diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 18:44:58 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 18:44:58 -0800 |
| commit | a3a9db00d581cefcbf46e2b6776b582c3302b8af (patch) | |
| tree | 7e8c67897db525c2d9c7408bc8a7ee56e88bdef4 | |
| parent | 0e5422029898476818e7a7f16bb8fb2c3637346a (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51834-8.txt | 2436 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51834-8.zip | bin | 44932 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51834-h.zip | bin | 331243 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51834-h/51834-h.htm | 2580 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51834-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 64942 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51834-h/images/illus1.jpg | bin | 82632 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51834-h/images/illus2.jpg | bin | 87460 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51834-h/images/illus3.jpg | bin | 49849 -> 0 bytes |
11 files changed, 17 insertions, 5016 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..717355e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51834 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51834) diff --git a/old/51834-8.txt b/old/51834-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ca3d10a..0000000 --- a/old/51834-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2436 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Never Come Midnight, by Christopher Grimm - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Never Come Midnight - -Author: Christopher Grimm - -Release Date: April 22, 2016 [EBook #51834] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEVER COME MIDNIGHT *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - NEVER COME MIDNIGHT - - by CHRISTOPHER GRIMM - - Illustrated by DILLON - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction May 1958. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - Across the void came a man who could not ever - have been born--from a world that could never - have been conceived--to demand his birthright - of an Earth that would have to die to pay it! - - -I - -Jan Shortmire smiled. "You didn't know I had a son, did you, Peter? -Well, neither did I--until quite recently." - -"I see." However, Peter Hubbard knew that Jan Shortmire had never -married in all of his hundred and fifty-five years. In that day and -age, unmarried people did not have children; science, the law, and -public sophistication had combined to make the historical "accident" -almost impossible. Yet, if some woman of one of the more innocent -planets had deliberately conceived in order to trap Shortmire, surely -he would have learned of his son's existence long before. - -"I'm glad it turns out that I have an heir," Shortmire went on. -"Otherwise, the government might get its fists on what little I -have--and it's taken enough from me." - -Although the old man's estate was a considerable one, it did seem -meager in terms of the money he must have made. What _had_ become of -the golden tide that had poured in upon the golden youth, Hubbard -wondered. Could anyone have squandered such prodigious sums upon the -usual mundane dissipations? For, by the time the esoteric pleasures of -the other planets had reached Earth--the byproduct of Shortmire's own -achievement--he must have already been too old to enjoy them. - -At Hubbard's continued silence, Shortmire said defensively, "If they'd -let me sell my patents to private industry, as Dyall was able to do, -I'd be leaving a _real_ fortune!" His voice grew thick with anger. -"When I think how much money Dyall made from those factory machines of -his...." - -But when you added the priceless extra fifty years of life to the money -Shortmire had made, it seemed to Hubbard that Shortmire had been amply -rewarded. Although, of course, he had heard that Nicholas Dyall had -been given the same reward. No point telling Shortmire, if he did not -know already. Hubbard could never understand why Shortmire hated Dyall -so; it could not be merely the money--and as for reputation, he had a -shade the advantage. - -"That _toymaker_!" Shortmire spat. - - * * * * * - -Hubbard tactfully changed the subject. "What's your boy like, Jan?" But -of course Jan Shortmire's son could hardly be a boy; in fact, he was -probably almost as old as Hubbard was. - -Such old age as Shortmire's was almost incredible. Sitting there in -the antique splendor of Hubbard's office, he looked like a splendid -antique himself. Who could imagine that passion had ever convulsed that -thin white face, that those frail white fingers had ever curved in -love and in hate? Age beyond the reach of most men had blanched this -once-passionate man to a chill, ivory shadow. - -For once, Hubbard felt glad--almost--that he himself was ineligible for -the longevity treatment. The allotted five score and ten was enough for -any except the very selfish--or selfless--man. - -But Shortmire was answering his question. "I have no idea what the boy -is like; I've never seen him." Then he added, "I suppose you've been -wondering why I finally decided to make a will?" - -"A lawyer never wonders when people _do_ make wills, Jan," Hubbard said -mildly. "He wonders when they _don't_." - -"I'm going on a trip to Morethis. Only one of the colonized planets -I've never visited." Shortmire's smile did not reach his amber-hard -eyes. "Civilized planets, I should have said. It isn't official -government policy to colonize planets that have intelligent native -live-forms." - -Not even the most besotted idealist could ever have described Jan -Shortmire as altruistic. And for him to be concerned about Morethis, of -all planets--Morethis, where the indigenous life-forms were such as to -justify a ruthless colonization policy ... it was outrageous! True, the -terrestrial government had been more generous toward the Morethans than -toward any of the seven other intelligent life-forms they had found. -But this tolerance was based wholly on fear--fear of these remnants -of an old, old civilization, eking out their existence around a dying -star, yet with terrible glories to remember in their twilight--and -traces of these glories to protect them. - -How was it that Shortmire, who had been everywhere, seen everything, -had never been to Morethis? Hubbard looked keenly at his client. "What -_is_ all this, Jan?" - -The old man shrugged. "Merely that the Foreign Office has suggested it -would be wise for travelers to make a will before going there. Being a -dutiful citizen of Earth, I comply." He smiled balefully. - -"The Foreign Office has suggested that it would be wiser not to go at -all," Hubbard said. "There are people who say Morethis ought to be -fumigated completely." - -"Ah, but it has rare and precious metals on which our industries -depend. There are herbs which have multiplied the miracles of modern -medicine, jewels and furs unmatched anywhere. We need the native miners -and farmers and trappers to get these things for us." - -"We could get them for ourselves. We do on the other planets." - -Shortmire grinned. "On Morethis, somehow, our people can't seem to -find these things themselves. Or, if they do, we can't find our people -afterward. Which is why there is peace and friendship between Morethis -and Earth." - -"_Friendship!_ Everyone knows the Morethans hate terrestrials. They -tolerate us only because we're stronger!" - -"Stronger physically." Shortmire's smile was fading. "Even technology -is a kind of physical strength." - - * * * * * - -New apprehension took shape in Hubbard. "You're not going metaphysical -in your old age, are you, Jan? And even if you are," he said quickly, -while he was still innocent of knowledge, hence could not be -consciously offending the other man's beliefs, "what a cult to choose! -Blood, terror and torture!" - -Shortmire grinned again. "You've been watching vidicasts, Peter. -They've laid it on so thick, I'll probably find Morethis deadly dull -rather than just ... deadly." - -Certainly, all Hubbard knew of Morethis was based on hearsay evidence, -but this was not a court of law. "Jan you're a fool! A third of the -terrestrials who go to Morethis never come back, and mostly they're -young men, strong men." - -"Then they're the fools." Shortmire's voice was low and tired. "Because -they're risking a whole lifetime, whereas all I'll be risking is a few -years of a very boring existence." - -Hubbard said no more. Even though the law still did not condone it, a -man had the right to dispose of his own life as he saw fit. - -Shortmire stood up. Barely stooped by age, he looked, with his great -height and extreme emaciation, almost like a fasting saint--a ludicrous -simile. "My wine palate is gone, Peter," he said, clapping the -younger old man's shoulder, "women and I seem to have lost our mutual -attraction, and I never did have much of a singing voice. At least this -is one experience I'm not too old to savor." - -"Death, do you mean?" Hubbard asked bluntly. "Or Morethis?" - -Shortmire smiled. "Perhaps both." - -So Peter Hubbard was not surprised when, a few months later, he got -word that Jan Shortmire had died on Morethis. The surprising thing was -the extraordinarily prosaic manner of his death: he had simply fallen -into a river and drowned. No traveler on Morethis had been known to -die by undisputed accident before; as a result, the vidicasts devoted -more attention to the event than they might have otherwise. But the -news died down, as other news took its place. In so large a universe, -something was always happening; the dog days were forever gone from -journalism. - -Going through the old man's papers in his capacity as executor, Hubbard -came across an old passport. He was startled to discover that this trip -had not been Shortmire's first to Morethis. Why had he lied about it? -But that was a question that no one alive could answer--or so Hubbard -thought. - -Almost two years went by before the will was finally probated on all -the planets where Shortmire had owned property. Then the search for -Emrys Shortmire began. Messages were dispatched to all the civilized -planets, and Peter Hubbard settled back for a long wait. - - * * * * * - -Five years after Jan Shortmire's death, the intercom on Peter Hubbard's -desk buzzed and his secretary's voice--his was one of the few legal -offices wealthy enough to afford human help--said, "Mr. Emrys Shortmire -to see you, sir." - -How could a man come from so many light-years' distance without -radioing on ahead, or at least tele-calling from his hotel? Dignity -demanded that Hubbard tell his secretary to inform Shortmire that he -never saw anyone without an appointment. Curiosity won. "Ask him to -come in," he said. - -The door slid open. Hubbard started to rise, with the old-fashioned -courtesy of a family lawyer. But he never made it. He sat, frozen with -shock, staring at the man in the doorway. Because Emrys Shortmire -wasn't a man; he was a boy. He might have been a stripling of thirty, -except for his eyes. Copper-bright and copper-hard they were, too hard -for a boy's. Give him forty, even forty-five, that would still have -made Jan Shortmire a father when he was nearly a hundred and twenty. -The longevity treatment produced remarkable results, but none that -fantastic. Though health and strength could be restored, fertility, -like youth, once vanished was gone forever. - -Yet the boy looked too sophisticated to have made a stupid mistake -like that, if he were an imposter. More important, he _looked_ like -Jan Shortmire--not the Shortmire whom Hubbard had known, but the -broad-shouldered youth of the early pictures, golden of hair and skin -and eyes, almost classical in feature and build. Plastic surgery could -have converted a fleeting resemblance to a precise one, yet, somehow, -Hubbard _felt_ that this was flesh and blood of the old man's. - -"You're very like your father," he said, inaccurately: Emrys was less -like his father than he should have been, given that startling identity -of physique. - -"Am I?" The boy smiled. "I never knew him. Of course, I know I look -like the pictures, but pictures never tell much, do they?" - -He had many papers to give Peter Hubbard. Too many; no honest man -had his life so well in order. But then Emrys' honesty was not the -issue, only his identity. The birth certificate said he had been born -on Clergal fifty-five years before, so he was ten years older than -Hubbard's wildest estimate. A young man, but not a boy--a man of full -maturity, but still too young to be, normally, Jan Shortmire's son. -Then Hubbard opened Emrys Shortmire's passport and received another -shock. - -He tried to sound calm. "I see you were on Morethis the same time your -father was!" - -Emrys' smile widened. "Curious coincidence, wasn't it?" - -A surge of almost physical dislike filled the lawyer. "Is that all it -was--a coincidence?" - -"Are you suggesting that I pushed my father into the Ekkan?" Emrys -asked pleasantly. - -"Certainly not!" Hubbard was indignant at the thought that he, as a -lawyer, would have voiced such a suspicion, even if it had occurred to -him. "I thought you two might have arranged to meet on Morethis." - -"I told you I'd never seen my father," Emrys reminded him. "As for what -I was doing on Morethis--that's my business." - -"All I'm concerned with is whether or not you _are_ Emrys Shortmire." -Distaste was almost tangible on Hubbard's tongue. "It does seem -surprising that, since you _were_ on Morethis at the time your father -died, you should not have come to claim your inheritance sooner." - -"I had affairs of my own to wind up," Emrys said flatly. - - * * * * * - -Hubbard tapped the papers. "You understand that these must be checked -before you receive your father's estate?" - -"I understand perfectly." Emrys' voice was soft as a Si-yllan -cat-man's, and even more insulting. "They will be gone over thoroughly -for any possible error, any tiny imperfection, anything that could -invalidate my claim. But you will find them entirely in order." - -"I'm sure of that." And Hubbard knew, if the papers were forgeries, -they would be works of art. - -"You'll probably want me to undergo an equally thorough physical -examination for signs of--ah--surgical tampering. Yes, I see I'm -right." - -Ungenerous hope leaped inside Hubbard. "You would object?" - -"On the contrary, I'd be delighted. Haven't had a thorough medical -checkup for years." On this cooperative note, Emrys Shortmire bowed and -left. - -Hubbard sighed back against the velvet cushions of his chair--real -silk, for he was a very rich old man. Unfortunately, he could not doubt -that this was Jan Shortmire's progeny. But--and Hubbard sat upright--no -matter how much Emrys resembled his father, that was only one parent. -Who had the young man's mother been? - -Quickly, Hubbard searched through the papers for the birth certificate. -The name was Iloa Tasqi. The nationality: _Morethan_. - -No wonder the affair had been kept so secret. No wonder Emrys seemed -so strange and that Jan had lied about his previous visit to the dark -planet. Small wonder, too, that he'd had a son he was not aware of. Who -would have believed that human and Morethan could breed together? For -the Morethans, although humanoid, were not at all human. - -So Emrys Shortmire was only half human. The other half was--well, the -vidicasts called it _monster_, and, now that he had met the young man, -Peter Hubbard was inclined to agree. - - -II - -Outside the office building, Emrys Shortmire paused and inhaled deeply. -Say what you would about the atmospheres of some of the other planets' -being fresher and purer, the air of Earth, being the air in which Man -had evolved, was the air that felt best in his nostrils and filled his -lungs to greatest satisfaction. And, after the fetid atmosphere of -Morethis, this was pure heaven. Gray sky and violet dying sun against -blue sky and radiant golden sun. No wonder the Morethans were what they -were, and Earthmen were what they were. - -Well, the golden sun of Earth would set somewhat sooner than the -physicists--or the sociologists--had prognosticated. But all that would -be long after he himself had died. It was no concern of his, anyway. He -was Emrys Shortmire, born out of Jan Shortmire and no mortal woman; and -nothing else on Earth, or in the Universe, mattered. - -Disdaining the importunate heli-cabs that besieged him with plaintive -mechanical offers of transportation, he walked down the street, -enjoying the pull of the planet upon the youth and strength of his -body, delighting in the clarity of his vision and the keenness of his -nostrils. He was so absorbed in his thoughts and so unaccustomed -still to Earth's traffic that he did not look where he was going. The -groundcar was upon him before he knew it. Of course something like this -would happen, he thought bitterly, as darkness descended upon him and -he waited for the crushing impact. It was always like that in the old -stories, always some drawback to spoil the magic gift. - -But then it was light again. The car had passed over him and he was -unharmed, to the amazement--and