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diff --git a/old/30234.txt b/old/30234.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c82f9f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30234.txt @@ -0,0 +1,895 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dead Ringer, by Lester del Rey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dead Ringer + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Illustrator: Dick Francis + +Release Date: October 11, 2009 [EBook #30234] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEAD RINGER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +Dead Ringer + +By LESTER DEL REY + +Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS + + + _There was nothing, especially + on Earth, which could set him + free--the truth least of all!_ + + +Dane Phillips slouched in the window seat, watching the morning crowds +on their way to work and carefully avoiding any attempt to read Jordan's +old face as the editor skimmed through the notes. He had learned to make +his tall, bony body seem all loose-jointed relaxation, no matter what he +felt. But the oversized hands in his pockets were clenched so tightly +that the nails were cutting into his palms. + +Every tick of the old-fashioned clock sent a throb racing through his +brain. Every rustle of the pages seemed to release a fresh shot of +adrenalin into his blood stream. _This time_, his mind was pleading. _It +has to be right this time...._ + +Jordan finished his reading and shoved the folder back. He reached for +his pipe, sighed, and then nodded slowly. "A nice job of researching, +Phillips. And it might make a good feature for the Sunday section, at +that." + +It took a second to realize that the words meant acceptance, for +Phillips had prepared himself too thoroughly against another failure. +Now he felt the tautened muscles release, so quickly that he would have +fallen if he hadn't been braced against the seat. + +He groped in his mind, hunting for words, and finding none. There was +only the hot, sudden flame of unbelieving hope. And then an almost +blinding exultation. + + * * * * * + +Jordan didn't seem to notice his silence. The editor made a neat pile of +the notes, nodding again. "Sure. I like it. We've been short of shock +stuff lately and the readers go for it when we can get a fresh angle. +But naturally you'd have to leave out all that nonsense on Blanding. +Hell, the man's just buried, and his relatives and friends--" + +"But that's the proof!" Phillips stared at the editor, trying to +penetrate through the haze of hope that had somehow grown chilled and +unreal. His thoughts were abruptly disorganized and out of his control. +Only the urgency remained. "It's the key evidence. And we've got to move +fast! I don't know how long it takes, but even one more day may be too +late!" + +Jordan nearly dropped the pipe from his lips as he jerked upright to +peer sharply at the younger man. "Are you crazy? Do you seriously expect +me to get an order to exhume him now? What would it get us, other than +lawsuits? Even if we could get the order without cause--which we can't!" + +Then the pipe did fall as he gaped open-mouthed. "My God, you believe +all that stuff. You expected us to publish it _straight_!" + +"No," Dane said thickly. The hope was gone now, as if it had never +existed, leaving a numb emptiness where nothing mattered. "No, I guess I +didn't really expect anything. But I believe the facts. Why shouldn't +I?" + +He reached for the papers with hands he could hardly control and began +stuffing them back into the folder. All the careful documentation, the +fingerprints--smudged, perhaps, in some cases, but still evidence enough +for anyone but a fool-- + +"Phillips?" Jordan said questioningly to himself, and then his voice was +taking on a new edge. "Phillips! Wait a minute, I've got it now! _Dane_ +Phillips, not _Arthur_! Two years on the _Trib._ Then you turned up on +the _Register_ in Seattle? Phillip Dean, or some such name there." + +"Yeah," Dane agreed. There was no use in denying anything now. "Yeah, +Dane Arthur Phillips. So I suppose I'm through here?" + +Jordan nodded again and there was a faint look of fear in his +expression. "You can pick up your pay on the way out. And make it +quick, before I change my mind and call the boys in white!" + + * * * * * + +It could have been worse. It had been worse before. And there was enough +in the pay envelope to buy what he needed--a flash camera, a little +folding shovel from one of the surplus houses, and a bottle of good +scotch. It would be dark enough for him to taxi out to Oakhaven +Cemetery, where Blanding had been buried. + +It wouldn't change the minds of the fools, of course. Even if he could +drag back what he might find, without the change being completed, they +wouldn't