The Project Gutenberg eBook of The deadly ones

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Title: The deadly ones

Author: F. L. Wallace

Release date: April 8, 2024 [eBook #73355]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: King-Size Publications, Inc, 1954

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73355

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEADLY ONES ***

The deadly ones

By F. L. Wallace

He preyed on the nightmare fears of mankind,

and the dread food he craved was his in

abundance. Why, why did he have to go exploring?

F. L. Wallace is one of the bright new stars of science fiction. He is also a practicing engineer who has designed hydraulic presses, and gyro instruments. Be warned! When he starts weaving sound science into the homespun geography of his native Illinois you may find yourself caught up in a spatial drive which will carry you clear across the great curve of the universe—on a journey guaranteed to chill and surprise you!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Fantastic Universe July 1954.

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Rathsden. I'm sure the name means nothing to you. There are legends, of course—from old Germany and the greater Reich, colonial America even. But you can't prove anything very damaging or concrete with legends. And even when the story is otherwise correct, I've been careful to keep my name out of it. A clever person shuns publicity, though it may involve tampering with history. For all practical purposes the name Rathsden is unknown. I want it kept that way.

I can't remember when the inspiration came. Probably it had lain for a long time dormant in the back of my mind, like a mole hibernating in mid-winter. Warmed by the proper circumstances, it emerged at last in its full vigor to claim my attention.

I've always worked hard, but lately what I got out of my efforts you couldn't call a living. The Red Cross was largely responsible. You could never get me to say a good word for that agency—never.

Still, I have made use of them, and in this case they made their contribution, though it was an unwitting one.

I gave the idea careful thought. From the beginning I knew I needed help. I'm not superhuman, not in the strict sense, though I suppose I could give a good account of myself against Wells's Invisible Man, Homo Superior, or the new crop of mutants that will spring up some day soon.

I needed help, and I carried the problem to a council of my fellows. We discussed it thoroughly, and in the end, though they didn't give me their blessing, they consented to aid me.

The problem was flying saucers, or rather how to force one to land. We debated the matter for a long time, but there didn't seem to be any way to do it. No jet could keep up with a saucer and present rockets were equally inadequate. Besides, we didn't have access to any of these machines.

Someone in the back of the council, whose name I didn't catch suggested that, if we couldn't force one to land, perhaps we could lure one down. It didn't matter how, as long as it remained on the ground for an hour or so, with its ports open. The rest would be up to me.

"Fine," I said. "What do you propose?"

"They're investigating, you know," he said, "in the western part of the country. Rocket bases, atom bomb sites, anything that indicates advanced technology. Let's give them another menace."

"Sounds good. What are they interested in?" He was a hard fellow to locate and I didn't try to visualize his face. He came from Ireland I believe.

"A spaceship," he said. "A very formidable creation, with an incredible drive."

There was nothing wrong with the basic concept. The ship wouldn't be real of course. It would merely seem real from the air. We could accomplish that.

As for the drive, we could manage that too. In a little investigated part of the spectrum we could create a low and steady output, suggesting that the drive was idling, ready for instant takeoff.

None of this was impossible for us.

We? Have I said that we're not human? We've existed for a long time on earth beside Homo Sapiens, and he has only dimly guessed that we are here. The ordinary limitations of men don't apply to us.

A few of us working together could create an illusionary spaceship, and an intriguing drive to go with it. This was something flying saucers couldn't resist. They'd come down when they found they couldn't investigate from their customary high level flights.

I nodded at the fellow I couldn't see. "Excellent. However, when the saucer lands you'll have to maintain the illusion. Logistics are involved too."

"That's easy," he said. "But what if it isn't manned by robots as you've assumed? You can get inside all right, but a living creature will discover you."

I looked at the blank spot where I thought he might be. "Really now. It has to be a robot. No living creature, except us, can stand the accelerations we've observed."

"But what if we're wrong?" he persisted.