disappointment--of the avid crowd that -had gathered. - -"Pedestrians should look where they're going," the voice of the car -observed petulantly. "Repairs cost money." - -Being part human, Emrys was shaken by the experience. His eye caught -the brilliant sign of a bar. Here, he thought, would be syrup to soothe -his nerves. And he went inside, eager to try the taste of ancient -vintages of Earth--unobtainable on the other planets, since fine wines -and liquors could not endure the journey through space. - - * * * * * - -He sipped a whisky and soda, trying not to feel disappointed at the -savor. As he drank, he felt eyes upon him--the bartender's. Yet the -long Qesharakan reflecting glass above the bar showed him nothing -unusual about his appearance. Did the bartender know who he was? How -could he? - -Then Emrys noticed that the man glanced from him to someone else--a -girl sitting at the other end of the bar. As she met Emrys' eye, she -smiled at him. Absently, with remote appreciation of her good looks, -he smiled back, then returned to the contemplation of his drink. The -bartender's expression deepened to amused contempt. - -Emrys realized what was wrong and he could hardly keep from laughing. -So intent had he been on the pursuit of his goal that he had almost -lost sight of the goal itself. Deliberately, he turned his head and -smiled at the girl. She promptly smiled back. - -He sat down at her side. Now that he was close, her aquamarine hair -showed dark at the roots, and, through the thick golden maquillage, -the pores stood out on her nose. Also, she was not so very young. He -laughed then, and, when she asked why, bought her a drink. After he had -bought her several more, they went to her apartment--a luxurious one in -a good section of town. She was not going to be cheap, but, he thought -with rising anticipation, he could afford her. - -However, the night was curiously unsatisfactory. For him--apparently -not for the girl, because the next morning she indignantly refused his -money. Evidently the experience had been something out of the ordinary -for her. He could not feel it was her fault that it had been nothing -for him; the lack was in _him_, he thought, some almost-felt emotion he -could not recapture. - -Promising to call her, he left, went back to his hotel room and flung -himself upon the resilient burim-moss couch. - -His body wasn't tired, but his head ached wearily. The liquor, -naturally, on an empty stomach ... after all those years of Morethan -qumesht. And then the trip. Even with the Shortmire engines--standard -equipment now, of course--it had taken a long, tiring time, for -Morethis was the most distant of all the civilized planets. Anyone -would be exhausted after such a trip. Added to all this, the accident. -There were no bruises on his body yet, but later, he knew, they would -be visible. - - * * * * * - -At last he slept, or seemed to, and dreamed he was on Morethis -again--or Morethis was there with him. The air thickened about him -into the tangible atmosphere of the dark planet--the swirling aniline -fog that never cleared. And in the midst stood Uvrei, the high priest, -robed in amethyst and sable. The term _high priest_ was vulgar as -applied to him, but the nearest terrestrial equivalent to what he was. - -The lips in the shockingly beautiful face parted. "How goes it, son of -my spirit?" the familiar greeting rolled out, in the familiar voice, -deep yet sweet, like dulcet thunder. - -"My head hurts, father of my soul." Emrys knew his voice was a petulant -child's, yet he could not stop himself. "I was promised--" - -"You have not taken care," the ancient one said. - -How ancient he was, Emrys did not know. The priests of Morethis were, -they said, immortal. And they did live for a long, long time, far -longer than the common people, whom they resembled only vaguely. -Terrestrial scholars said the ruling class was a variant of the -Morethan race, inbred to preserve its identity, probably closer to the -original world-shaking Morethans than their debased followers. The -members of this group seemed young, as coin faces seem young, also old, -like coins themselves. - -"I warned you it takes time for the final adjustments to be made. Wait, -my son; haste means nothing to you." - -"But I've waited so long," Emrys complained. - -"Wait a little longer, then. You have all the time in the world." - -The fog swirled shut about him, and Emrys sank into his personal miasma -of sleep. When he woke up, late that afternoon, he knew from the dank -odor clinging to the bedclothes that it had not been a dream, that -the priests, the "gods," the "immortals" of Morethis could, as they -professed--and even he had not believed them in this--project their -minds far through space ... though, fortunately, not their bodies, or -they would not have needed him. He remembered then the vial of tiny -golden pellets Uvrei had given him before he left Morethis, and took -one. Perhaps that was what the ancient one had meant. At any rate, -Emrys thought he felt better afterward. - -He examined his body in the mirror to see if bruises had come, but -the tawny, muscle-rippled flesh was unmarked. At length he put on his -clothes and, leaving the hotel, went to a jeweler, where he bought a -costly bracelet to be sent to the girl of the night before. Such a -grandiose gesture relieved him--he had always felt--of all further -obligation. - -He did not wish to repeat his experience with the liquor, so he did not -go to a bar. He had no friends on Earth--nor could he have acknowledged -them if he had. He did not wish to repeat his disappointment of the -previous night, so he did not seek female companionship--although it -was obvious from the eyes of the women he passed that he would have no -difficulty whenever he changed his mind. But what should he do? What -did young men do with their leisure, he tried to remember, when they -had nothing but leisure? - - * * * * * - -He dined alone, finally, on a variety of rare terrestrial foods that -did not taste quite as he expected, and went to the theater. The play -was one he had seen a hundred times before under a hundred different -names on many different planets. He went then to a nightclub, but it -was crowded and noisy, and the girls did not excite him. Going back to -the hotel, he found that sleep, at least, came easily. - -_But I did not_, he thought, _do what I did merely for the sake of a -good night's rest._ - -The third day, he wandered into a museum. He found himself less bored -than he had expected. Perhaps culture would be most therapeutic for him -until he reached his ultimate adjustments. Accordingly, he went from -the museum to a revival of a nineteenth-century opera. He didn't like -it; in fact, it disturbed him so much that he left before the final -curtain and walked through the streets for hours, until he ran into a -girl who was also walking the streets, and went home with her. - -The experience with the drab, as with the courtesan, was mechanically -satisfactory, emotionally inadequate. He paid her--knowing she, too, -would have given herself for nothing, had she known how--and went to -his hotel limp with the same not-physical weakness he had felt before. -The effects of the trip or the accident were lingering. He half -expected Uvrei to appear that night, but the old one did not come. Why -should he? This talk of spirit-son and soul-father was sophistry; there -had been a bargain and each had kept his part. - -The afternoon of the fourth day, a vidicast reporter called to ask -whether Emrys Shortmire was any relation to the Jan Shortmire who had -invented the space-warp engines. Emrys could not deny his identity -without jeopardizing his inheritance; however, he refused to be -interviewed personally or let his picture be used. He did not, he said, -want to be dwarfed by his father's reputation. Nonetheless, his arrival -was mentioned on the newscasts and panic rose up in him when he heard -his name spoken publicly. - -The next day a letter came for him. People rarely wrote letters -any more, except to the distant planets, yet this one had an Earth -postmark. Cold with panic again, he tore it open and read: - - My dear Mr. Shortmire: - - This evening's vidicast informed me that you were on Earth. You - will not, I am sure, know my name. However, I was a friend of your - father's, when we were both young men, and it would give me great - pleasure to make your acquaintance. - - NICHOLAS DYALL - - * * * * * - -Emrys crumpled up the letter and hurled it across the room. He knew -Dyall for an old--associate of Jan Shortmire's, but he had not -thought him to be alive. What had Dyall done to warrant the longevity -treatment? He was nothing but a glorified machinist, a technician. And -now he might wreck all of Emrys' plans. But if the young man made no -reply, perhaps the old one would take the hint. And so it turned out; -there was no further word from Nicholas Dyall. - -Finally, two weeks after Emrys had first come to Earth, he got a -telecall from Peter Hubbard. His documents were all in order and -he could receive his inheritance as soon as he passed the physical -examination. - -Emrys went to the doctor's offices feeling a cold touch of apprehension -again. But all Dr. Jameson said when the examination was finished -was, "You have the physique of a man fifteen years your junior, Mr. -Shortmire." - -Emrys fastened his tunic with fingers that shook from relief. "Guess -I'm lucky," he muttered. - -The doctor cleared his throat. "Peter Hubbard was telling me about your -mother, that she was...." - -Hubbard, that old fool! And Emrys had been so sure of his discretion. -"My mother was Morethan, yes." Then he realized it was possible -that Hubbard, too, had felt there might be something not-quite-human -manifest in his body and had tried to prepare the doctor. Emrys made -his tone more conciliatory. "On both Morethis and Earth, the child -takes citizenship from the father, so--" - -"I wasn't worrying about any legal problems; I was merely thinking that -medical science would be interested." - -"I do not wish the fact of my--of my birth publicized in any way--until -after my death," Emrys added placatorily. "Surely you can understand -what hell life would become if people knew I was half Morethan?" - -The doctor sighed. "Yes, I know. I can't blame you." - -"Tell me, Doctor," Emrys asked tensely, "is there anything about me -that doesn't seem ... quite human?" - -The doctor shook his head. "Only that you're so young for your age. Mr. -Shortmire, was your mother one of the caste they call the 'immortals'?" -Then he flushed. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to violate--" - -Emrys laughed sourly. "Don't worry; I don't hold to the Morethan -beliefs. She was one of the so-called gods, yes. They do live somewhat -longer than either the common people or terrestrials; I guess that's -why the legend arose, probably why I look so young, too. I should be -glad I didn't inherit a--less pleasant trait." - -"You should, indeed," the doctor said somberly. - - -III - -"I love you, Emrys," the woman said, and died agonizedly in his arms. -He looked down at the contorted, leaden face, ravaged by sickness, and -thought: _Even when she was beautiful, I could not love her._ He could -not even feel sorry for her, except in a remote, intellectual way. He -could not even feel sorry for himself and his own inability to feel. - -Since none of the servants was left in the house--those who were -still alive had fled to the country, where there was less chance -of contagion--he took her body to the crematorium himself. Other -people were there, consigning their grisly burdens to the automatic -fires--thin, sickly creatures they were, who would soon be carrion -for the firebirds themselves. Whereas he--if he had an emotion left, -it would be shame--shame for the radiant youth and health that he saw -mirrored in their dully wondering eyes. - -Outside, the street was clamorous with the taped importunities of the -empty vehicles--so many machines, because there were so few people -left. But he chose to walk. - -The air was sweet and clean, because the Dyall machines came and took -away the bodies of those who fell in the street, and then cleaned those -streets as carefully and tenderly as they had done when the walks and -gutters had abounded with the vibrant slovenliness of the living. Emrys -could, of course, have thrown the woman's body out into the gutter, -and the machines would have carried her in their steel maws to the -crematorium. But some remembered emotion had kept him from doing such a -thing, and had made him give her to the flames with what small ceremony -he could muster. - -She had been the last mistress remaining to him, and probably, he -thought, to any man in the city. Perhaps, out in the country, there -might be women with life and lust in them still, but such women as were -left here could no longer be considered women. This last one had not -been even human for the past week; yet he had tended her--why, he could -not say, except that he had nothing better to do. For one thing, she -had been quieter when he was near her, and he could not bear her cries. - -He was glad when she did die, because playing the good Samaritan had -grown tedious as, in their turn, all other roles had palled. Even -though he knew there would be no more women for him, he was glad. -During the first few weeks of the plague, when everyone who had been -alive had known that soon they would be dead, all the people on Earth -had rushed to squander the life which suddenly seemed to fill them to -bursting. Then a man could have had all the women he wanted, all of -anything he wanted, for the asking, except the one thing he really -wanted--the assurance of life. - - * * * * * - -Not everyone had plunged into an orgy of joyless pleasure. There were -some who took refuge in prayer--addressed either to the traditional -Deity or to the recent importations from the other planets. But, in -the end, it was the same for all, prayerful and profligate alike. The -only exceptions were the lucky few who seemed to be immune, like Emrys -Shortmire, and those who escaped from the cities--to the country or, if -they were rich, the other planets. So, even if Emrys had craved women -before, he would have had enough of them by now. - -As he passed through the streets, he heard a man who walked alone and -talked to himself curse the name of Jan Shortmire. _They would tear -me to pieces if they knew I was his flesh and blood_, Emrys thought, -and smiled to think how once he had feared to be engulfed by Jan -Shortmire's reputation, and now he feared to be destroyed by it. - -For it had been a starship equipped, like all starships, with the -Shortmire engines that had brought back the plague--a starship probing -the distant corners of the Galaxy which were all that Man's insatiable -curiosity had left undiscovered. - -Far out, even beyond Morethis--outermost of the discovered planets--in -the middle of the dead and dying stars that were all there was in this -chill, cold sector of space, the ship had come upon three dead planets, -dark and lifeless. But when it returned to Earth to report the end of -Man's ambitions for further conquest, it turned out that one planet -had not been quite as lifeless as they had fancied. And the ship had -brought back its life--a virus against which terrestrial medicine was -powerless. - -Emrys could have fled the city; he could have fled the planet. But -somehow, after three years on Earth, he had not wanted to. He had spent -those years fulfilling the dreams that all young men dream in the murky -part of their souls but seldom have the chance to gratify. - -As soon as the inheritance was his, he had bought the most lavish -mansion that was available at the instant of his desire, furnished -it extravagantly, and prepared to enjoy himself. His pleasures were -many and, some of them, strange. At first his mistresses were human, -then non-human. Females of all the intelligent species, save the -Morethan, were to be found on Earth, and although consorting with -extraterrestrials was illegal, still a wealthy man had never been too -much troubled by laws. - -But women--females--represented only a fraction of his pleasures, as -did the terrestrial vices. He indulged heavily in rrilla, zbokth, -mburrje, and all the other outworld pursuits that had been imported -from the planets where the native life had been intelligent enough for -decadence. - - * * * * * - -However, though he pushed his body a thousand times beyond what should -have been the limits of his endurance, the distress he had suffered -during the first hours of his landing on Earth did not recur. He -remained as clear of eye and trim of form as ever; each physical excess -seemed only to improve his splendid health. - -Oddly, he did not seem to enjoy these pleasures as much as he had -anticipated. Something seemed lacking. It was always like this when -you dreamed too long about something, he told himself; no result ever -equaled its expectation. And he took another one of the sparkling pills -from Morethis. They provided the only satisfaction he seemed able to -get. - -Emrys had been