The Creature from Beyond Infinity

CHAPTER VII Doom

On the 2nd of January, 1941, Stephen Court left for Canada. His cabin plane contained two passengers and a good deal of equipment. Marion Barton went with him, and he had allowed Sammy to go along. The old man had been reformed in every other respect, but wanderlust can be removed from a man only by the surgery of death.

"I won't be no trouble, Stevie," he had argued. "I get itchy feet this time of year, and, besides, I never rode in an airplane. Anyhow"—his watery eyes narrowed cunning—"you'll need a handyman to do odd jobs. I can help you unpack and other things."

To save argument that would waste time, Court had agreed. It was a clear, bitingly cold day when the plane took off from the Wisconsin flying field. Luckily the weather reports were good. Though there was no danger of snow, Court flew at low altitude, fearing that ice would form on the wings.

The excitement of hurtling the plane at high speed made him uncharacteristically talkative. His gaunt cheeks were flushed, and he chatted with the others with unusual animation and warmth. Sammy did not talk much, but he listened and occasionally asked a question.

"Plague, eh?" he said once. "I was in the South once when a plague hit. It was pretty awful. Kids and women—we couldn't bury 'em fast enough. I sure hope it ain't like that."

"We'll see," Court said. "I can't do much till I examine this fellow Locicault. For that matter—" He frowned, pondering. "I really haven't enough equipment with me. I've got to bring Locicault back to my lab."

"But you say it's contagious," Marion protested. "How can he travel?"

"I've arranged that. I'm having an ambulance made ready. It'll be plated with several thicknesses of lead, which ought to be safe enough. They're sending the car after me as soon as it's ready."

"Oh," Marion said.

She fell silent, watching the mountains and lakes glide past below.

"You know," Court observed after a time, "I came across an interesting angle, a completely unexpected one. I've been getting photographs from most of the observatories. While I found no trace or my X in space, I did notice something else —a satellite of some kind circling the Earth. No one's noticed it before, it's so small and travels so fast. But it seems to be made of homogeneous metal."

"Iron?"

"Smooth metal, Marion. Not pitted and rough, as an asteroid would be. It's made of pure gold, or some yellow metal that resembles gold."

The girl looked sharply at Court.

"A space ship?"

"Possibly. But why wouldn't it come down, if it is a ship? Has it been circling the Earth for ages?"

"But where could it have come from?"

"Some ancient civilization might have mastered space travel, though I doubt that. If it is a space ship, it probably came from some other planet."

"There's nothing in history about it," Marion said. "If one space ship could come here, probably so would a lot more."

"Nothing in history? No, but there's a lot in mythology and folklore. I'm just guessing, of course. I'm anxious to find out more about that highly unnatural satellite."

She was silent, fascinated by the thought.

"How can you reach it?" she asked.

"It looks impossible," he admitted. "Space travel is impossible to us today. That's one reason—You see, Marion, if it really is a space ship, it may mean Earth's salvation. To be completely rational, we must consider that perhaps the plague can't be conquered. If it is a space ship, we may be able to leave the Earth and go to another planet. If those worlds are also in danger, we could leave the System.

"We couldn't do that with modern rocket fuels. Suppose that strangely colored satellite is a genuine space ship, one that has already traveled across the interstellar void. Repairing it would be less work than inventing one."

"It's worth trying," Marion breathed hopefully.

"I may fail. That's why I want to find out more about X. The space ship's a dangerously long chance, and I don't want to gamble everything on one throw of the dice. When I see Locicault—"

Time wore on. Sammy asked innumerable questions about the plague, but when he exhausted his curiosity, he went to sleep. The plane sped over the Border and into Canada.

It was afternoon before they reached the landing field. An automobile met them and took them into town, another following with Sammy and the equipment. At the hospital they were greeted by Doctor Granger, a shriveled gnome of a man with one tuft of white hair standing straight up from his bald skull.

"Court!" he said in relief. "Am I glad you're here! Are you hungry?"

"No." Characteristically Court did not bother to introduce anyone. "Where's the patient?"

"In the left wing of the hospital. We've cleared out everyone else. You'll have to put on the lead suit. We have only one, unfortunately."

Court seemed transformed into a swift, emotionless machine. He hastily donned the form-fitting suit of canvas, with leaden scales sewed closely over the surface. As he followed Granger to the door, the physician paused.