"In that case we'll have time for one quick look," I said. "If it is living and we're no match for it, we'll run like hell."

There was general laughter and the fellow raised no further objections. For all I know, he went home. The meeting broke up and everyone except a few volunteers left. We continued to discuss ways and means.

When the plans seemed fool-proof, I got up. "Just a minute." Another fellow I didn't recognize interposed. "Suppose everything works the way you say it will. The saucer lands, and you succeed in getting inside. What makes you think it will go back to the home planet?"

"Don't overlook our fake spaceship," I said. "If the robot investigator from the saucer found a real spaceship, that would be important information. It would be important enough to warrant a quick trip back to the local base, wherever that may be situated.

"But when the robot can't locate anything, in spite of the evidence on the instruments, it will be dealing with top priority stuff. Logically it will have to report back to the prime evaluation center, on the home planet. I think I'm safe in anticipating a short journey."

"I hope so." He shook his head dubiously. "But what about us? We don't have to worry about humans, and probably those things out there haven't come close enough to learn about us. But they're pretty advanced. What if they should?"

"You think they can detect us when we're dematerialized?" I smiled. "Don't be naive. Anyway, nothing risked, you know."

I shouldn't have said that. I talk too much. "Nothing gained." He completed the sentence for me. He didn't look altruistic. "Just what do we stand to gain?"

The others hadn't thought of it, and neither had I, from that angle. I ad-libbed. "It's not been good here lately. There's too many factors against us, agencies that I don't have to mention.

"Feast or famine, mostly the last. And what are we going to do after an atomic war, when mutants come along? Are you sure we can compete with them? As bad as it is now, it can get worse." I paused to let the dire predictions sink in.

"Someone has to do it, and I intend to be the one to find new worlds for us," I said.

My confidence impressed the others, but not the heckler. "I can see that you'll find it for yourself. But how are you going to let us know?"

"Just now I can't communicate from here to Philadelphia," I said. "It's a harassing business, merely trying to stay alive. Here I haven't had time to practice mental communication. But there conditions will be ideal and I expect to develop myself so that I can reach out anywhere in the galaxy."

Objectively that was true. Subjectively I could have changed my mind about sharing my prize. They didn't think of that and I didn't mention it.

The last objection was silenced. They went about their preparations and I about mine.

We set up the decoy in Illinois. No real reason I suppose, except that most of us are allergic to desert, the logical place to build spaceport and ships. Deserts are hot, dry and bright, and there are few humans there. In our own way we're fond of men, though they may not think so.

Illinois it was, and if there was a note of incongruity in it, so much the better. A spaceship looked strange in the middle of the flat cornfields? Very well, it did. Let the robot investigator find out why it was there.

The creation was not difficult. There was a haze in the air and the fields were green, and the spaceship pointed a sleek nose toward the sky. It was impalpable from below. A farmer plowed right through the stern tubes without knowing they were there. An inconvenience only; we blacked him out as seen from above. The farmhouse we converted into a control tower and the barn became a disembarkation structure.

There were side manifestations of course. Dogs growled uneasily and barked, then ran away and hid in the woods. Roosters could not crow nor hens lay eggs. Milk curdled, in cows and cans, and all the butter turned rancid. Unfortunately we don't often use our entire minds—and when we do there are peripheral effects. However, no human in the area noticed us, and life went on pretty much as usual.

Radio reception was poor over all North America, and television was disrupted for a thousand miles. The disruption was deliberately planned. We had to attract the attention of the saucers, and that was the easiest way to do it. The radiation was supposed to represent a power leak from our hypothecated interstellar drive.

They came the second night and it was good they did. The strain was telling on everyone in the project. It's not easy to keep up such a big illusion.

The flight of saucers wheeled across the sky, lights out and undoubtedly ready for action. They had located us all right, and they wanted to see just what it was we had. But they couldn't find out from the air no matter how many times they passed over.

It must have been quite a jolt. They had earth all pegged down to the last improvement in a self locking nut. And suddenly here was something new which didn't belong.