wrong about Uvrei's indifference. He apparently did -consider Emrys his responsibility, over and above the material details -of the bargain. The Morethans regarded all those of alien species as -enemies, and all those outside the clan as unfriends. Therefore, Emrys -began to realize the ceremonies of adoption he had gone through were -more than merely honorific or ritual--they had been genuine. It was an -uncomfortable conclusion. - -"Well, son of my spirit," Uvrei would keep asking, "is this what you -wanted?" - -"This is what I wanted, father of my soul," Emrys would agree. And it -was what he had asked, what he had _thought_ he wanted. - -The ancient one would smile and say, "Then I am content," and recombine -into fog. And Emrys would wonder whether the Morethans had not _known_ -before they granted him his heart's desire that it would turn to dust -and ashes when he had it. Then he would dismiss the thought, telling -himself maybe he'd been too impatient for pleasure. After all, how -could he, sprung full-blown into a quasi-alien society, hope to become -an integral part of it all at once? - -So he had waited ... one year, two years, three years. At the end of -the fourth, the plague had struck. And he had stayed on Earth, because -going to another planet somehow did not seem worthwhile. He was able -to take care of his house alone, since the servants had been primarily -for show, and the great Dyall machine--which was all the house, -essentially, was--could run itself. Whenever a part of it broke down, -he repaired it himself, glad of the opportunity to have something to do -with his hands. - -Finally he realized that he must be immune; hence a lifetime waited -ahead of him. So he turned to learning, for the vast libraries of tapes -and books remained changeless amid the disaster. He read and he learned -a great deal, and if he could not derive pleasure from this, at least -there was a deep intellectual appreciation that almost took its place. - -The doctors on Ndrikull, the most advanced of the other planets, at -last managed to find a serum that would kill the plague--that is, -they maintained it was their serum that had killed it. Some suggested -that the virus had died because Earth's environment had eventually -proved hostile to it. But Earth did not die, even though most of its -people had, because the great machines that took care of it--the Dyall -machines--had kept functioning. - -Gradually, most of the people who had fled to the other planets came -back, and those who had survived in the country returned to the -cities. Earth was restored to its former splendor as the social and -political capital of the Galaxy, though Ndrikull now was the financial -center and rivaled Earth for artistic honors. But still Emrys stuck to -his books. Once in a while, he would sink himself for a week or a month -in what would be, for other men, physical pleasure, just to see if his -reactions had changed, but they had grown even more impersonal. - - * * * * * - -When Emrys Shortmire had been ten years on Earth, he eventually ran -into Nicholas Dyall, at the opening of a scientific exposition. As soon -as he saw Dyall in the crowd, he turned to go, but Dyall had seen him -at the same time, and hurriedly limped across the room. - -"You must be Emrys Shortmire," he declared, in a voice of surprising -resonance for so old a man. "You look so much like Jan, I couldn't be -mistaken." Grasping his stick with one hand for support, he extended -the other to Emrys, who could not refuse it. "But you are so young...." - -"I'm older than I look," Emrys said uncomfortably; then remembered to -add, "You were a friend of my father's, sir?" - -"A hundred years ago, yes. My name is Nicholas Dyall." - -"I've heard of you; you're the man who--who invented all those -machines," Emrys said, trying not to sound too ingenuous. "I've heard -people say you revolutionized our technology as much as--" - -"As much as your father revolutionized our civilization? Yes, both of -us are responsible for a great deal. Luckily, your father is dead." - -"Luckily?" Emrys echoed. - -"Luckily for him, I mean." The old man sighed. "But you are too young -to understand." Then his dark face relaxed into a smile. "I won't ask -if you received the letter I sent when you first arrived on Earth. I -can understand that a young man would wish the society of other--young -people." - -Emrys avoided Dyall's eye, and, so doing, met the gaze of the girl -standing next to the old man, and stopped, transfixed. She was very -young, less than forty, he judged, perhaps even less than thirty. - -It was long since he had seen a woman like her. Her hair was a soft -yellow, the only natural color among all the women in the room. Her -face was painted pink and white, not the blues fashionable that year. -Instead of being twisted and bedizened with cloth into fantastic shapes -and protuberances, her pretty body was clad in a simple translucent -slip. Yet, in spite of her almost deliberate dowdiness, she was -beautiful--not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but the -most ... no, striking was not it, either. What _was_ the word he -wanted? He could not dredge it out of the pool in which so many of his -memories had been submerged for want of room. - -"This is my great-great-granddaughter Megan," Dyall introduced her. The -girl nodded and smiled. After a moment, Emrys forced himself to do the -same. - -"I won't press you to come visit us, Mr. Shortmire," Dyall said to -Emrys as he and his descendant finally turned to leave, "but I hope -that you will." - -"We should be so glad to see you," the girl said, with a shy smile. - -"Perhaps--perhaps I will come," he found himself saying. "One -day." The two men shook hands, and Nicholas Dyall and his -great-great-granddaughter moved away. Emrys stared after them for a -minute; then, without paying any attention to the exhibits, he went -back to his house and spent the rest of the evening staring at the -falling flakes in his snowplace. - -For years, he had thought he'd lost any capacity to feel. Now he knew -that was not true ... because he had been moved by Megan Dyall. How, -he could not say--not even whether it was love or hate he felt toward -her--but he _felt_. That was the important thing, and, because of that, -he had to take the risk and call on them. - - * * * * * - -He waited a week, then went to the Dyall house--a mansion, less -ostentatious than his, but probably more expensive. Dyall greeted him -warmly. "I'm glad you decided to come. Your father and I were not close -friends, but he was the only one left of my generation whom I knew. It -was a shock to hear of his passing, even though I hadn't seen him for a -century or so." - -"You've lived for such a long time, Grandpa," Megan said in her high, -sweet voice, "it's hard to imagine. But why doesn't everybody get the -longevity treatment, so we can all live a long time?" - -"Because it's difficult and expensive," her ancestor said, smiling over -her golden head at Emrys. "Because the old must make way for the young. -It is only given to those whose lives, the government feels, should be -prolonged, either because of the contributions they can still make, or -whose contributions have already been so great that this is the only -fitting reward." - -The girl stared at him with large blue eyes. "Does that mean you will -live forever, Grandpa?" - -"No," the old man told her. "All our science can give is an extra -half century. I don't know how long my life span would have been, but -I'm past the average and the extra half century, and so I'm living on -borrowed time." - -The blue eyes filled with tears. "I don't want you to die, Grandpa. I -don't want to grow old and die, either." - -Dyall looked down at her, and there was, Emrys thought, an odd -perplexity in his gaze. Didn't he find it natural for a young girl not -to like the idea of old age, of death? - -"But I shall want to die when my time comes, Megan," Dyall said. "We -all will." Gently, he touched her cheek. "Perhaps, by the time you make -your contribution to society, scientists will know how to give youth as -well as extra years. More years are not really much of a gift to the -old." - -"But I can't do anything, Grandpa," she sobbed. "I have nothing to -contribute." - -It was an outrage, Emrys thought, that this woman, by being the essence -of femininity, should be denied the ultimate reward society had to -offer. Motherhood alone should entitle her.... He was, of course, -already envisioning himself as the father of her children. _But could -he be a father?_ - -Old Dyall was saying, "Perhaps, Megan, by the time you are old enough, -our government will be wise enough to realize that beauty, of itself, -deserves the greatest reward Man can give." He turned to Emrys. -"Forgive me for getting so sentimental, but Megan looks as uncannily -like her great-great-grandmother--my wife--as ... you look like your -father. I can't bear to think she must die, too. It's a pity there is -no way she can stay young and beautiful for all time." - -Emrys found his fists clenching. The fingers were cold. - -"Alissa's portrait was painted just before I married her," the old man -said. "She was just about Megan's age then. Come, I'd like you to see -it." - -_No!_ something inside Emrys cried out, but he could not -courteously--or any other way--refuse to follow the old man. - -They went into another room. Hanging over the mantelpiece was the -painting of a girl in old-fashioned clothes. Anyone, not knowing, would -have taken her to be Megan. But Emrys knew she was not, and suddenly he -let himself remember what it was that Megan meant to him ... and why he -hated Nicholas Dyall with such coruscating fury. - - -IV - -"You should have sent for me to come to you, Mr. Hubbard," Nicholas -Dyall said, with a gentle pity that infuriated the old lawyer, who knew -that he himself was young enough to be Dyall's grandson. Hubbard was -jealous--he would not conceal it from himself--bitterly jealous. It had -not been hard for him to rationalize Jan Shortmire's gift of years as -a worthless one; that old man's bitterness and disillusionment had not -inspired envy. But this hale and rosy old man seemed to be enjoying his -years. - -_I may not have made any signal contribution to human welfare_, Hubbard -thought resentfully, _but I have done my best. Why must I die at an age -fifty years short of the age which this man is allowed to reach?_ - -"I am perfectly able to get about, Mr. Dyall," he said in icy tones, -"since I am in excellent health." - -Which he was, the doctor had told him, adding, however, "for your age." - -"What is more," Hubbard continued, "since I was on Ndrikull, it might -have seemed rather presumptuous for me to send for you; whereas I had -always been planning to return to Earth one day. I left at the time of -the plague." - -"You were wise. I merely retired to the country. I escaped the -virus, but the rest of my family was less fortunate. I have but one -remaining--my great-great-granddaughter." - -"Yes," Hubbard said, "I know. It's because of her I've come to see -you." - -He had not really planned ever to return to Earth. Ndrikull had been -comfortable and a man of his age did not risk a trip through space -unless the need was urgent. The memory of Emrys Shortmire had disturbed -him from time to time, but, he thought, probably the young man had died -of the plague. Even if he had not, what good would it do for Peter -Hubbard to be present on Earth? He could not counteract the presence of -an evil force without knowing the quality of that evil. - -Then, picking up the kind of journal he did not usually read, he -had seen mentioned the fact that Jan Shortmire's son was "courting" -Nicholas Dyall's great-great-granddaughter. And he had known the need -was now urgent. He must go back to Earth and warn someone; it was his -duty. A letter could not convey the hatred and fear with which the -young man had inspired him. Obviously, old Dyall had been the person to -warn. Yet he did not seem right. - -_I do not like this man_, Hubbard thought. And then: _This is the -second man I have taken such an instant dislike to. Can it be senility -rather than perceptiveness, and have I been foolish to come all this -way?_ - -"You've come because of Megan?" Dyall raised eyebrows that were still -thick and black. "Have you met her? Do you know her?" His voice -sharpened. "She has never spoken of you." - -"I have never met her," Hubbard said, and saw Dyall relax. Hubbard -waited, but the other man said nothing, so he went on, "I wanted to -talk to you about the man she's been seeing, this Emrys Shortmire." -Leaning forward, Hubbard spoke slowly, as if, by giving weight to -each word, he could make them sound less fantastic. "He's a monster. -Literally, I mean. His mother was a Morethan. Or _is_. For all I know, -she may still be alive." - - * * * * * - -Hubbard had not thought of this before, and it shook him. Yet, if Iloa -Tasqi was alive, then Emrys Shortmire must be considered to be, to all -intents and purposes, Morethan entirely, working only for the interests -of that planet. After all, his mother had been the only parent the -boy had known. Even on Clergal, he must have been brought up under a -strong Morethan influence. Now, if the female was still alive, then the -influence would be alive, too. Since Morethans were not permitted on -Earth, there would be an obvious advantage for them in having someone -here. - -Dyall was holding back a smile, not too well. "I didn't know a human -and a Morethan could--ah--breed together." - -And, obviously, he didn't believe it. There was no way Hubbard could -prove it, unless he asked Emrys to produce his birth certificate again. -"It isn't generally known that the two species can reproduce together," -he finally said, "nor should it be." - -Then he looked directly in Dyall's black eyes--impossible that eyes -so keen should be so deliberately blind, that any aware human being -should not have sensed _something_ of that dark aura. "Haven't you felt -something strange about young Shortmire?" he asked. - -"Can't say I have," Dyall chuckled. "He seems an agreeable enough young -fellow." - -"He's sixty-five years old." - -"Really? I should have taken him to be younger. But youth lasts longer -these days. And there's--" Dyall gave a little laugh--"no crime in -being old, or you and I would be in prison, wouldn't we?" - -Hubbard would not let himself be distracted. "He looked less than forty -when he came to Earth, and he hasn't, I understand, changed in the past -ten years." - -"Ten years is not so long." Dyall's swarthy hands began playing with -the ornaments on his desk. Clearly, he was impatient to be rid of -his tedious caller, and Hubbard struggled with the instinctive good -breeding that told him to get up and leave. This was not a social call, -so it did not matter that he was boring his host, however. - -On the other hand, he was not getting anywhere. Perhaps he could -_blast_ the other out of his smugness. "Look, Dyall, I know this is an -outrageous thing for a man of my profession to say. I haven't a shred -of proof, not a suspicion--but I'm morally sure he killed his father." - -Instead of showing shock or anger or even thought, Dyall merely gave -him a tolerant smile. "You're an old man, Mr. Hubbard. We're both old -men," he amended graciously, "so we're apt to--jump at shadows." - -_I'm an old man_, Hubbard thought angrily, _and you're an old fool!