"I'd better not go farther. I don't know exactly how far the radiation extends. It wilts gold-leaf at quite some distance."

Court nodded, got his directions, and clumped ponderously out the door. He went along the corridor until he found the patient's room. Any other man would have hesitated before entering, but Court was not like any other man. Without stopping, he pushed open the door.

The bare, white-walled chamber was spotlessly sterile. A case of instruments lay open on a table, a hypodermic needle in view. On the bed a man was sprawled.

Peering through lead-infiltrated goggles, Court came closer. Locicault was unconscious. No, he was asleep. His spare, wasted frame was barely fleshy enough to make a visible shape under the coverlets. On the pillow lay the withered, skull-face of an incredibly old man.

Locicault was twenty-three years of age.

His mouth was toothless. Hanging open helplessly, it revealed his ugly, blackened gums. His skull was hairless, with ears that were large and malformed, and his nose, too, was enlarged. The repulsive skin dangled in loose, sagging wrinkles. Pouches hung slack on his naked skull.

Court went to the window and drew down the shades. In the gloom a queer, silvery light was visible at once. It came from the patient's face!

Court stripped off the covers, exposing Locicault's gaunt, nude body. Like the ghastly face, it gleamed with a silvery radiance that did not pulse or wane, but remained steady.

"Locicault," Court called out sharply.

When he gripped the thin shoulder, the man shuddered convulsively and his eyes opened.

They were not human eyes. They were pools of white radiance, like shining smoke in eye-sockets.

"Locicault, can you hear me?" Court asked quietly.

A cracked whisper came from the withered lips.

"Yes… Yes, m'sieu."

"Can you see me?"

"I can—No, m'sieu, not with my eyes. I am blind—but I can see you, somehow—"

Court frowned, puzzled, as he pondered the weird reply.

"What do you see?"

"You are covered with—armor, I think. I do not know how I can tell this. I am blind…"

"I am a doctor," Court said. "If you can talk without pain, I want you to answer some questions."

"Out, m'sieu. Bien."

"Are you in pain?"

"No—Yes. I am hungry. It is strange. I am hungry and thirsty, but I do not want food. Something I do not understand—"

Court waited for him to continue. When Locicault did not, he went on with another line of reasoning.

"Tell me about this fog."

"There is not much to tell," Locicault said painfully. "When I left my home, I could not find my way. The fog was so heavy—and its smell was not right."

Stephen's eyes sparkled with interest under the thick mask.

"How did it smell? What did it remind you of?"

"I don't know. Wait! Once I was in the big power-house at the dam, and it smelled like that—"

Ozone? Court shook his head.

"Well?" he urged.

"The fog was cold at first, and then it seemed to grow warmer. I had the strange feeling it was getting inside of me. My lungs began to burn like fire. My heart beat faster. I was hungry, yet I had just eaten. . Doctor," Locicault said suddenly, without moving, "I am changing—more and more. When it started, I did not change much, but now—I feel like something that is not a man. Can you hear my voice?"

"Yes," Court soothed.

"That is odd. My mind is so wonderfully clear, but my senses—I do not seem to hear with my ears, nor speak with my tongue. I feel strong, though—and hungry—"

His scrawny head slumped, and Court saw that he had lost consciousness.

Whistling softly, with grim abstraction, Court returned to the main hospital where the others waited. Doffing his suit, he questioned Granger.

"It's progressive, isn't it? Doesn't the radiation get stronger?"'

"Why, yes," the physician replied. "For a time, anyway. Locicault was fearfully hungry. His metabolism was high, and this radiation got stronger every time we fed him. Yesterday, though, he refused to eat."

"But he's hungry," Stephen protested.

"So he says, and still he won't eat. The radiation is much fainter now."

"I see," Court muttered. "Get me a guinea-pig, will you? A rabbit will do just as well, if you don't have a guinea-pig. I want to try something."

Putting on the armor again and carrying a wriggling guinea-pig, Court went back to the patient. Locicault was still unconscious. For the first time, Court hesitated, staring at the pale aura surrounding Locicault's body. Then he slowly extended the guinea-pig till its furry side touched the patient's hand.

Gently the weak, bony fingers constricted. Closing upon the tiny animal, they did not harm it though it struggled frantically to escape.

The little beast went limp, seemed, amazingly, to grow smaller. Swiftly the phosphorescent gleam surrounding Locicault grew brighter.