Toward midnight, with five of them still skimming the clouds, the sixth came down. I was ready, and had everything I needed with me. The saucer landed in a field a half mile away. The vegetation burned invisibly where it settled. A section of the saucer opened, and a much littler saucer came out.

The little saucer was a robot. I was sure of that the instant I saw it, mostly because it had wheels. There is nothing to indicate that a life form can't have wheels, but it does pose a nice problem of what a living creature will use for bearings. It was a robot then, and it came out and headed for our ship, which was still holding together splendidly, needle nose aimed at the sky.

It was time for me to go to work. I started toward the big saucer.

"It's coming closer." This was the thought of the individual who had created the ship out of his own dematerialized atoms.

"Put out a force field and keep it away." He sounded shaky and I thought a wry jest would help. The containers I was carrying were heavy.

The ship snorted. "I wish I could. But seriously, how long do I have to stay here?"

"Keep it up," I said. "I've got lots of supplies."

The terror in his voice was real. "I don't like that thing. It's snooping around."

"Waken the farmer. Maybe he'll kick up a disturbance and the robot will investigate."

With a shotgun the farmer couldn't do much, but a lucky shot might put a wheel out of commission. The robot wouldn't like that.

"I can't make the farmer open his eyes. The saucer put him to sleep and I can't touch his mind."

The saucers had a good brand of hypnotism, if that's what it was. We knew they had space travel, and now it was evident that they were equally advanced in other ways.

"Use your judgment," I told the ship. "Hold it as long as you can and then pretend to go out into space, or forward in time. Anything that will look good."

I needed time. I could have dematerialized where I stood, and rematerialized inside the saucer. But if I did, I would have to leave most of my supplies behind. A short journey, I had said. And that was true—short as far as interstellar distances were concerned. But it would be long by normal methods of reckoning, and I had to live through it. I couldn't abandon my supplies.

I succeeded in transporting all the food to a place just outside the large saucer before our ship disappeared. It didn't go out into space, nor into time as I expected. Instead it sank rapidly into the ground, and left no hole behind. This, I think, confused the robot. I heard it thrashing around in the cornfield, possibly in bewilderment.

I gathered some of the containers and carried them inside the saucer. It was lighted all right, and the lighting scheme was as weird as the interior. They used the spectrum below the red, and above the violet. Why this should be so I don't know. I merely report what I found. Apparently they didn't react to what we consider visible light.

I adjusted my eyes.

I found an empty space which I assumed was for the storage of specimens. I put my food in there. Outside I went for more, and then back again. I repeated my trips until everything was loaded. Unpalatable food, of course, concentrated and not tasty, but it would last until I stepped out on the planet at the opposite end. After that there would be other problems.

I went outside for the last communication with my fellows. The ship I could examine later. I looked around. The control tower and disembarkation structure were still visible, though they were wavering in the dim light.

"Are you there?" I thought.

"I am." The control tower thought back. "I wish I wasn't."

"It's just a robot," I said reassuringly. "It's not interested in a building."

"Maybe not," conceded the control tower. "But it's inside, examining sleeping people. I wish it would go away."

He was losing control of himself and that didn't suit my purpose. "It's just a machine. Hold on for a little longer."

He held on.

The robot left the illusionary control tower and headed toward the saucer. For a squat ungainly contrivance it covered the distance in an amazing fashion. I had barely time to get inside before it rumbled into the saucer. It was carrying something. We took off before I could see what it was.

We left earth smoothly, though any kind of takeoff would have suited me. Inertia had never been my problem. Neither was the possibility that the robot would discover me. I was certain I didn't register on light sensitive cells, and I had other tricks I could use if I had to.

The robot had tentacles I hadn't noticed before because they had been retracted. They weren't retracted now, and they held a farmer. He was unconscious.

The robot was monkeying around with the farmer, but it was hardly the time to interfere. Needles stabbed the farmer in several places. Withdrawing the blood and storing it, probably inside the robot.