_ - -"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the young man," Dyall -continued, "or not-so-young man, if you prefer. He appears to be very -fond of Megan, and if he should choose to marry her, it would ease my -mind considerably. I've exceeded my life span myself, you know." - -Since Peter Hubbard had done the same, and his span was considerably -shorter, he had no sympathy. "You'd--let the strain continue?" - -"Perhaps it's a good strain. I understand the Morethans are said to be -immortal. If so, the genes might be a desirable addition to our own." - -He was laughing openly now. Hubbard almost wept with helplessness. -There must be _something_ he could do. But what? He could not take the -trip to Morethis; he would certainly die on the way. And what could -he do there? There was no guarantee that, if there was anything to be -found, he would find it, or even if he reached the planet alive, that -he would go back alive. - -"Won't you stay and dine with us tonight, Mr. Hubbard?" Dyall asked. - -"No--no, thank you," Hubbard said, feeling no necessity for making an -excuse. The offer had represented only the barest kind of courtesy. - -Dyall got up. "Perhaps another night then?" - -"Perhaps." Hubbard rose to his feet also, trying to appear brisk and -alert and _young_. At least he could walk without aid, he thought, -staring pointedly at the stick leaning against the wall. "I would -rather you didn't tell Shortmire I had come to see you about him." - -"Of course not, if you wish." - -But Hubbard knew Dyall would not keep the stranger's visit from his -friend. Odd that Dyall and young Shortmire should be friends. Not so -odd either, though; young Shortmire had no reason to love his father. -Besides, although Jan Shortmire had hated Nicholas Dyall, that did not -mean Nicholas Dyall had hated Jan Shortmire, or even knew of the other -man's animosity. - - * * * * * - -As he was riding back to his hotel, Hubbard let his tired old body -indulge the aches and pains that were its rightful heritage. As his -body relaxed, his mind relaxed, and he began to think more clearly. -Perhaps Dyall would not listen to him--perhaps Dyall had some reason -for not listening--but the government might. - -What young Shortmire might have done as a human, they would consider a -matter for local law--but the fact that human and Morethan had begotten -offspring would interest them. The fact that the Morethans might have -managed at last to get a spy on Earth would interest them. If Emrys -would not surrender his birth certificate, they could get another from -Clergal. Only, would the government's representative believe Hubbard -enough to get that birth certificate? Or would they, like Dyall, -dismiss him as a doddering old fool? - -The private humiliation had been hard enough; he hated to risk a public -one. But it was his duty to tell officialdom of his suspicions, he knew -miserably. Never again could he think with pride of himself as a worthy -citizen if he didn't at least make the attempt. Never again could -he let himself feel a justifiable jealousy of those with endowments -superior to his, if he did not prove himself worthy of what he had. - -Well, there was no hurry; he would sleep on it. He was mistaken. In -the morning, before he had even started to decide upon any course of -action, the front desk called to announce that a Mr. Shortmire wished -to see him. - -"Very well," the old lawyer said wearily into the machine, _to_ the -machine, for it was the Dyall itself speaking. "Send him up." - -A short while later, there was a rap on the door. "Come in," Hubbard -called. - -The door slid open. A man entered, a tawny golden youth with eyes like -burnished metal. "Do you know who I am, Peter?" - -"Of course," Hubbard said, faintly disgusted, since he considered -melodrama vulgar. "You're Emrys Shortmire." - -"You're wrong," the man said. "I'm Jan Shortmire." - - -V - -Emrys Shortmire had gone home the night Dyall had shown him the -portrait of his long-dead wife, and Emrys had dreamed, not of Megan -Dyall, but of Alissa Embel, Megan's great-great-grandmother, whom he -had wanted a hundred years before, and who had married Nicholas Dyall. -Consciously, he had forgotten her, but at the back of his mind, she -had, for over a century, walked hand in hand with his hatred. - -That night he understood what he had not realized then. He had -completed the engines with which he had been tinkering for years -with a real vengeance. He had taken the first starship out into -space himself--when no one had faith in his engines, least of all -himself--merely "to show her" what a great man he was, even if he died -in the showing. In his spite, he had opened up the stars for mankind. - -And when he returned, years later, he found that Dyall, too, had -stopped tinkering and had changed the pattern of his gadgets to one -more acceptable to the public taste. Before, they had operated quite -satisfyingly, but they had not been salable in the shape he had given -them, and no manufacturer had been interested in leasing the patents. -Now that he had yielded, manufacturers were falling all over themselves -to get the right to produce his machines. - -Dyall's was not as soul-stirring a success as Shortmire's--he did not -inspire cheering crowds and parades--but a more enduringly popular -one. The Shortmire engines carried humanity to the stars, but it was -the Dyall machines that cooked humanity's dinners and kept its houses -clean. So humanity respected Jan Shortmire and took Nicholas Dyall to -its collective heart. - -Emrys awakened, remembering all this and rigid with loathing for -Nicholas Dyall, and for the world which had allowed Nicholas Dyall to -take from him something he had wanted. Something which had, as soon as -he'd known for sure he'd lost it forever, become what he wanted most. -And also he hated the world which had given Alissa Embel to Dyall -and had then proceeded to heap on him in addition every honor Jan -Shortmire himself had won in an effort to make up for what he'd lost. -Jan Shortmire had risked his life in space; Nicholas Dyall had sat -comfortably in his chair--and both were equally honored. - -Then Emrys--as Emrys--caught hold of himself. It was true that -originally there had been injustice. But it had been righted and so -there was no more reason to hate Dyall. _I have a second chance, but he -will have none. I will live out another full lifetime, and I will have -Megan, too, and he'll die in a few years. And as for the world, I have -already revenged myself on it in advance._ - -He got up and pulled a spun-metal robe about him, amethyst and sable--a -gift from Morethis. There was always a costly gift on his birthday, -either out of kindness or cruelty, together with a vial of the golden -capsules. - -What a pity, he thought, as he went downstairs, that Dyall and the -world both would never know the truth: that Jan Shortmire had no son, -that Emrys and Jan Shortmire were one. - - * * * * * - -The Morethans first came to Jan Shortmire when, approaching his natural -old age, he had traveled as a visitor to their planet--largely because -old men did not go to Morethis--and they had made him their offer. He -had laughed in their dark and exquisite faces. - -"My own government will give me fifty years more of life," he said, -for he had heard, during the voyage out, that he would be on the next -honors list. "What need do I have of you?" - -"We can give you far more than fifty years," they'd told him. "And -youth, besides." - -At that, he had stopped laughing, but still he had not accepted their -offer, for many reasons ... doubt and fear, perhaps some shreds of -honor, and certainly, since he was a man of science, skepticism. - -Then, when Shortmire was nearing the end of those fifty extra -years which had, indeed, been granted him by a grateful Earth -government--together with a plaque, suitably inscribed--he had -received a gift. It was one of those great crystalline prisms from -Morethis that were so fashionable on Earth as lighting fixtures, not -because they saved fuel--for one such prism would cost ten lifetimes -of fuel--but because they gave a light no Earthborn device could give, -making the old look young, the stupid wise, and, most important of all, -the ugly beautiful. - -Shortmire looked into the lambent depths, wondering who had sent him so -costly and so useless a gift. Suddenly the flame vitrified into a face -that flashed up at him from the crystal--a face that was beautiful in -its horror, and horrible in its beauty. He closed his eyes, but when he -opened them, the iridescent eyes were still there, mocking him for his -cowardice. - -"I am Uvrei," a deep voice of tingling sweetness said, "god among gods -and man among men. I bring you greetings from Morethis, Jan Shortmire." - -Shortmire knew well enough what Uvrei must want, for the Morethans' -long-ago offer had risen of late to the top of his thoughts. They could -not do what they claimed, he had tried to reassure himself, whenever -the memory returned; it was a trick which he had been clever enough not -to fall for. But part of his mind did not believe this, and that part -was glad to see Uvrei. - -"What do you want of me?" he demanded. - -The Morethan smiled, and each glittering tooth was a fiery brilliant. -"The same as before, on the same terms," he said, offering no -enticements. The man who would accept such an offer would provide his -own. - - * * * * * - -If they were capable of doing this ... thing with the crystal, then -they might also have other powers. So Shortmire could no longer pretend -that what they offered him was impossible. On the other hand, what they -required of him in return was truly terrible. Could they really do what -they said? - -_After all, my world has not done overmuch for me. Others, like -Nicholas Dyall, have wealth and power and...._ He would not let himself -think of Alissa Dyall, since she must long be dead, of old age, if -nothing else. The last he had heard of her was when she and Dyall had -announced their wedding date. Then he had taken the ship fitted out -with the engines everyone said would not work, and he had fled into -space. When he had come back, no one had spoken of her, and gradually, -in his new-found importance, he had to some degree forgotten her, -though he never forgot Dyall. - -Pity to think of Alissa as having grown old. Even more of a pity to -think of himself as having grown old, for he could see that in every -mirror he passed. - -"You're sure you can give me youth as well as life?" he asked. - -"Not only youth, but perpetual youth," Uvrei assured him. "Youth such -as you did not know even when you were young." - -But Shortmire was still suspicious. Even if the Morethans could do what -they said, how did he know they would? An alien concept of honor might -have no reference to the terrestrial one. "How do I know I can trust -your word?" - -Uvrei's face grew black, literally black, and the crystal shivered -until, Emrys thought, it would split. And he shivered, too, knowing in -the fine nerves and little muscles of his body what would happen to him -at the final shivering. A fear filled him then that he had never known -before, not even when he faced space for the first time, and in the -midst of that fear came the thought that, if he truly hated Earth, this -was the most artistically nasty revenge he could take. - - * * * * * - -The crystal trembled to stillness as Uvrei's face paled to composure. -"If you were not an Earthman, Jan Shortmire," he said, "we would not -have needed you, nor you us. And an Earthman could not be expected -to know that the words you have just spoken are the insult that, on -Morethis, is deadlier than death; for the word of an immortal--no -matter to whom or what he gives it--is as sacred and enduring as he -himself." - -"I apologize," Shortmire said quickly, "for my ignorance." - -"And I forgive you," Uvrei declared, as grandly as if he _were_ a god, -"because of that ignorance. Moreover, since you cannot help your racial -deficiencies, I will make this bargain with you. Come to Morethis. -There we will give you the life and youth we promised. Then, when you -are satisfied that we have given you what you desire, you will give us -what we desire." - -Not having been too honorable a man in his own hundred and fifty-five -years, Jan Shortmire still could not believe that the Morethans would -act in all honor. However, even the remote possibility that they would -play fair was strong temptation for an ardent man pushing death. So -he had agreed. He had wound up his affairs and made his will in favor -of "his son." Then he had left Earth to go to Morethis, to die as Jan -Shortmire and he resurrected as Emrys Shortmire. - -The Morethans had kept their word, though there were times when he -wished they had not. For no phoenix casting itself into the fire to -burn alive in agony, so that it might rise again, young and strong and -purified, from the ashes of its own dead self, could have suffered the -excruciating torment of both mind and body that he suffered as, little -by little, he was made young again. - -Uvrei had warned him that this would happen. "To become one of us, you -must be capable of all-endurance." So, for three years, he had lived -on the miasmic planet, suffering unending, unbearable pain--not only -his, but of the others whose lives went to make his new life. Slowly, -agonizingly, these were stirred into the shrieking cauldrons of his -body, until they blended and melted and coalesced to become his new -shape. - -Then Uvrei had led him ceremoniously to a reflecting glass and shown -him Emrys Shortmire--a boy far more handsome than the boy Jan Shortmire -had been, though, at the same time, his twin. The only thing not quite -human about Emrys Shortmire was his eyes, and how could they be human -after what they had seen? But he would forget all that once he was back -on Earth, forget the payment that had been exacted--and prepare to live -his new life to the full. - - * * * * * - -All this Emrys Shortmire told Peter Hubbard in the quiet of the -expensive hotel room. It was pleasant to be able to unburden himself at -last. For the past eleven years, there had been a secret side of him -that must always walk apart, even from Megan. Now there was someone who -could know the whole of him, and he was grateful to Hubbard for having -come back to Earth. - -But Hubbard sat there staring with so fixed a gaze that, for a moment, -Emrys thought he was dead. Then he realized that it was only shock; all -this had been too much for so old a man. Selfishly, he had heaped his -burden upon another, without asking whether that other was willing, or -able, to share it. - -"Peter," he began, "I'm sorry...." not quite sure for what he was -apologizing. He could not have trusted the old man at the beginning, -just as he _had_ to trust him now. But of course he was apologizing to -Peter Hubbard, as the representative of humanity, for what he himself -had done to Earth. - -He began to give unasked-for explanations. "I deliberately made you -suspect I killed my father, because if you suspected one of us had done -away with the other, why, then, you'd automatically have assumed there -were two." He looked down at the floor. "And I wanted you to hate me. -We couldn't be friends; otherwise, knowing me better than anyone else -alive, you might have guessed...." - -"I doubt it," Hubbard said wearily. "Almost anything else would have -seemed more likely." Presently he asked, "Weren't you afraid I might -investigate?" - -Emrys smiled. "What could you find out? After all, I _hadn't_ killed -Jan Shortmire." - -The smile became a little fixed. "I wouldn't have cared even if you had -told someone your suspicions then," Emrys went on doggedly, "because I -knew no one would believe you. But now--" he colored--"well, I don't -want you to tell Megan Dyall anything ... bad about me. You see, I ... -love her." - -"I gathered that impression," Hubbard said. - -_But why does he sound so unhappy about it?_ Emrys thought angrily. -_What's wrong with me?_ Because he was in love, he could not appreciate -the irony of that thought. - - -VI - -Peter Hubbard looked at his old friend with the young face and the -young body and the eyes that were unhuman--but less so than before. -This was a frightful thing that had been done, and by and by he would -feel the full horror of it. Right now he was too numb to care. He felt, -as Emrys Shortmire must have felt on coming back to Earth, detached and -without interest. _But I've felt this way before_, he thought; _it's -because I'm old._ - -"Were you really satisfied with your bargain, Jan?" he asked, almost -casually. - -"Not at first," the boy admitted, sinking down on the couch and -clasping his hands around his knees. So young, so graceful, and -so ... unnatural. "It seemed to me then that the Morethans had given me -youth and taken away humanity. Because, once I found I was physically -capable, I found I didn't really want the things I had craved so much -before." - -"So they did trick you?" When all was said and done, Hubbard thought, -you could never trust an alien life-form, a foreigner. - -"No, _no_! You still don't understand. The way I see it is that ... -certain elements in us may not mean anything to them. They don't know -they're there, so they wouldn't realize that anything got lost in ... -the process." - -"Do you think, Jan," Hubbard asked slowly, "that the way you felt--or -didn't feel--might not have anything to do with the Morethans at all? -That, for all your young body, you are an old man and feel like an old -man?" - -"Nonsense! I know what it is to feel like an old man, and I know what -it is to feel like a young man, and I--I felt like neither." - -"When a man has lived a certain number of years," Hubbard said, knowing -that envy gave the truth relish, "he is an old man. Age is in the mind -and heart, not only in the body." - -"That's a lie!" Then Emrys said, more calmly, "If that's so, why did -everything change when I met Megan? Because I found then that my -emotions had not been lost! I had a feeling for her that I'd never had -for another woman--not even for Alissa, I think. I hadn't imagined -there could be a woman like Megan in the world, so sweet and amiable -and completely feminine." He looked angrily at Hubbard. "You think I'm -sentimental, don't you?" - -Hubbard tried to smile. "There's nothing wrong with sentiment." But -sentimentality was characteristic of an old man's love. - -Emrys laughed and hugged his knees. He was overdoing the ingenuousness. -Of course he deliberately played the part of a boy young enough to -be his own great-great-grandson, because he was wooing a woman young -enough to be his own great-great-granddaughter. And Hubbard remembered -how he himself had attempted to move briskly before Nicholas Dyall. -Emrys Shortmire would not have the physical aches that he'd had as -a