accept the evidence. He'd been crazy to think anything could +change their minds. And they called _him_ a fanatic! If the facts he'd +dug up in ten years of hunting wouldn't convince them, nothing would. +And yet he had to see for himself, before it was too late! + +He picked a cheap hotel at random and checked in under an assumed name. +He couldn't go back to his room while there was a chance that Jordan +still might try to turn him in. There wouldn't be time for Sylvia's +detectives to bother him, probably, but there was the ever-present +danger that one of the aliens might intercept the message. + +He shivered. He'd been risking that for ten years, yet the likelihood +was still a horror to him. The uncertainty made it harder to take than +any human-devised torture could be. There was no way of guessing what an +alien might do to anyone who discovered that all men were not +human--that some were ... zombies. + +There was the classic syllogism: _All men are mortal; I am a man; +therefore, I am mortal._ But not Blanding--or Corporal Harding. + +It was Harding's "death" that had started it all during the fighting on +Guadalcanal. A grenade had come flying into the foxhole where Dane and +Harding had felt reasonably safe. The concussion had knocked Dane out, +possibly saving his life when the enemy thought he was dead. He'd come +to in the daylight to see Harding lying there, mangled and twisted, with +his throat torn. There was blood on Dane's uniform, obviously spattered +from the dead man. It hadn't been a mistake or delusion; Harding had +been dead. + +It had taken Dane two days of crawling and hiding to get back to his +group, too exhausted to report Harding's death. He'd slept for twenty +hours. And when he awoke, Harding had been standing beside him, with a +whole throat and a fresh uniform, grinning and kidding him for running +off and leaving a stunned friend behind. + +It was no ringer, but Harding himself, complete to the smallest personal +memories and personality traits. + + * * * * * + +The pressures of war probably saved Dane's sanity while he learned to +face the facts. All men are mortal; Harding is not mortal; therefore, +Harding is not a man! Nor was Harding alone--Dane found enough evidence +to know there were others. + +The _Tribune_ morgue yielded even more data. A man had faced seven +firing squads and walked away. Another survived over a dozen attacks by +professional killers. Fingerprints turned up mysteriously "copied" from +those of men long dead. Some of the aliens seemed to heal almost +instantly; others took days. Some operated completely alone; some seemed +to have joined with others. But they were legion. + +Lack of a clearer pattern of attack made him consider the possibility of +human mutation, but such tissue was too wildly different, and the +invasion had begun long before atomics or X-rays. He gave up trying to +understand their alien motivations. It was enough that they existed in +secret, slowly growing in numbers while mankind was unaware of them. + +When his proof was complete and irrefutable, he took it to his +editor--to be fired, politely but coldly. Other editors were less +polite. But he went on doggedly trying and failing. What else could he +do? Somehow, he had to find the few people who could recognize facts and +warn them. The aliens would get him, of course, when the story broke, +but a warned humanity could cope with them. _Ye shall know the truth, +and the truth shall make you free._ + +Then he met Sylvia by accident after losing his fifth job--a girl who +had inherited a fortune big enough to spread his message in paid ads +across the country. They were married before he found she was +hard-headed about her money. She demanded a full explanation for every +cent beyond his allowance. In the end, she got the explanation. And +while he was trying to cash the check she gave him, she visited Dr. +Buehl, to come back with a squad of quiet, refined strong-arm boys who +made sure Dane reached Buehl's "rest home" safely. + +Hydrotherapy ... Buehl as the kindly firm father image ... analysis ... +hypnosis that stripped every secret from him, including his worst +childhood nightmare. + +His father had committed a violent, bloody suicide after one of the many +quarrels with Dane's mother. Dane had found the body. + +[Illustration] + +Two nights after the funeral, he had dreamed of his father's face, +horror-filled, at the window. He knew now that it was a normal +nightmare, caused by being forced to look at the face in the coffin, but +the shock had lasted for years. It had bothered him again, after his +discovery of the aliens, until a thorough check had proved without doubt +that his father had been fully human, with a human, if tempestuous, +childhood behind him. + + * * * * * + +Dr. Buehl was delighted. "You