The first needles were jerked out, and replaced by others. Again this was logical: pumping a fluid into the farmer's veins with the intent of suspending the life force until they reached the home planet.

The whole procedure made sense. When the robot couldn't find the spaceship it had taken someone in the vicinity for questioning. They'd be surprised what they'd learn from the farmer though. Absolutely nothing! We had protected ourselves too well. The farmer's ordeal had no bearing on the success of my enterprise. Nevertheless I became slightly ill at the waste involved.

The robot dropped the farmer in a place similar to the one in which I had hidden my supplies. Then it crouched down and became motionless, waiting. There was nothing for it to do.

Nor for myself either. We were out of the atmosphere and on our way.

The journey was six months of monotony. Avoiding the robot was easy because it didn't move. The ship was all mine but I couldn't make use of it. I puttered around, but there was nothing much to learn. The drive was in operation, and as long as it was, I couldn't get close. I had no idea of what it was nor how it worked, but the force that surrounded it was, for me at least, an absolute barrier.

The rest of the saucer was equally confounding. There were several low ceilinged compartments which held instruments at whose functions I could not guess. There were no star charts anywhere, but I had to assume the ship knew where it was going.

Whatever our destination, we were approaching it faster than light. Occasionally I looked out of the vision ports, and what I saw didn't resemble suns, though of course they were. It was the light shaft which changed their appearance.

One day the saucer gave a lurch and we were simultaneously below the speed of light, and near our goal. Dead ahead was a multiple star system. Where it lay with relation to Earth I don't know. Within fifty to a thousand light years I suppose.

For the first time in months the robot stirred, went to the farmer and began to work on him. I kept out of the way. It seemed the sensible thing to do. No matter how often I looked, I couldn't determine the location of the planet toward which we were bound. The ship knew, but I was in ignorance.

From behind, in the next compartment, came the labored sounds of the robot. Then there was another sound and it didn't come from the robot. I looked in. The farmer sat up, gazed around, understood some or little of what he saw. That understanding was enough for him. He collapsed. He was still breathing, though; in spasmodic gasps.

The revivification was a complete success. I decided to keep the man in mind. He was an important source of reserve strength.

My hopes leapt high when I saw the planet. It was something less than the size of Saturn, but much larger than Earth. It was large enough to support a tremendous population. I hadn't bargained for anything so good.

I had only a vague plan to go by. I had made the journey in complete safety, and that was most important. My next move would depend on circumstances. I could dematerialize myself off the ship, and onto the planet. With an extreme expenditure of energy I could even take the remainder of my food supply with me.

But it didn't seem worth the effort. I had done all right so far by remaining quiet, and letting events occur as they would. I decided to see it through on the same basis. I stayed in the ship, and let it land.

That was not my first mistake, landing with the ship. If anything, the error began a thousand years earlier, in my infancy, the first night I saw the light of the moon. No one asked me to come. I did it voluntarily, for reasons my total personality found acceptable. In my own mind I added up the advantages in leaving Earth, and then schemed until I found a way to do it.

I had been dissatisfied with the way things were going among men. I objected to blood spilled uselessly. And so I had contrived an escape. Greener pastures? Not exactly. I don't like salads. Still the saying conveys something of the way I felt. Long before the ship landed it was too late, though I didn't know it.

The robot scurried about the saucer, chirruping mechanically and creaking. When it finished the duties it picked up the farmer, and carried him out. The man was still unconscious, but he began to scream.

Soon after it left, other robots came into the ship. Slightly different from the kind I had seen, they must have been repair robots. They went about tasks that were unfamiliar to me, and they talked.

This was new. I couldn't understand what they said until I found the speech center of one, and let my mind reach out, lightly.

"A master says there is a stow-away on one of the ships."

It was unforeseen. Nothing I had encountered could detect my existence without registering on my consciousness. These masters were going to be tougher than humans. I waited while the other replied:

"Do they know what ship he's on?"