result, but could there be psychical aches? Could an old man ever -actually be young? - - * * * * * - -Emrys' face grew sober. "I've never touched her, Peter--really touched -her, I mean. She's not like other women, you know." - -"I know," Hubbard said, remembering back to the time when he, too, had -been in love. Only the memory was not tender in him, because he had -married the girl and lived with her for nearly seventy years. - -"Peter, you aren't listening!" - -"I'm sorry," the old man said, waking from his reverie. "What were you -saying?" - -"I said, do you think Megan would be willing to marry me, if she knew I -was older than her great-great-grandfather?" - -But there was a more important question that Hubbard could no longer -refuse to face. "Jan, what did you give the Morethans in return for -what they gave you?" - -"You haven't answered my question." - -"I can't answer it, because I don't know the girl. But you can answer -mine, because you know what you gave the Morethans." - -Emrys was silent for a moment; then he laughed. "I gave them my soul," -he said lightly. "Like that fellow in the opera." - -"I know that. What I'm afraid of is that it wasn't enough. In what form -did you give it to them, Jan?" - -"You have no right to catechize me like that." - -The old man's voice was soft. "I think I have." - -Emrys was a long time in answering. When he finally spoke, his voice -was flat and dead. "All right, I gave them the blueprints for the -space-warp engines. What else did I have to give them in exchange?" - -Hubbard expelled a long breath. He had answered this question for -himself many minutes before. Still, the shock of confirmation was too -great. All hope was gone now. "Perhaps you had a right to sell your own -soul, Jan, but you had no right to sell humanity's." His good breeding -held up all the way. This man had betrayed the whole of mankind, and so -he, Peter Hubbard, reproached him gently for it. Though, come to think -of it, what good would savage recrimination--or anything--do? - -"But _you_ don't have to worry about it, Peter!" Emrys cried. "Listen, -the Morethan technology is so alien, so different from ours, because -it's based on mental rather than physical forces, that it'll take -centuries before they can acquire the techniques they'll need to build -the engines. And they'll have trouble getting the materials. We'll both -have been long in our graves by the time they'll reach Earth." - -"And that makes it all right? It doesn't matter to you what happens to -your own home planet once you are dead?" - - * * * * * - -The young-looking face was flushed. "Why should it? Does Earth care -what happens to me? During the plague, they cursed my name because I -invented the star-engines. That's the only time Earth remembered me." - -"During the plague, men were insane, Jan," Hubbard said, knowing his -own sweet reasonableness was ludicrous under the circumstances, "not -responsible for what they said. They don't curse your name any more." - -"No, they've forgotten it." Emrys looked at Hubbard with blazing, -unhuman eyes. "Why should you expect me to put their welfare before my -own?" - -"You must, if the race is to survive." - -Hubbard expected Emrys to say, "Why should it survive?" but apparently -there was a grain of emotion left here. "It will survive. The Morethans -are not--" the word seemed to stick in Emrys' throat--"monsters." - -"Jan," Hubbard said in a monotone, "eleven years ago, after you came to -Earth for your inheritance, I became interested in Morethis--naturally -enough, I suppose. I started scanning everything I could lay my hands -on, and I learned a great deal about it--as much, I believe, as anyone -off Morethis knows. Except, of course, you." - -Emrys rose and began to pace the floor. "Nobody really knows anything -about Morethis. Most of what has been written is a--a pack of lies. One -liar copied from another, and so they perpetuate the lie. Scandal has -always sold better than truth!" - -Hubbard said, "There is a legend that the Morethans once had limited -space travel, though no way of warping space to bring the distant stars -closer, since they did not use engines. But there were many stars close -to them, and they traveled from system to system, sucking each one dry. -Then there were no living planets left in their sector of space, and -their engineless ships could not bridge the gap to the next cluster, so -they found themselves trapped on a dying planet that revolved around a -dying star, and they, as a race, began to die themselves." - -Emrys tried to laugh. "Looks like a fine case of poetic justice, but--" - -"Wait. I haven't finished. The race did not die completely; it decayed. -Certain among the people stayed alive through sucking the lives of -the others; certain among them still kept some vestiges of the old -traditions and knowledge; certain among them waited." - -"Is that the end of your story?" - -Hubbard nodded. Emrys' face was ashen. "Well, it's an old wives' tale," -he sputtered. "All the Morethans want is to be able to compete on an -equal basis with Earth. They don't want to be exploited, nor do they -intend to...." As his eyes caught Hubbard's, his voice trailed off. -"Anyhow, I'll be dead," he said. "I don't give a damn what happens -after I'm dead." - - * * * * * - -Hubbard didn't believe it. He couldn't. There is no man who has not -some love for his own kind, be it ever so little, merely because they -look like him. - -"You won't tell anybody who I really am?" Emrys asked childishly. -"You're still my friend, aren't you?" - -Hubbard sighed. Was he still this creature's friend? He didn't know. -"Who would believe me?" he finally asked. "And even if they did, what's -the use? Nothing can be done. The only thing that's ever protected us -from the Morethans is distance. When they reach Earth, they will have -already conquered us. Mental powers are always stronger than physical -powers at close range." - -"That's right." Emrys seemed to be relieved at the idea that the -question was out of his hands. "Too late now to do anything about it." - -Hubbard nodded. There was no way out that he could see. - -"But you _do_ promise not to tell old Dyall that I'm my father instead -of me?" Emrys asked anxiously. - -"Even if he believed me, he wouldn't care. All he wants is a good -match for that great-great-granddaughter of his." - -But was that all? As far as money went, Nicholas Dyall was reputed to -be the richest man alive. And if he was truly fond of the girl, would -he not at least have investigated the young man? - -"You're _hard_!" Emrys complained, but without rancor. - -"I have a suspicious nature," Hubbard said thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's -the legal mind. At any rate, I don't care for Nicholas Dyall." - -"Well, I don't either, but I don't really give a hang what kind of a -great-great-grandfather-in-law I'm getting. All I care about is Megan. -Do you think it's wrong for me to ask her to marry me?" - -"Can't you understand that, at this stage, the girl doesn't matter?" - -"No," Emrys said simply. "I cannot imagine her not mattering." - -After he had gone, Hubbard still found himself thinking about Nicholas -Dyall. In his whole lifetime, the old lawyer had personally known -only two men whom society had deemed worthy of its highest honor, the -longevity treatment. And these were more than most men had met, for the -longevity treatment was given to very few. Both of the two, Dyall and -Shortmire, had some defect in their personalities that warped them--all -but completely, in Shortmire's case--away from the human virtues. - -Was that defect a part of the creative talent that had earned the -individual his right to the treatment? Or did it arise as an effect -of the treatment itself? Because, if that was the case, then Earth's -longevity treatment might be nothing more than a primitive form of the -Morethan "process." - -Since only straws remained to be grasped at, no one thing Hubbard did -would be more futile than any other. And since he had nothing better to -do, he might just as well investigate this new avenue. Jan Shortmire -had hated Nicholas Dyall. Had Nicholas Dyall hated Jan Shortmire with -equal venom? And, if so, had he done anything about it? - - -VII - -A Gong sounded and a mechanical voice announced, "Mr. Peter Hubbard to -see Mr. Dyall and Mr. Shortmire." - -"Do you mean to say he has the _gall_ to come see us, after the -accusations he made against you, Emrys?" Dyall demanded incredulously. -"I still can't understand why you sent him an invitation to the -wedding, but that he should make a casual social call...!" - -"We've come to terms." Emrys smiled. "After all, at his age, he can't -be held accountable for everything he says." - -"I'm at least fifty years older than he is!" the old engineer almost -spat. "And you--do you mean that I am not responsible for what I say?" - -Knowing that he was the other man's senior by some twenty years -himself, Emrys was malevolently pleased. "Some people retain their -faculties longer than others," he observed. "And Hubbard was my -father's friend, as well as his lawyer, so he's the closest thing to -a relative that I have on Earth. Except you, of course; you were my -father's friend, too." - -Dyall's lips tightened. "How does Hubbard know you're in this house -right now? Do you think he's having you followed?" - -It was possible, but Emrys didn't care. For almost a year now, his life -had been blameless, and, strangely, it suited him to live that way. -"I'm here in this house most of the time. It wouldn't be hard for him -to figure out where he could find me." - -The gong sounded again. Dyall looked undecided. - -"If _I_ can forgive him, sir," Emrys said gently, "surely _you_ can." - -"Show him in," Dyall rasped to the machine. - -Megan rose to go, but Emrys kept hold of her small, cold hand. "I'd -like you to meet Peter Hubbard, dear. He's really a nice old fellow -when you get to know him. Just a bit too much of a do-gooder, that's -all." - -Dyall snorted. - -"I shall be glad to know any friend of yours, Emrys," Megan said, -sitting down again obediently. - -After a moment, Peter Hubbard came into the room. "Peter, this is my -fiancée, Megan Dyall." Smilingly, Emrys waited for the usual inane -felicitations. He couldn't expect a man of Hubbard's age to be bowled -over by this loveliness, but still surely no man, no matter how -ancient, could be completely insensible to the girl's charm. - -Hubbard stood still and stared at her. "Amazing...." he murmured. -"Amazing...." Then he turned to Dyall. "You are to be congratulated, -sir." - -Emrys was annoyed. He knew Hubbard was too well-bred to make a remark -like that unintentionally. However, he pretended to be amused and said, -"You're supposed to congratulate _me_, Peter." - -But Hubbard continued his inexplicable rudeness by paying no attention -to Emrys and, instead, staring at Nicholas Dyall. And finally Dyall -said, with a strangled laugh, "I think perhaps in this instance Mr. -Hubbard is right." - -He threw himself into an easy chair with an attempt at nonchalance, -but it was embarrassingly apparent that his stick was not enough to -support him any more. His old body was trembling. And Emrys found that -he himself was trembling, too. - - * * * * * - -There was a painful silence. Everyone seemed to be waiting. Even Megan -glanced from one to the other with her usual expression of bright-eyed -interest. - -"Unfortunately, Mr. Hubbard," Dyall said at last, "you've reached your -conclusions too late to do anything except perhaps hasten an end that -is, you'll concede, by now inevitable." - -"Yes," Hubbard agreed, "you've won _your_ game." He came a little -further into the room, so that he was standing over the other old man. -"I do believe that, of the two, you are the worse. He did what he did -out of spite. You created that spite and kept it alive." - -Dyall's dark face flushed and his hands tightened on his cane. "But I -had a right to do what I did. And I hurt only one person. Two, if you -include me. Give me credit, at least, for the smallness of my scope." - -Hubbard glanced at Megan. And Dyall broke into the shrill cackle of an -old man. "But you know, you _know_, and still you think of her! How -sentimental can you get? Don't you realize--" - -"How much does she?" Hubbard said. "How much do you?" - -Emrys had become nearly frantic with frustration and bewilderment. He -was the one who had secrets; nobody else. Nothing was to be kept hidden -from _him_! "What are you two blabbering about?" he almost screamed. -"It doesn't make sense--any of it!" - -Hubbard turned toward him, his head and neck moving with the deliberate -precision of a piece of clockwork. "It makes very good sense, Jan. I -realized that I could find out nothing more from the stars, so I turned -my researches back to Earth. I've been investigating Mr. Dyall." - -"What did you find?" Emrys asked tensely. Why did Peter call him by his -former name in front of his former enemy? Had the old fool forgotten -his promise, or had he broken it on purpose? "_What did you find out?_" -he repeated. - -Hubbard's voice was filled with pity. "Just this: Nicholas Dyall never -did marry Alissa Embel." - -Emrys' fear exploded into a scarlet rage. "Then Megan is--" He advanced -on Dyall, his fists clenched. "If you took Alissa and then didn't--" - -Hubbard caught his arm in a frail grip. "Don't be so hasty, Emrys. -Dyall did no wrong to Alissa Embel, whatever wrong he may have done to -you." - -"Thank you," Dyall murmured, "for granting me that I gave her all I -had, but it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted--" his old eyes were -filled with hate as he looked at Emrys--"you." - -"Alissa Embel killed herself on the day before the wedding," Hubbard -told Emrys. "She, as we attorneys say, died without issue." - - * * * * * - -Emrys was glad that, since he could not have had Alissa, Dyall had not, -either. At the same time, he felt an overwhelmingly poignant sense of -sorrow, that he should have had three full lifetimes, and the woman he -had loved--insofar as Jan Shortmire had been capable of love--not even -one. - -He raised dull eyes to the two old men. "Then who is Megan?" - -Hubbard hesitated. But what worse could there be to tell? And then -the lawyer asked a ridiculous question, "Jan, do you know why Dyall's -machines didn't meet popular favor until he changed them?" - -Emrys plunged back once again into the well of his memories. "Nobody -wanted to buy machines that looked too much like people; it made -them ... uncomfortable. So Dyall stopped designing robots and made -machines adapted to their separate functions and--" His voice became a -cry of anguish. "_Megan!_" - -She turned her bland, smiling doll face toward him. "I'm sorry, Emrys," -the sweet voice said. - -Dyall's eyes were squeezed shut and something glistened on the edge -of them--something that Emrys would not admit were tears, because he -himself could never cry. - -"When Alissa died," Dyall said, "I knew I couldn't love another woman. -So I made a mechanical doll in her image. I made her the woman every -man dreams of--lovely and sympathetic and undemanding. And I told -myself she would be better than the original Alissa because she would -be perfect, and Alissa wasn't; she would stay young forever, while the -real Alissa would have grown old ... if she had lived. But it wasn't -the same for me." - -_Why was she the same for me, then?_ Emrys wondered bitterly. _Was it -because I didn't know? Is that all love is--self-deception?