see, Dane? You _know_ it was a nightmare, +but you don't really believe it even now. Your father was an alien +monster to you--no adult is quite human to a child. And that +literal-minded self, your subconscious, saw him after he died. So there +are alien monsters who return from death. Then you come to from a +concussion. Harding is sprawled out unconscious, covered with +blood--probably your blood, since you say he wasn't wounded, later. + +"But after seeing your father, you can't associate blood with +yourself--you see it as a horrible wound on Harding. When he turns out +to be alive, you're still in partial shock, with your subconscious +dominant. And that has the answer already. There are monsters who come +back from the dead! An exaggerated reaction, but nothing really +abnormal. We'll have you out of here in no time." + +No non-directive psychiatry for Buehl. The man beamed paternally, +chuckling as he added what he must have considered the clincher. +"Anyhow, even zombies can't stand fire, Dane, so you can stop worrying +about Harding. I checked up on him. He was burned to a crisp in a hotel +fire two months ago." + +It was logical enough to shake Dane's faith, until he came across Milo +Blanding's picture in a magazine article on society in St. Louis. +According to the item, Milo was a cousin of _the_ Blandings, whose +father had vanished in Chile as a young man, and who had just rejoined +the family. The picture was of Harding! + +An alien could have gotten away by simply committing suicide and being +carried from the rest home, but Dane had to do it the hard way, watching +his chance and using commando tactics on a guard who had come to accept +him as a harmless nut. + +In St. Louis, he'd used the "Purloined Letter" technique to hide--going +back to newspaper work and using almost his real name. It had seemed to +work, too. But he'd been less lucky about Harding-Blanding. The man had +been in Europe on some kind of a tour until his return only this last +week. + +Dane had seen him just once then--but long enough to be sure it was +Harding--before he died again. + +This time, it was in a drunken auto accident that seemed to be none of +his fault, but left his body a mangled wreck. + + * * * * * + +It was almost dark when Dane dismissed the taxi at the false address, a +mile from the entrance to the cemetery. He watched it turn back down the +road, then picked up the valise with his camera and folding shovel. He +shivered as he moved reluctantly ahead. War had proved that he would +never be a brave man and the old fears of darkness and graveyards were +still strong in him. But he had to know what the coffin contained now, +if it wasn't already too late. + +It represented the missing link in his picture of the aliens. What +happened to them during the period of regrowth? Did they revert to their +natural form? Were they at all conscious while the body reshaped itself +into wholeness? Dane had puzzled over it night after night, with no +answer. + +Nor could he figure how they could escape from the grave. Perhaps a man +could force his way out of some of the coffins he had inspected. The +soil would still be soft and loose in the grave and a lot of the coffins +and the boxes around them were strong in appearance only. A determined +creature that could exist without much air for long enough might make +it. But there were other caskets that couldn't be cracked, at least +without the aid of outside help. + +What happened when a creature that could survive even the poison of +embalming fluids and the draining of all the blood woke up in such a +coffin? Dane's mind skittered from it, as always, and then came back to +it reluctantly. + +There were still accounts of corpses turned up with the nails and hair +grown long in the grave. Could normal tissues stand the current tricks +of the morticians to have life enough for such growth? The possibility +was absurd. Those cases had to be aliens--ones who hadn't escaped. Even +they must die eventually in such a case--after weeks and months! It took +time for hair to grow. + +And there were stories of corpses that had apparently fought and twisted +in their coffins still. What was it like for an alien then, going slowly +mad while it waited for true death? How long did madness take? + +He shivered again, but went steadily on while the cemetery fence +appeared in the distance. He'd seen Blanding's coffin--and the big, +solid metal casket around it that couldn't be cracked by any amount of +effort and strength. He was sure the creature was still there, unless it +had a confederate. But that wouldn't matter. An empty coffin would also +be proof. + + * * * * * + +Dane avoided the main gate, unsure about whether there would be a +watchman or not. A hundred feet away, there was a tree near the +ornamental spikes of the