"So that's the way!" Court muttered under his breath.

He disengaged the guinea-pig from the skeleton fingers and examined the animal. It was dead, as he had expected. Court silently returned to the others.

"You haven't been feeding him the right way," he explained, struggling out of the armor. He gave it to the Granger, who put it on. "Locicault is changing, slowly and steadily, into some form of life that is definitely not human. At first he ate normally, though in vast quantity.

"As his basic matter altered, Locicault lost the power to absorb food as we do, internally. He gets the energy direct— like a vampire, to put it melodramatically. He will kill any living being that touches him."

"Good God!" Granger cried in a shocked voice. "We can't let him live, Court!"

"We must, because I need him. I have to study the course of the plague in its natural progress. Locicault must be fed whatever he needs now—rabbits, guinea-pigs, and so on. I shall take him to my home as soon as the special ambulance gets here."

Sammy shuffled forward, wide-eyed with fear, but desperately stern.

"Stevie, don't take any chances."

Court ignored the old man as he ignored everyone else when his mind was absorbed.

"Marion, unpack my equipment. The ambulance should be here by tomorrow or the next day. In the meantime, I want to check every angle. Be sure that there's a supply of small animals for the patient. I don't know yet how much energy he needs, but he's broadcasting it at a terrific rate."

Granger, clumsy in the lead suit, already left the room. Court looked at his watch.

"Lucky I got here in time. If Locicault had died—"

"Can you save him?" she asked eagerly.

"Of course not! I don't want to, even if I could. I want to stop the plague, and to do that, I must watch it run its course in a test subject. Locicault happens to be the only one we know about. There may be new cases at any time, but I can't afford to wait. For all I know, there may never be another case till the final crack-up. Then it will be too late to do anything."

"What do you intend?" Marion asked, trying to hide her disappointment.

"I shall take Locicault back home with me, keep him in isolation, and feed him whatever may be necessary. Eventually the plague will run its course. Locicault may not die, but he may have to be destroyed."

The door slammed open. Granger burst into the room, ripped off the lead suit. His gnomish face was gray with horror.

"Court, he's dead!"

"What?" Court's jaw trembled with indecision. "No, he can't be. It's unconsciousness—" But already he was snatching the suit from Granger. "Get me adrenaline, quick, another guinea-pig!"

They sprang to obey. Bearing his equipment, Court raced away. The minutes ticked slowly past, lagging unendurably. At last he came back, his shoulders slumped.

"You're right, Granger," he muttered. "Locicault's dead. I was too late."

"You—" the physician hesitated, biting his lips in helplessness. "You'll want to have an autopsy?"

"No, it's no use. I must watch the progress of the plague on a living being. A corpse is no good for my purposes. I must wait. . Perhaps the plague will strike again. I—I don't know."

Court went to the window and looked out, his back to the others.

"Take precautions with the burial," he said after a time speaking in a strange, tight voice. "The contagion can still be spread. No one must touch him without lead-armor. You will cremate him, of course."

Marion came across the room to stand beside him.

"You're not giving up, are you?" she whispered.

"No, but I'm at a dead end now. Every hour I delay may mean—"

The others had shuffled despondently out of the room.

"We're going back, then?" Marion asked.

"Yes. I'll take a few specimens from Locicault's body, but it s useless. I can't bring back life to a dead man. Damn him!" he snarled with sudden fury. "Why did he have to die?"

Marion's lips trembled and she turned away. Court, after a brief hesitation, replaced the lead-glass helmet and went into the wing. He could, as a matter of routine, take samples of Locicault's blood and skin, though he knew that would do little good.

Court opened the door of Locicault's room and stopped abruptly, catching his breath. The blood drained from his cheeks. He reached out almost blindly.

"Sammy!" he whispered. "Oh, my God, you fool!"

The old man stood motionless beside the bed. In the dimness his face could not be seen. His scant white hair was pale as silver.

"Hello, Stevie," he said gently. "Don't go off the handle, now. After all, I'm not so young any more, and you needed a case of this plague to experiment on. If it's as contagious as you say, I guess I sure enough got it by now."

"Sammy," Court whispered through dry lips. "Why—"

He could not go on.

"Why?" The old man shrugged. "I dunno. I told you about that plague down South, with women and kids dying like flies. I know what it's like. If I can help you save women and kids, Stevie, I figure I've done a pretty good job. So it's up to you now, boy. It's up to you."