_ - -"Perhaps," Dyall went on, "Man cannot appreciate true perfection; -perhaps he's not good enough himself. Still, she was company of a sort -and so I kept her by me. And then, when I read of Emrys Shortmire's -arrival on Earth, I sent him a note, but he didn't answer; however, I -contrived to get a look at him anyway. Then I knew for sure that he was -Jan Shortmire himself; and then I knew what Megan's destiny was...." - -"How _could_ you know he--I was Jan Shortmire?" Emrys demanded angrily. -It was insupportable that old Dyall should have known all along; it -spoiled the joke. "Where would you have--have gotten the concept?" - -The old man smiled, opening his eyes. "Because the Morethans made me -the same offer they did you! Did you think you were the only one?" And, -throwing back his head, he derisively began to laugh aloud. - - * * * * * - -More than ever, Emrys hated the Morethans, not for what they would do -to Earth's pride, but for what they had done to his. Because now there -was nothing that he had been offered that Dyall had not been offered -also. And Dyall had not accepted the Morethans' offer, thereby proving -himself the better man. And Dyall had tricked him, thereby proving -himself the cleverer man. And Dyall had hated him even more than he -had hated Dyall, thereby proving himself the more constant man. So -there Emrys Shortmire, Jan Shortmire, was left ... with nothing but a -youthfulness of which, he had to admit to himself, he had grown rather -tired. - -"I'm sorry, Emrys," Megan said. "I'm terribly sorry." - -Dyall sprang from his chair. "I'm sick of that piping doll's voice of -yours! I've stood it for a century, and that's long enough!" Raising -his stick high in the air, he crashed it down upon the golden head, -the pretty pink and white face. And, frozen in horror, Emrys could -not move until it was too late. He had not conceived old Dyall capable -of committing outright murder so wantonly. Probably he wasn't; to him, -Megan was and had been always a doll. - -And now she was a heap of broken wheels and gears on the thick rug. -Still, out of the heap of twisted machinery, a tiny, tinny voice kept -repeating "I'm sorry, Emrys. I'm terribly sorry." - -Exhausted by his effort, Dyall sank back into his chair. And he laughed -as Emrys, wanting desperately to weep, unable to, bent over the pieces, -trying to fit them together again. - -"You'll never do it, Jan," he croaked maliciously. "Even a good -engineer would never be able to repair it now. If I know how to create, -I also know how to destroy!" And he went into another paroxysm of -gleefully triumphant laughter. - -Emrys saw that Megan was indeed far beyond his powers, and probably -old Dyall's, to repair. Filled with fury--the one emotion, he saw now, -that he had not given up--he turned to smash Nicholas Dyall as Dyall -had smashed his doll. But the old, old man sat perfectly still in his -chair. There was a broad grin on his face. - -He made a very cheerful corpse. - - -VIII - -Emrys Shortmire found that he did not want life any more. He went back -to his mansion and he tried to hang himself. But the rope would not -cut off his breath. He pointed a ray gun at his head, and although the -heat became intolerable, it did not burn him. He swallowed poison and -waited. Nothing happened. He threw himself off the roof and landed -unhurt upon the pavement below. He went back inside and slashed his -wrist and saw the cuts close before his eyes. And as he stared at -the unmarked skin, thick fog filled the room, and he heard Uvrei's -voice--and it was the greatest ignominy of all that the Morethan's -voice should _dare_ to hold compassion. - -"Don't you know, Emrys, that an immortal cannot die?" - -When Emrys forced himself to look at the ancient one, he saw that -the beautiful eyes were filled with an unhallowed pity. "You are an -immortal god, son of my spirit. You can destroy anything except one of -us--and you are one of us now." - -"I'm not one of you. I'm not a god, nor are you. I'm not...." Emrys -looked down at his wrists, then back at Uvrei. "But I may be immortal," -he acknowledged. "It wasn't just a figure of speech?" - -"You will never die, Emrys. You will exist forever, like us, a handful -of changelessness in a changing universe." - -"Then I _won't_ be dead when you come to Earth?" He had fancied himself -out of it, but what exquisite punishment that not until he had tired of -life had he found out he was cursed with unwanted life forever. He had -not been a good man, but was any man evil enough to deserve this? - -"When we come to Earth, you will be waiting for us. But you will look -forward to our coming." And Uvrei said once again, "You are one of us, -Emrys." - -"I'm not! I'm _not_!" - -"Of course you are. Like us, you do not breathe air--" - -"I do...." And then Emrys remembered that the rope had not cut off his -breath, and it might well have been because he had not been breathing. - -"Like us, you do not eat food." - -"But I do!" And here Emrys was genuinely perplexed. - -"We left you your digestive system, because part of the pleasure you -craved comes through that. But you could completely deny yourself the -food that you thought sustained you and feel no ill effects--at least -no physical ones. It's the pills that feed you, Emrys." - -"Well," Emrys said slowly, "they're food, then." - -"Of a sort. But not the kind you mean. You cannot exist without us and -our skills, Emrys. Each vial of pills consists of the mitogenetic force -of ten tons of life." - -"What kind of life?" Emrys asked. - -"Does it really matter?" - -"You said I cannot exist without you," Emrys pointed out shrewdly, -"that I need the pills. So I could stop taking them, couldn't I, and -starve myself to death?" - - * * * * * - -Uvrei smiled. "Yes, you could do that. Only it would take, say, about -fifteen hundred terrestrial years--perhaps, since we have given you -a strong, young body, as much as two thousand. Do you think you are -strong enough to starve yourself to death over a period of two thousand -years?" - -Emrys knew he was not. In that first anguish, all he could think of -to do was to humble himself before the Morethan. "I have served your -purpose. Why not be merciful to me now?" he pleaded. "At least let me -die." - -"I could not, even if I would. So little of our old powers remain. We -have kept the secret of perpetual life, but we have lost the secret of -perpetual death." - -"But that's the greater secret!" - -"Of course it is!" For the first time, Emrys saw the Morethan high -priest lose control. "Do you think I don't know what it is to crave -death?" - -After a silence, the voice, once more chillingly warm, said, "Come, -my son, being one of us, you have nothing to fear from our arrival. -You no longer have anything in common with these animals. You cannot -even--what is your word?--love them. When you tried, you fixed upon a -machine with the face of a memory." - -"Would a human being have known she was a machine?" - -"A human being would have known." - -"Then ... I am a machine, too? A machine created by mental, rather than -physical processes, but a machine nonetheless?" - -"In a sense," the alien said thoughtfully, "you could be called -that--though to compare you, as an artistic creation, with that -trumpery piece of gimcrack...." - -"Don't call her that!" Emrys shouted. "She's dead!" - -Uvrei began to laugh quietly. After a little, Emrys began to laugh, -too. "I'm being foolish," he said. - -"Extremely foolish," Uvrei agreed. "Resign yourself, my son, and accept -your fate. That is what we immortals have all had to do, one by one." - -Of course he could do that, Emrys thought. After all, he wouldn't be as -badly off as the other Earth people when the Morethans came; whatever -else happened, he, at least, could not be turned into a component part -of a little golden pill. Immortality was a dull future, but perhaps, -after the Morethans arrived, it would become more interesting. - -"Good-by, son of my spirit," Uvrei said. "We shall meet again -corporeally in a few centuries." The fog thickened about him and -disappeared, leaving its characteristic odor behind. - -And still Emrys could not resign himself. _Dyall could have had this, -too, if he had wanted it. This was what he was offered and what he was -strong enough to refuse. If I accept my fate, then I will always know -that I have come off second best to him._ And this prospect, more than -immortality, more than the knowledge of what would happen to Earth and -its people, was the one that Emrys found intolerable. - - -IX - -_Why doesn't he leave me alone?_ Peter Hubbard thought, as, wearily, he -told the Dyall machine to let Emrys Shortmire up. _I am a very old man -and I will die soon. Can't he leave me alone in the little time left?_ - -But he could not forget the obligations of courtesy. He was polite to -Emrys Shortmire when the other man came in. Even if he hadn't been, he -saw, Emrys wouldn't have noticed; he was too full of his own thoughts. - -"Peter," he cried, almost before he was fully in the room, "did you -know that, in dying, Nicholas Dyall won a final victory over me?" - -The old man muffled a yawn. "You mean you can't die? Well, I was afraid -of that. I am sorry for you, Jan, but you brought this upon yourself." - -"I know," Emrys said, looking a little disappointed that the knowledge -did not startle the lawyer. "I will be alive when they come," he went -on, more subdued. "I will be waiting, or so they think." - -"I imagine that's what they counted on," Hubbard said indifferently. -"You not only giving them the secret of the engines but acting as a--an -outpost. They didn't sell their wares cheap, did they?" - -Emrys' eyes flashed copper fire. "But I will _not_ be waiting to help -them. I will be waiting to _fight_ them." - -"Brave words." - -"You think I can't fight them?" - -"Of course you can't. They have powers far beyond yours. And why should -you want to fight them? I know you hadn't planned to be alive when they -came, but it won't be bad for you. You're one of them now." - -Emrys sat down on the couch. "Physically I am. That's why I _can_ -fight them. Look, Peter, I have centuries ahead of me. By giving me -immortality, they have also given me time." - -"Splendid. Time to do what?" - -"I don't know," Emrys confessed. "But time is such a valuable commodity -in itself. With it, I could learn how to turn their own powers against -them." - -"Easier said than done," Hubbard observed. - -"Maybe I could--oh--invent a machine that will amplify my mind powers -until it can overcome all of theirs...." - -Hubbard said nothing. - -"Well, then, the engines I gave them can't take them out of this galaxy -any more than those same engines can take humanity out of it. But, -given time, I can invent _new_ engines, Peter--engines that can jump -the gap from galaxy to galaxy. If I cannot give Man the weapons with -which to fight, at least I can give him the means by which to flee! -And, since I was the man who invented the one, I can be the man to -invent the other!" - - * * * * * - -That was true, Hubbard thought, hope rising in him, despite all his -efforts to hold it back. That was possible. But would Emrys do this? -Right now, in the first flush of repentance, he might try to. But if -the work grew tedious, might he not say to himself: _Why bother? I'm -bound to live forever, anyway. Why should I care what happens to the -others of my kind?_ - -"Who knows, Peter," Emrys cried, "I may be able to invent engines that -can move the whole world--all our worlds--to another galaxy, where the -Morethans will never be able to follow!" - -"What's in it for you, Emrys?" Hubbard asked bluntly. - -"I want to save humanity ... and, of course," Emrys added, his eyes -lighting exultantly, "by doing that, I will do more than Dyall ever -did. My name will go down in history, and his--" - -"Do you hate him so much, Emrys, even though he's dead?" Hubbard asked -wonderingly, unable to conceive of such a thing. - -"_Especially_ because he's dead," Emrys snarled. "Because now I'll -never have the pleasure of mocking him." He looked anxiously at -Hubbard. "Don't you think I'm doing the right thing, Peter?" - -The right thing, but for the wrong reason. Only for the wrong reason, -though, was Emrys sure to finish what he had set out to do. It was the -one motive that would keep him working long after he grew bored with -the work. It was humanity's only chance, and so it did not matter _why_ -Emrys was doing this. - -"It's a splendid thing you're planning to do, Emrys," Hubbard said -warmly. "A splendid thing!" - -What if Emrys _did_ go down in history? It would be thanks to him that -history had continued at all. - - * * * * * - -Yes, he was a vicious man. And Dyall had been equally vicious. And -Peter Hubbard was a good man--and it was he who had _not_ been granted -that fifty extra years of life. What was goodness? Was it inherently -opposed to greatness? Did things get done only out of malevolent -motives--anger and ruthlessness and spite? If, as it seemed, goodness -was a passive force, and evil an active one, perhaps the world needed -both. And if, as it seemed, evil could beget good, then evil could not -be all bad. - -_So_, Peter Hubbard thought, _there is hope for the Morethans as well -as for humanity._ - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Never Come Midnight, by Christopher Grimm - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEVER COME MIDNIGHT *** - -***** This file should be named 51834-8.txt or 51834-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/8/3/51834/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51834-8.zip b/old/51834-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 89a710d..0000000 --- a/old/51834-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51834-h.zip b/old/51834-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c917d16..0000000 --- a/old/51834-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51834-h/51834-h.htm b/old/51834-h/51834-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 6d0ae7a..0000000 --- a/old/51834-h/51834-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2580 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Never Come Midnight, by Christopher Grimm. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - -.ph5 { text-align: right; text-indent: 0em; } -.ph5 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Never Come Midnight, by Christopher Grimm - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Never Come Midnight - -Author: Christopher Grimm - -Release Date: April 22, 2016 [EBook #51834] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEVER COME MIDNIGHT *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="392" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>NEVER COME MIDNIGHT</h1> - -<p>by CHRISTOPHER GRIMM</p> - -<p>Illustrated by DILLON</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Science Fiction May 1958.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3"><i>Across the void came a man who could not ever<br /> -have been born—from a world that could never<br /> -have been conceived—to demand his birthright<br /> -of an Earth that would have to die to pay it!</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">I</p> - -<p>Jan Shortmire smiled. "You didn't know I had a son, did you, Peter? -Well, neither did I—until quite recently."</p> - -<p>"I see." However, Peter Hubbard knew that Jan Shortmire had never -married in all of his hundred and fifty-five years. In that day and -age, unmarried people did not have children; science, the law, and -public sophistication had combined to make the historical "accident" -almost impossible. Yet, if some woman of one of the more innocent -planets had deliberately conceived in order to trap Shortmire, surely -he would have learned of his son's existence long before.</p> - -<p>"I'm glad it turns out that I have an heir," Shortmire went on. -"Otherwise, the government might get its fists on what little I -have—and it's taken enough from me."</p> - -<p>Although the old man's estate was a considerable one, it did seem -meager in terms of the money he must have made. What <i>had</i> become of -the golden tide that had poured in upon the golden youth, Hubbard -wondered. Could anyone have squandered such prodigious sums upon the -usual mundane dissipations? For, by the time the esoteric pleasures of -the other planets had reached Earth—the byproduct of Shortmire's own -achievement—he must have already been too old to enjoy them.</p> - -<p>At Hubbard's continued silence, Shortmire said defensively, "If they'd -let me sell my patents to private industry, as Dyall was able to do, -I'd be leaving a <i>real</i> fortune!" His voice grew thick with anger. -"When I think how much money Dyall made from those factory machines of -his...."</p> - -<p>But when you added the priceless extra fifty years of life to the money -Shortmire had made, it seemed to Hubbard that Shortmire had been amply -rewarded. Although, of course, he had heard that Nicholas Dyall had -been given the same reward. No point telling Shortmire, if he did not -know already. Hubbard could never understand why Shortmire hated Dyall -so; it could not be merely the money—and as for reputation, he had a -shade the advantage.</p> - -<p>"That <i>toymaker</i>!" Shortmire spat.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hubbard tactfully changed the subject. "What's your boy like, Jan?" But -of course Jan Shortmire's son could hardly be a boy; in fact, he was -probably almost as old as Hubbard was.</p> - -<p>Such old age as Shortmire's was almost incredible. Sitting there in -the antique splendor of Hubbard's office, he looked like a splendid -antique himself. Who could imagine that passion had ever convulsed that -thin white face, that those frail white fingers had ever curved in -love and in hate? Age beyond the reach of most men had blanched this -once-passionate man to a chill, ivory shadow.</p> - -<p>For once, Hubbard felt glad—almost—that he himself was ineligible for -the longevity treatment. The allotted five score and ten was enough for -any except the very selfish—or selfless—man.</p> - -<p>But Shortmire was answering his question. "I have no idea what the boy -is like; I've never seen him." Then he added, "I suppose you've been -wondering why I finally decided to make a will?"</p> - -<p>"A lawyer never wonders when people <i>do</i> make wills, Jan," Hubbard said -mildly. "He wonders when they <i>don't</i>."</p> - -<p>"I'm going on a trip to Morethis. Only one of the colonized planets -I've never visited." Shortmire's smile did not reach his amber-hard -eyes. "Civilized planets, I should have said. It isn't official -government policy to colonize planets that have intelligent native -live-forms."