iron fence. He threw his bag over and began +shinnying up. It was difficult, but he made it finally, dropping onto +the soft grass beyond. There was the trace of the Moon at times through +the clouds, but it hadn't betrayed him, and there had been no alarm wire +along the top of the fence. + +He moved from shadow to shadow, his hair prickling along the base of his +neck. Locating the right grave in the darkness was harder than he had +expected, even with an occasional brief use of the small flashlight. But +at last he found the marker that was serving until the regular monument +could arrive. + +His hands were sweating so much that it was hard to use the small +shovel, but the digging of foxholes had given him experience and the +ground was still soft from the gravediggers' work. He stopped once, as +the Moon came out briefly. Again, a sound in the darkness above left him +hovering and sick in the hole. But it must have been only some animal. + +He uncovered the top of the casket with hands already blistering. + +Then he cursed as he realized the catches were near the bottom, making +his work even harder. + +He reached them at last, fumbling them open. The metal top of the casket +seemed to be a dome of solid lead, and he had no room to maneuver, but +it began swinging up reluctantly, until he could feel the polished wood +of the coffin. + +Dane reached for the lid with hands he could barely control. Fear was +thick in his throat now. What could an alien do to a man who discovered +it? Would it be Harding there--or some monstrous thing still changing? +How long did it take a revived monster to go mad when it found no way to +escape? + +He gripped the shovel in one hand, working at the lid with the other. +Now, abruptly, his nerves steadied, as they had done whenever he was in +real battle. He swung the lid up and began groping for the camera. + +His hand went into the silk-lined interior and found nothing! He was too +late. Either Harding had gotten out somehow before the final ceremony or +a confederate had already been here. The coffin was empty. + + * * * * * + +There were no warning sounds this time--only hands that slipped under +his arms and across his mouth, lifting him easily from the grave. A +match flared briefly and he was looking into the face of Buehl's chief +strong-arm man. + +"Hello, Mr. Phillips. Promise to be quiet and we'll release you. Okay?" +At Dane's sickened nod, he gestured to the others. "Let him go. And, +Tom, better get that filled in. We don't want any trouble from this." + +Surprise came from the grave a moment later. "Hey, Burke, there's no +corpse here!" + +Burke's words killed any hopes Dane had at once. "So what? Ever hear of +cremation? Lots of people use a regular coffin for the ashes." + +"He wasn't cremated," Dane told him. "You can check up on that." But he +knew it was useless. + +"Sure, Mr. Phillips. We'll do that." The tone was one reserved for +humoring madmen. Burke turned, gesturing. "Better come along, Mr. +Phillips. Your wife and Dr. Buehl are waiting at the hotel." + +The gate was open now, but there was no sign of a watchman; if one +worked here, Sylvia's money would have taken care of that, of course. +Dane went along quietly, sitting in the rubble of his hopes while the +big car purred through the morning and on down Lindell Boulevard toward +the hotel. Once he shivered, and Burke dug out hot brandied coffee. They +had thought of everything, including a coat to cover his dirt-soiled +clothes as they took him up the elevator to where Buehl and Sylvia were +waiting for him. + +She had been crying, obviously, but there were no tears or +recriminations when she came over to kiss him. Funny, she must still +love him--as he'd learned to his surprise he loved her. Under different +circumstances ... + +"So you found me?" he asked needlessly of Buehl. He was operating on +purely automatic habits now, the reaction from the night and his failure +numbing him emotionally. "Jordan got in touch with you?" + +Buehl smiled back at him. "We knew where you were all along, Dane. But +as long as you acted normal, we hoped it might be better than the home. +Too bad we couldn't stop you before you got all mixed up in this." + +"So I suppose I'm committed to your booby-hatch again?" + +Buehl nodded, refusing to resent the term. "I'm afraid so, Dane--for a +while, anyhow. You'll find your clothes in that room. Why don't you +clean up a little? Take a hot bath, maybe. You'll feel better." + + * * * * * + +Dane went in, surprised when no guards followed him. But they had +thought of everything. What looked like a screen on the window had been +recently installed and it was strong enough to prevent his escape. +Blessed are the poor, for they shall be poorly guarded! + +He was turning on the shower when he heard the sound of voices