another word he whirled about

and fled toward his airplane. Philip gave a start as if to follow.

 

"Halt! you slob," growled Keane, whose composure had returned with the

successful outcome of the test. "I have use for your company, even

though you are as great a coward as our Slavic friend."

 

Coward! The epithet stung Quest like a flaming goad. One of the fine,

intangible lines that bound him under the will of Keane Clason severed,

and his own will exploded into action like a thunderbolt. With startling

agility he whirled Philip about, the flashlight clubbed in his hand. But

Keane was quicker still. A clip on the wrist sent the weapon flying.

Then Philip reeled backward from a kick in the stomach, and his

clutching hands beat the air as he sank unconscious in the dust.

 

* * * * *

 

With a violent tug, Quest lifted Philip's body to a sitting posture. The

phone was ringing, and by the pull on the will-fibers he knew that Keane

was at the other end of the wire. Philip's body was failing under the

strain of the part it was forced to play, and the blow of the night

before had further weakened it. Now he sat rocking his head painfully

between his hands. But Quest lifted him to his feet by sheer will, and

he staggered across the room.

 

"Hello!", he said in a hoarse voice.

 

"Get the hell out here to the factory!" rasped Keane, and the crash of

the receiver emphasized the command.

 

It was one o'clock as Philip whirled his sedan into Olmstead Avenue. At

three, reflected Quest as the car scorched over the pavements, he must

be at the downtown office to deliver the papers and receive the money.

 

Then he was face to face with Keane, reeling dizzily at the hatred that

blazed from the latter's accusing eyes.

 

"Double-crossed me, eh!" The voice was a low snarl, and as he spoke

Keane thumped the extra outspread on his desk. "But you're not going to

get away with it--neither of you!"

 

Dismay, hope, dread, wonder robbed Quest of the power to speak. But he

whirled around behind the desk with such unexpected violence that Keane

staggered back in alarm. Then he was devouring the screaming headlines

of the newspaper. Three seconds, like a slow exposure, and every word of

the Record's great scoop was etched upon his mind as if with caustic:

 

DOOM LAUNCH ADRIFT ON LAKE

 

Physician Baffled by Condition of Five Bodies Found in Craft

 

Blighted Area on Shore Said to Have Bearing on Tragedy

 

THAW HARBOR, IND., June 6.--Five Chicago sportsmen, most of them

prominent in business and society, perished in the early hours this

morning while returning in the launch of A. Gaston Andrews from a

weekend camping party near Hook Spit on the Michigan shore.

 

The boat was towed into this port at daybreak by the Interlake Tug

Mordecai after being found adrift less than a mile off shore.

According to Captain Goff of the Mordecai the death craft carried

no lights and he barely avoided running her down. The weather along

the Indiana shore was perfect throughout the night and there is

nothing to indicate that the launch was in trouble at any time. The

bodies are unmarked, and this little community is agog with rumors

ranging all the way from murder and suicide to the supernatural.

 

Dr. J. M. Addis of Thaw Harbor, the first physician to examine the

bodies, says that they appear to have suffered some violent

electro-chemical action the nature of which cannot be determined at

the moment. This statement is considered significant in view of the

reported discovery ashore of a large blighted area almost directly

opposite the point where the launch was found. Joseph Sleichert, a

farmer who lives in that vicinity, reports that this patch of

ground extending back from the lakeshore was completely stripped of

vegetation overnight. He ascribes the damage to some unknown insect

pest. Others say that the condition of the ground indicates that it

has been burned at incinerator temperatures. Nothing is left of the

soil but a blue powder.

 

Philip faced his brother with eyes that were dull with agony.

 

"You have made me a murderer!" Quest forced out the words in painful

gasps.

 

But Keane snapped back at him like a rabid dog.

 

"You did it--you did it yourself! You tampered with the Projector. You

tried to spoil the test. You changed the range. You tried to kill me,

and instead you killed these others. And you're going to pay--both of

you. You hear me?--you're going to pay!"

 

His voice mounted the scale to a scream. It was a wail of unreasoning

terror, of the dread of exposure, of the fear that he would fail to

collect the fortune now so nearly in his grasp. The accident that had

jarred his well-laid plans had unnerved him.

 

* * * * *

 

Frantically Quest strove to answer him, to explain his utter subjection,

as Agent, to say that if he had possessed the will to oppose or trick

him he would have turned him over to the police, or might even have

killed him, at the very outset. But in his frenzy, Keane had so

tightened his control that Quest was speechless. Now he tried to

substitute gesture for words, but Philip was rooted to the spot like a

statue; even his hands were immovable.

 

He might have remained in this state indefinitely had not Keane's fears

withdrawn his mind from his immediate surroundings. Momentarily he

forgot Quest, Philip--everything but himself and his predicament. And in

the instant that his vigilance relaxed, Quest's enslaved will

experienced a sudden lease of strength and hope. Independently of his

Control, he found that he could move Philip's hand, could take a

faltering step.

 

But now, what to do? How might he fan this feeble spark of volition to

sufficient strength for decisive resistance? The idea came to him: if

only he could place distance between himself and Keane, perhaps with one

titanic effort he might launch himself against the Master Will, take him

by surprise, crush him down, and reverse him to the status of Agent

instead of Control.

 

With infinite effort Quest forced Philip's body step by step across the

room. He must reach that window, get a signal of distress to someone in

the street.

 

But Keane began to sense a mutiny. He followed. He crossed the floor

with slinking, tigerish steps and snaking body. His wet lips writhed

back over his teeth, and his contorted features wove the leer of the

abyss. Now as his Control drew physically near, Quest felt his mite of

strength ebbing fast. Slowly Keane reached up with his clawed fingers and grasped his Agent by the arm.