</p> - -<p>Not even the most besotted idealist could ever have described Jan -Shortmire as altruistic. And for him to be concerned about Morethis, of -all planets—Morethis, where the indigenous life-forms were such as to -justify a ruthless colonization policy ... it was outrageous! True, the -terrestrial government had been more generous toward the Morethans than -toward any of the seven other intelligent life-forms they had found. -But this tolerance was based wholly on fear—fear of these remnants -of an old, old civilization, eking out their existence around a dying -star, yet with terrible glories to remember in their twilight—and -traces of these glories to protect them.</p> - -<p>How was it that Shortmire, who had been everywhere, seen everything, -had never been to Morethis? Hubbard looked keenly at his client. "What -<i>is</i> all this, Jan?"</p> - -<p>The old man shrugged. "Merely that the Foreign Office has suggested it -would be wise for travelers to make a will before going there. Being a -dutiful citizen of Earth, I comply." He smiled balefully.</p> - -<p>"The Foreign Office has suggested that it would be wiser not to go at -all," Hubbard said. "There are people who say Morethis ought to be -fumigated completely."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but it has rare and precious metals on which our industries -depend. There are herbs which have multiplied the miracles of modern -medicine, jewels and furs unmatched anywhere. We need the native miners -and farmers and trappers to get these things for us."</p> - -<p>"We could get them for ourselves. We do on the other planets."</p> - -<p>Shortmire grinned. "On Morethis, somehow, our people can't seem to -find these things themselves. Or, if they do, we can't find our people -afterward. Which is why there is peace and friendship between Morethis -and Earth."</p> - -<p>"<i>Friendship!</i> Everyone knows the Morethans hate terrestrials. They -tolerate us only because we're stronger!"</p> - -<p>"Stronger physically." Shortmire's smile was fading. "Even technology -is a kind of physical strength."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>New apprehension took shape in Hubbard. "You're not going metaphysical -in your old age, are you, Jan? And even if you are," he said quickly, -while he was still innocent of knowledge, hence could not be -consciously offending the other man's beliefs, "what a cult to choose! -Blood, terror and torture!"</p> - -<p>Shortmire grinned again. "You've been watching vidicasts, Peter. -They've laid it on so thick, I'll probably find Morethis deadly dull -rather than just ... deadly."</p> - -<p>Certainly, all Hubbard knew of Morethis was based on hearsay evidence, -but this was not a court of law. "Jan you're a fool! A third of the -terrestrials who go to Morethis never come back, and mostly they're -young men, strong men."</p> - -<p>"Then they're the fools." Shortmire's voice was low and tired. "Because -they're risking a whole lifetime, whereas all I'll be risking is a few -years of a very boring existence."</p> - -<p>Hubbard said no more. Even though the law still did not condone it, a -man had the right to dispose of his own life as he saw fit.</p> - -<p>Shortmire stood up. Barely stooped by age, he looked, with his great -height and extreme emaciation, almost like a fasting saint—a ludicrous -simile. "My wine palate is gone, Peter," he said, clapping the -younger old man's shoulder, "women and I seem to have lost our mutual -attraction, and I never did have much of a singing voice. At least this -is one experience I'm not too old to savor."</p> - -<p>"Death, do you mean?" Hubbard asked bluntly. "Or Morethis?"</p> - -<p>Shortmire smiled. "Perhaps both."</p> - -<p>So Peter Hubbard was not surprised when, a few months later, he got -word that Jan Shortmire had died on Morethis. The surprising thing was -the extraordinarily prosaic manner of his death: he had simply fallen -into a river and drowned. No traveler on Morethis had been known to -die by undisputed accident before; as a result, the vidicasts devoted -more attention to the event than they might have otherwise. But the -news died down, as other news took its place. In so large a universe, -something was always happening; the dog days were forever gone from -journalism.</p> - -<p>Going through the old man's papers in his capacity as executor, Hubbard -came across an old passport. He was startled to discover that this trip -had not been Shortmire's first to Morethis. Why had he lied about it? -But that was a question that no one alive could answer—or so Hubbard -thought.</p> - -<p>Almost two years went by before the will was finally probated on all -the planets where Shortmire had owned property. Then the search for -Emrys Shortmire began. Messages were dispatched to all the civilized -planets, and Peter Hubbard settled back for a long wait.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Five years after Jan Shortmire's death, the intercom on Peter Hubbard's -desk buzzed and his secretary's voice—his was one of the few legal -offices wealthy enough to afford human help—said, "Mr. Emrys Shortmire -to see you, sir."</p> - -<p>How could a man come from so many light-years' distance without -radioing on ahead, or at least tele-calling from his hotel? Dignity -demanded that Hubbard tell his secretary to inform Shortmire that he -never saw anyone without an appointment. Curiosity won. "Ask him to -come in," he said.</p> - -<p>The door slid open. Hubbard started to rise, with the old-fashioned -courtesy of a family lawyer. But he never made it. He sat, frozen with -shock, staring at the man in the doorway. Because Emrys Shortmire -wasn't a man; he was a boy. He might have been a stripling of thirty, -except for his eyes. Copper-bright and copper-hard they were, too hard -for a boy's. Give him forty, even forty-five, that would still have -made Jan Shortmire a father when he was nearly a hundred and twenty. -The longevity treatment produced remarkable results, but none that -fantastic. Though health and strength could be restored, fertility, -like youth, once vanished was gone forever.</p> - -<p>Yet the boy looked too sophisticated to have made a stupid mistake -like that, if he were an imposter. More important, he <i>looked</i> like -Jan Shortmire—not the Shortmire whom Hubbard had known, but the -broad-shouldered youth of the early pictures, golden of hair and skin -and eyes, almost classical in feature and build. Plastic surgery could -have converted a fleeting resemblance to a precise one, yet, somehow, -Hubbard <i>felt</i> that this was flesh and blood of the old man's.</p> - -<p>"You're very like your father," he said, inaccurately: Emrys was less -like his father than he should have been, given that startling identity -of physique.</p> - -<p>"Am I?" The boy smiled. "I never knew him. Of course, I know I look -like the pictures, but pictures never tell much, do they?"</p> - -<p>He had many papers to give Peter Hubbard. Too many; no honest man -had his life so well in order. But then Emrys' honesty was not the -issue, only his identity. The birth certificate said he had been born -on Clergal fifty-five years before, so he was ten years older than -Hubbard's wildest estimate. A young man, but not a boy—a man of full -maturity, but still too young to be, normally, Jan Shortmire's son. -Then Hubbard opened Emrys Shortmire's passport and received another -shock.</p> - -<p>He tried to sound calm. "I see you were on Morethis the same time your -father was!"</p> - -<p>Emrys' smile widened. "Curious coincidence, wasn't it?"</p> - -<p>A surge of almost physical dislike filled the lawyer. "Is that all it -was—a coincidence?"</p> - -<p>"Are you suggesting that I pushed my father into the Ekkan?" Emrys -asked pleasantly.</p> - -<p>"Certainly not!" Hubbard was indignant at the thought that he, as a -lawyer, would have voiced such a suspicion, even if it had occurred to -him. "I thought you two might have arranged to meet on Morethis."</p> - -<p>"I told you I'd never seen my father," Emrys reminded him. "As for what -I was doing on Morethis—that's my business."</p> - -<p>"All I'm concerned with is whether or not you <i>are</i> Emrys Shortmire." -Distaste was almost tangible on Hubbard's tongue. "It does seem -surprising that, since you <i>were</i> on Morethis at the time your father -died, you should not have come to claim your inheritance sooner."</p> - -<p>"I had affairs of my own to wind up," Emrys said flatly.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hubbard tapped the papers. "You understand that these must be checked -before you receive your father's estate?"</p> - -<p>"I understand perfectly." Emrys' voice was soft as a Si-yllan -cat-man's, and even more insulting. "They will be gone over thoroughly -for any possible error, any tiny imperfection, anything that could -invalidate my claim. But you will find them entirely in order."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure of that." And Hubbard knew, if the papers were forgeries, -they would be works of art.</p> - -<p>"You'll probably want me to undergo an equally thorough physical -examination for signs of—ah—surgical tampering. Yes, I see I'm -right."</p> - -<p>Ungenerous hope leaped inside Hubbard. "You would object?"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, I'd be delighted. Haven't had a thorough medical -checkup for years." On this cooperative note, Emrys Shortmire bowed and -left.</p> - -<p>Hubbard sighed back against the velvet cushions of his chair—real -silk, for he was a very rich old man. Unfortunately, he could not doubt -that this was Jan Shortmire's progeny. But—and Hubbard sat upright—no -matter how much Emrys resembled his father, that was only one parent. -Who had the young man's mother been?</p> - -<p>Quickly, Hubbard searched through the papers for the birth certificate. -The name was Iloa Tasqi. The nationality: <i>Morethan</i>.</p> - -<p>No wonder the affair had been kept so secret. No wonder Emrys seemed -so strange and that Jan had lied about his previous visit to the dark -planet. Small wonder, too, that he'd had a son he was not aware of. Who -would have believed that human and Morethan could breed together? For -the Morethans, although humanoid, were not at all human.</p> - -<p>So Emrys Shortmire was only half human. The other half was—well, the -vidicasts called it <i>monster</i>, and, now that he had met the young man, -Peter Hubbard was inclined to agree.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">II</p> - -<p>Outside the office building, Emrys Shortmire paused and inhaled deeply. -Say what you would about the atmospheres of some of the other planets' -being fresher and purer, the air of Earth, being the air in which Man -had evolved, was the air that felt best in his nostrils and filled his -lungs to greatest satisfaction. And, after the fetid atmosphere of -Morethis, this was pure heaven. Gray sky and violet dying sun against -blue sky and radiant golden sun. No wonder the Morethans were what they -were, and Earthmen were what they were.</p> - -<p>Well, the golden sun of Earth would set somewhat sooner than the -physicists—or the sociologists—had prognosticated. But all that would -be long after he himself had died. It was no concern of his, anyway. He -was Emrys Shortmire, born out of Jan Shortmire and no mortal woman; and -nothing else on Earth, or in the Universe, mattered.</p> - -<p>Disdaining the importunate heli-cabs that besieged him with plaintive -mechanical offers of transportation, he walked down the street, -enjoying the pull of the planet upon the youth and strength of his -body, delighting in the clarity of his vision and the keenness of his -nostrils. He was so absorbed in his thoughts and so unaccustomed -still to Earth's traffic that he did not look where he was going. The -groundcar was upon him before he knew it. Of course something like this -would happen, he thought bitterly, as darkness descended upon him and -he waited for the crushing impact. It was always like that in the old -stories, always some drawback to spoil the magic gift.</p> - -<p>But then it was light again. The car had passed over him and he was -unharmed, to the amazement—and disappointment—of the avid crowd that -had gathered.</p> - -<p>"Pedestrians should look where they're going," the voice of the car -observed petulantly. "Repairs cost money."</p> - -<p>Being part human, Emrys was shaken by the experience. His eye caught -the brilliant sign of a bar. Here, he thought, would be syrup to soothe -his nerves. And he went inside, eager to try the taste of ancient -vintages of Earth—unobtainable on the other planets, since fine wines -and liquors could not endure the journey through space.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He sipped a whisky and soda, trying not to feel disappointed at the -savor. As he drank, he felt eyes upon him—the bartender's. Yet the -long Qesharakan reflecting glass above the bar showed him nothing -unusual about his appearance. Did the bartender know who he was? How -could he?</p> - -<p>Then Emrys noticed that the man glanced from him to someone else—a -girl sitting at the other end of the bar. As she met Emrys' eye, she -smiled at him. Absently, with remote appreciation of her good looks, -he smiled back, then returned to the contemplation of his drink. The -bartender's expression deepened to amused contempt.</p> - -<p>Emrys realized what was wrong and he could hardly keep from laughing. -So intent had he been on the pursuit of his goal that he had almost -lost sight of the goal itself. Deliberately, he turned his head and -smiled at the girl. She promptly smiled back.</p> - -<p>He sat down at her side. Now that he was close, her aquamarine hair -showed dark at the roots, and, through the thick golden maquillage, -the pores stood out on her nose. Also, she was not so very young. He -laughed then, and, when she asked why, bought her a drink. After he had -bought her several more, they went to her apartment—a luxurious one in -a good section of town. She was not going to be cheap, but, he thought -with rising anticipation, he could afford her.</p> - -<p>However, the night was curiously unsatisfactory. For him—apparently -not for the girl, because the next morning she indignantly refused his -money. Evidently the experience had been something out of the ordinary -for her. He could not feel it was her fault that it had been nothing -for him; the lack was in <i>him</i>, he thought, some almost-felt emotion he -could not recapture.</p> - -<p>Promising to call her, he left, went back to his hotel room and flung -himself upon the resilient burim-moss couch.</p> - -<p>His body wasn't tired, but his head ached wearily. The liquor, -naturally, on an empty stomach ... after all those years of Morethan -qumesht. And then the trip. Even with the Shortmire engines—standard -equipment now, of course—it had taken a long, tiring time, for -Morethis was the most distant of all the civilized planets. Anyone -would be exhausted after such a trip. Added to all this, the accident. -There were no bruises on his body yet, but later, he knew, they would -be visible.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At last he slept, or seemed to, and dreamed he was on Morethis -again—or Morethis was there with him. The air thickened about him -into the tangible atmosphere of the dark planet—the swirling aniline -fog that never cleared. And in the midst stood Uvrei, the high priest, -robed in amethyst and sable. The term <i>high priest</i> was vulgar as -applied to him, but the nearest terrestrial equivalent to what he was.</p> - -<p>The lips in the shockingly beautiful face parted. "How goes it, son of -my spirit?" the familiar greeting rolled out, in the familiar voice, -deep yet sweet, like dulcet thunder.</p> - -<p>"My head hurts, father of my soul." Emrys knew his voice was a petulant -child's, yet he could not stop himself. "I was promised—"</p> - -<p>"You have not taken care," the ancient one said.</p> - -<p>How ancient he was, Emrys did not know. The priests of Morethis were, -they said, immortal. And they did live for a long, long time, far -longer than the common people, whom they resembled only vaguely. -Terrestrial scholars said the ruling class was a variant of the -Morethan race, inbred to preserve its identity, probably closer to the -original world-shaking Morethans than their debased followers. The -members of this group seemed young, as coin faces seem young, also old, -like coins themselves.</p> - -<p>"I warned you it takes time for the final adjustments to be made. Wait, -my son; haste means nothing to you."</p> - -<p>"But I've waited so long," Emrys complained.</p> - -<p>"Wait a little longer, then. You have all the time in the world."</p> - -<p>The fog swirled shut about him, and Emrys sank into his personal miasma -of sleep. When he woke up, late that afternoon, he knew from the dank -odor clinging to the bedclothes that it had not been a dream, that -the priests, the "gods," the "immortals" of Morethis could, as they -professed—and even he had not believed them in this—project their -minds far through space ... though, fortunately, not their bodies, or -they would not have needed him. He remembered then the vial of tiny -golden pellets Uvrei had given him before he left Morethis, and took -one. Perhaps that was what the ancient one had meant. At any rate, -Emrys thought he felt better afterward.