coming +through the door. He left the water running and came back to listen. +Sylvia was speaking. + +"--seems so logical, so completely rational." + +"It makes him a dangerous person," Buehl answered, and there was no +false warmth in his voice now. "Sylvia, you've got to admit it to +yourself. All the reason and analysis in the world won't convince him +he's wrong. This time we'll have to use shock treatment. Burn over those +memories, fade them out. It's the only possible course." + +There was a pause and then a sigh. "I suppose you're right." + +Dane didn't wait to hear more. He drew back, while his mind fought to +accept the hideous reality. Shock treatment! The works, if what he knew +of psychiatry was correct. Enough of it to erase his memories--a part of +himself. It wasn't therapy Buehl was considering; it couldn't be. + +It was the answer of an alien that had a human in its hands--one who +knew too much! + +He might have guessed. What better place for an alien than in the guise +of a psychiatrist? Where else was there the chance for all the refined, +modern torture needed to burn out a man's mind? Dane had spent ten years +in fear of being discovered by them--and now Buehl had him. + +Sylvia? He couldn't be sure. Probably she was human. It wouldn't make +any difference. There was nothing he could do through her. Either she +was part of the game or she really thought him mad. + +Dane tried the window again, but it was hopeless. There would be no +escape this time. Buehl couldn't risk it. The shock treatment--or +whatever Buehl would use under the name of shock treatment--would begin +at once. It would be easy to slip, to use an overdose of something, to +make sure Dane was killed. Or there were ways of making sure it didn't +matter. They could leave him alive, but take his mind away. + +In alien hands, human psychiatry could do worse than all the medieval +torture chambers! + + * * * * * + +The sickness grew in his stomach as he considered the worst that could +happen. Death he could accept, if he had to. He could even face the +chance of torture by itself, as he had accepted the danger while trying +to have his facts published. But to have his mind taken from him, a step +at a time--to watch his personality, his ego, rotted away under him--and +to know that he would wind up as a drooling idiot.... + +He made his decision, almost as quickly as he had come to realize what +Buehl must be. + +There was a razor in the medicine chest. It was a safety razor, of +course, but the blade was sharp and it would be big enough. There was no +time for careful planning. One of the guards might come in at any moment +if they thought he was taking too long. + +Some fear came back as he leaned over the wash basin, staring at his +throat, fingering the suddenly murderous blade. But the pain wouldn't +last long--a lot less than there would be under shock treatment, and +less pain. He'd read enough to feel sure of that. + +Twice he braced himself and failed at the last second. His mind flashed +out in wild schemes, fighting against what it knew had to be done. + +The world still had to be warned! If he could escape, somehow ... if he +could still find a way.... He couldn't quit, no matter how impossible +things looked. + +But he knew better. There was nothing one man could do against the +aliens in this world they had taken over. He'd never had a chance. Man +had been chained already by carefully developed ridicule against +superstition, by carefully indoctrinated gobbledegook about insanity, +persecution complexes, and all the rest. + +For a second, Dane even considered the possibility that he was insane. +But he knew it was only a blind effort to cling to life. There had been +no insanity in him when he'd groped for evidence in the coffin and found +it empty! + +He leaned over the wash basin, his eyes focused on his throat, and his +hand came down and around, carrying the razor blade through a lethal +semicircle. + + * * * * * + +Dane Phillips watched fear give place to sickness on his face as the +pain lanced through him and the blood spurted. + +He watched horror creep up to replace the sickness while the bleeding +stopped and the gash began closing. + +By the time he recognized his expression as the same one he'd seen on +his father's face at the window so long ago, the wound was completely +healed. + + --LESTER DEL REY + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Galaxy Science Fiction_ November 1956. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dead Ringer, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEAD RINGER *** + +***** This file should be named 30234.txt or 30234.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/2/3/30234/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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