My robot waved a tentacle. "There are ten thousand ships here, each waiting for a checkover before reassignment. Would they bother to search each ship?"

"Physically, you mean?" asked the other. "No. They will take him off as the ship leaves."

Getting me off was going to take some doing, though the masters didn't know it. They may have gauged humans correctly, but they hadn't met me. Nevertheless I was uneasy.

"Why does he stay on the ship?" asked my robot.

The other chuckled. "Maybe he's changed his mind, and wants to go home. He'll be surprised when he learns where he's bound for."

I'll admit I panicked then—because a robot chuckled. It's not the friendly sound you might think. And also because of what it said. I had no intention of going home, but I liked to think I could if I wanted to. Now I saw that, due to their system of rotating assignments, it was next to impossible to determine which ship was going back to Earth. I made up my mind quickly.

Several things happened simultaneously. I dematerialized myself where I was, and rematerialized tenuously inside the robot. At the same time I took control of its motor and brain centers.

I forced it away from the job, and commanded it to go to the storage space where the last of my food was hidden. The other robot didn't notice. I surmised they didn't take orders from each other but from someone above. For the moment I was above.

Out of the ship we went, and into the confusion of the repair shops. Nothing but ships and robots, and I'd had enough of these.

I needed a hiding place to rest, and plan my forays against the creatures of this planet. I rummaged hurriedly through the robot brain, and learned that we were near the edge of a large city. Without cataloguing all the information I received, I forced the robot through obscure alleys toward the open plain that surrounded the city.

It was cramped and uncomfortable inside the robot even though I didn't exist as solid matter. And I had to operate blind. I couldn't adjust my sight to that of the robot, and had to function once removed from reality, through its incomplete senses.

The last alley we entered ended on the open plain. The robot rolled down it—and stopped. I couldn't see what was in front of us, but I could guess—one of the creatures of the planet, the things that made the flying saucers. Without hesitation I directed the robot to attack.

It didn't.

It's refusal was not unexpected. They would have been quite insane to build robots without installing some safeguards. It meant, however, that the next step was up to me. I took it.

I dematerialized out of the robot and rematerialized facing my antagonist. On the average it takes me a few microseconds to evaluate a foe, and find his weakness. I looked longer than that. It was the first time I had seen anything that could destroy at a glance my confidence in my own survival capacity.

And there was no weakness.

What I did then was not cowardice, it was pure survival, the reaction of a nervous system shocked to the limits of endurance. I dematerialized myself from where I stood and rematerialized far out on the open plain. Twice I repeated the process until the city was out of sight over the horizon. The creature didn't follow, though it could have done so easily enough—if it had wanted to.

I know my strength. On Earth it's the source of legends—the shadowy half-believed stories of werewolves and vampires. Fact and fancy mixed together to chill the minds and hearts of men. For myself, and others like me, it's a distinct advantage to have our existence doubted. A victim paralyzed with fear, too shocked and demoralized to cry out, is easier to subdue.

But the strength I was so confident of is meaningless here. Crouched in the shadow of the boulder, the only shade on the arid plain, it suddenly dawned on me that the creatures who rule this planet knew about me from the beginning, when I thought I was hidden. It amused them, I think.

I can't go back to the city and find the farmer. He's their meat. And I have limitations. I can't dematerialize myself off this planet. A few drops of fluid are left in the container with the Red Cross stamp on it, my last link with Earth.

I was born knowing the facts of my life. For a thousand years I've taken my food where, and how I could get it. But these creatures are different, not only in body chemistry. They are tougher than teflon skin and have hydrofluoric acid in their veins. I've always killed for food, but they—kill for pleasure. And their appearance exactly coincides with their character. I ought to know.

But there's one escape they forgot about, and I will take it. When they come hunting, they won't find me. Self-destruction is preferable to meeting those horrors face to face again.

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The deadly ones

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