</p> - -<p>He examined his body in the mirror to see if bruises had come, but -the tawny, muscle-rippled flesh was unmarked. At length he put on his -clothes and, leaving the hotel, went to a jeweler, where he bought a -costly bracelet to be sent to the girl of the night before. Such a -grandiose gesture relieved him—he had always felt—of all further -obligation.</p> - -<p>He did not wish to repeat his experience with the liquor, so he did not -go to a bar. He had no friends on Earth—nor could he have acknowledged -them if he had. He did not wish to repeat his disappointment of the -previous night, so he did not seek female companionship—although it -was obvious from the eyes of the women he passed that he would have no -difficulty whenever he changed his mind. But what should he do? What -did young men do with their leisure, he tried to remember, when they -had nothing but leisure?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He dined alone, finally, on a variety of rare terrestrial foods that -did not taste quite as he expected, and went to the theater. The play -was one he had seen a hundred times before under a hundred different -names on many different planets. He went then to a nightclub, but it -was crowded and noisy, and the girls did not excite him. Going back to -the hotel, he found that sleep, at least, came easily.</p> - -<p><i>But I did not</i>, he thought, <i>do what I did merely for the sake of a -good night's rest.</i></p> - -<p>The third day, he wandered into a museum. He found himself less bored -than he had expected. Perhaps culture would be most therapeutic for him -until he reached his ultimate adjustments. Accordingly, he went from -the museum to a revival of a nineteenth-century opera. He didn't like -it; in fact, it disturbed him so much that he left before the final -curtain and walked through the streets for hours, until he ran into a -girl who was also walking the streets, and went home with her.</p> - -<p>The experience with the drab, as with the courtesan, was mechanically -satisfactory, emotionally inadequate. He paid her—knowing she, too, -would have given herself for nothing, had she known how—and went to -his hotel limp with the same not-physical weakness he had felt before. -The effects of the trip or the accident were lingering. He half -expected Uvrei to appear that night, but the old one did not come. Why -should he? This talk of spirit-son and soul-father was sophistry; there -had been a bargain and each had kept his part.</p> - -<p>The afternoon of the fourth day, a vidicast reporter called to ask -whether Emrys Shortmire was any relation to the Jan Shortmire who had -invented the space-warp engines. Emrys could not deny his identity -without jeopardizing his inheritance; however, he refused to be -interviewed personally or let his picture be used. He did not, he said, -want to be dwarfed by his father's reputation. Nonetheless, his arrival -was mentioned on the newscasts and panic rose up in him when he heard -his name spoken publicly.</p> - -<p>The next day a letter came for him. People rarely wrote letters -any more, except to the distant planets, yet this one had an Earth -postmark. Cold with panic again, he tore it open and read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>My dear Mr. Shortmire:</p> - -<p>This evening's vidicast informed me that you were on Earth. You -will not, I am sure, know my name. However, I was a friend of your -father's, when we were both young men, and it would give me great -pleasure to make your acquaintance.</p> - -<p class="ph5">NICHOLAS DYALL</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Emrys crumpled up the letter and hurled it across the room. He knew -Dyall for an old—associate of Jan Shortmire's, but he had not -thought him to be alive. What had Dyall done to warrant the longevity -treatment? He was nothing but a glorified machinist, a technician. And -now he might wreck all of Emrys' plans. But if the young man made no -reply, perhaps the old one would take the hint. And so it turned out; -there was no further word from Nicholas Dyall.</p> - -<p>Finally, two weeks after Emrys had first come to Earth, he got a -telecall from Peter Hubbard. His documents were all in order and -he could receive his inheritance as soon as he passed the physical -examination.</p> - -<p>Emrys went to the doctor's offices feeling a cold touch of apprehension -again. But all Dr. Jameson said when the examination was finished -was, "You have the physique of a man fifteen years your junior, Mr. -Shortmire."</p> - -<p>Emrys fastened his tunic with fingers that shook from relief. "Guess -I'm lucky," he muttered.</p> - -<p>The doctor cleared his throat. "Peter Hubbard was telling me about your -mother, that she was...."</p> - -<p>Hubbard, that old fool! And Emrys had been so sure of his discretion. -"My mother was Morethan, yes." Then he realized it was possible -that Hubbard, too, had felt there might be something not-quite-human -manifest in his body and had tried to prepare the doctor. Emrys made -his tone more conciliatory. "On both Morethis and Earth, the child -takes citizenship from the father, so—"</p> - -<p>"I wasn't worrying about any legal problems; I was merely thinking that -medical science would be interested."</p> - -<p>"I do not wish the fact of my—of my birth publicized in any way—until -after my death," Emrys added placatorily. "Surely you can understand -what hell life would become if people knew I was half Morethan?"</p> - -<p>The doctor sighed. "Yes, I know. I can't blame you."</p> - -<p>"Tell me, Doctor," Emrys asked tensely, "is there anything about me -that doesn't seem ... quite human?"</p> - -<p>The doctor shook his head. "Only that you're so young for your age. Mr. -Shortmire, was your mother one of the caste they call the 'immortals'?" -Then he flushed. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to violate—"</p> - -<p>Emrys laughed sourly. "Don't worry; I don't hold to the Morethan -beliefs. She was one of the so-called gods, yes. They do live somewhat -longer than either the common people or terrestrials; I guess that's -why the legend arose, probably why I look so young, too. I should be -glad I didn't inherit a—less pleasant trait."</p> - -<p>"You should, indeed," the doctor said somberly.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">III</p> - -<p>"I love you, Emrys," the woman said, and died agonizedly in his arms. -He looked down at the contorted, leaden face, ravaged by sickness, and -thought: <i>Even when she was beautiful, I could not love her.</i> He could -not even feel sorry for her, except in a remote, intellectual way. He -could not even feel sorry for himself and his own inability to feel.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="391" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Since none of the servants was left in the house—those who were -still alive had fled to the country, where there was less chance -of contagion—he took her body to the crematorium himself. Other -people were there, consigning their grisly burdens to the automatic -fires—thin, sickly creatures they were, who would soon be carrion -for the firebirds themselves. Whereas he—if he had an emotion left, -it would be shame—shame for the radiant youth and health that he saw -mirrored in their dully wondering eyes.</p> - -<p>Outside, the street was clamorous with the taped importunities of the -empty vehicles—so many machines, because there were so few people -left. But he chose to walk.</p> - -<p>The air was sweet and clean, because the Dyall machines came and took -away the bodies of those who fell in the street, and then cleaned those -streets as carefully and tenderly as they had done when the walks and -gutters had abounded with the vibrant slovenliness of the living. Emrys -could, of course, have thrown the woman's body out into the gutter, -and the machines would have carried her in their steel maws to the -crematorium. But some remembered emotion had kept him from doing such a -thing, and had made him give her to the flames with what small ceremony -he could muster.</p> - -<p>She had been the last mistress remaining to him, and probably, he -thought, to any man in the city. Perhaps, out in the country, there -might be women with life and lust in them still, but such women as were -left here could no longer be considered women. This last one had not -been even human for the past week; yet he had tended her—why, he could -not say, except that he had nothing better to do. For one thing, she -had been quieter when he was near her, and he could not bear her cries.</p> - -<p>He was glad when she did die, because playing the good Samaritan had -grown tedious as, in their turn, all other roles had palled. Even -though he knew there would be no more women for him, he was glad. -During the first few weeks of the plague, when everyone who had been -alive had known that soon they would be dead, all the people on Earth -had rushed to squander the life which suddenly seemed to fill them to -bursting. Then a man could have had all the women he wanted, all of -anything he wanted, for the asking, except the one thing he really -wanted—the assurance of life.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Not everyone had plunged into an orgy of joyless pleasure. There were -some who took refuge in prayer—addressed either to the traditional -Deity or to the recent importations from the other planets. But, in -the end, it was the same for all, prayerful and profligate alike. The -only exceptions were the lucky few who seemed to be immune, like Emrys -Shortmire, and those who escaped from the cities—to the country or, if -they were rich, the other planets. So, even if Emrys had craved women -before, he would have had enough of them by now.</p> - -<p>As he passed through the streets, he heard a man who walked alone and -talked to himself curse the name of Jan Shortmire. <i>They would tear -me to pieces if they knew I was his flesh and blood</i>, Emrys thought, -and smiled to think how once he had feared to be engulfed by Jan -Shortmire's reputation, and now he feared to be destroyed by it.</p> - -<p>For it had been a starship equipped, like all starships, with the -Shortmire engines that had brought back the plague—a starship probing -the distant corners of the Galaxy which were all that Man's insatiable -curiosity had left undiscovered.</p> - -<p>Far out, even beyond Morethis—outermost of the discovered planets—in -the middle of the dead and dying stars that were all there was in this -chill, cold sector of space, the ship had come upon three dead planets, -dark and lifeless. But when it returned to Earth to report the end of -Man's ambitions for further conquest, it turned out that one planet -had not been quite as lifeless as they had fancied. And the ship had -brought back its life—a virus against which terrestrial medicine was -powerless.</p> - -<p>Emrys could have fled the city; he could have fled the planet. But -somehow, after three years on Earth, he had not wanted to. He had spent -those years fulfilling the dreams that all young men dream in the murky -part of their souls but seldom have the chance to gratify.</p> - -<p>As soon as the inheritance was his, he had bought the most lavish -mansion that was available at the instant of his desire, furnished -it extravagantly, and prepared to enjoy himself. His pleasures were -many and, some of them, strange. At first his mistresses were human, -then non-human. Females of all the intelligent species, save the -Morethan, were to be found on Earth, and although consorting with -extraterrestrials was illegal, still a wealthy man had never been too -much troubled by laws.</p> - -<p>But women—females—represented only a fraction of his pleasures, as -did the terrestrial vices. He indulged heavily in rrilla, zbokth, -mburrje, and all the other outworld pursuits that had been imported -from the planets where the native life had been intelligent enough for -decadence.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>However, though he pushed his body a thousand times beyond what should -have been the limits of his endurance, the distress he had suffered -during the first hours of his landing on Earth did not recur. He -remained as clear of eye and trim of form as ever; each physical excess -seemed only to improve his splendid health.</p> - -<p>Oddly, he did not seem to enjoy these pleasures as much as he had -anticipated. Something seemed lacking. It was always like this when -you dreamed too long about something, he told himself; no result ever -equaled its expectation. And he took another one of the sparkling pills -from Morethis. They provided the only satisfaction he seemed able to -get.</p> - -<p>Emrys had been wrong about Uvrei's indifference. He apparently did -consider Emrys his responsibility, over and above the material details -of the bargain. The Morethans regarded all those of alien species as -enemies, and all those outside the clan as unfriends. Therefore, Emrys -began to realize the ceremonies of adoption he had gone through were -more than merely honorific or ritual—they had been genuine. It was an -uncomfortable conclusion.</p> - -<p>"Well, son of my spirit," Uvrei would keep asking, "is this what you -wanted?"</p> - -<p>"This is what I wanted, father of my soul," Emrys would agree. And it -was what he had asked, what he had <i>thought</i> he wanted.</p> - -<p>The ancient one would smile and say, "Then I am content," and recombine -into fog. And Emrys would wonder whether the Morethans had not <i>known</i> -before they granted him his heart's desire that it would turn to dust -and ashes when he had it. Then he would dismiss the thought, telling -himself maybe he'd been too impatient for pleasure. After all, how -could he, sprung full-blown into a quasi-alien society, hope to become -an integral part of it all at once?</p> - -<p>So he had waited ... one year, two years, three years. At the end of -the fourth, the plague had struck. And he had stayed on Earth, because -going to another planet somehow did not seem worthwhile. He was able -to take care of his house alone, since the servants had been primarily -for show, and the great Dyall machine—which was all the house, -essentially, was—could run itself. Whenever a part of it broke down, -he repaired it himself, glad of the opportunity to have something to do -with his hands.</p> - -<p>Finally he realized that he must be immune; hence a lifetime waited -ahead of him. So he turned to learning, for the vast libraries of tapes -and books remained changeless amid the disaster. He read and he learned -a great deal, and if he could not derive pleasure from this, at least -there was a deep intellectual appreciation that almost took its place.</p> - -<p>The doctors on Ndrikull, the most advanced of the other planets, at -last managed to find a serum that would kill the plague—that is, -they maintained it was their serum that had killed it. Some suggested -that the virus had died because Earth's environment had eventually -proved hostile to it. But Earth did not die, even though most of its -people had, because the great machines that took care of it—the Dyall -machines—had kept functioning.</p> - -<p>Gradually, most of the people who had fled to the other planets came -back, and those who had survived in the country returned to the -cities. Earth was restored to its former splendor as the social and -political capital of the Galaxy, though Ndrikull now was the financial -center and rivaled Earth for artistic honors. But still Emrys stuck to -his books. Once in a while, he would sink himself for a week or a month -in what would be, for other men, physical pleasure, just to see if his -reactions had changed, but they had grown even more impersonal.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When Emrys Shortmire had been ten years on Earth, he eventually ran -into Nicholas Dyall, at the opening of a scientific exposition. As soon -as he saw Dyall in the crowd, he turned to go, but Dyall had seen him -at the same time, and hurriedly limped across the room.</p> - -<p>"You must be Emrys Shortmire," he declared, in a voice of surprising -resonance for so old a man. "You look so much like Jan, I couldn't be -mistaken." Grasping his stick with one hand for support, he extended -the other to Emrys, who could not refuse it. "But you are so young...."</p> - -<p>"I'm older than I look," Emrys said uncomfortably; then remembered to -add, "You were a friend of my father's, sir?"</p> - -<p>"A hundred years ago, yes. My name is Nicholas Dyall."</p> - -<p>"I've heard of you; you're the man who—who invented all those -machines," Emrys said, trying not to sound too ingenuous. "I've heard -people say you revolutionized our technology as much as—"</p> - -<p>"As much as your father revolutionized our civilization? Yes, both of -us are responsible for a great deal. Luckily, your father is dead."</p> - -<p>"Luckily?" Emrys echoed.</p> - -<p>"Luckily for him, I mean." The old man sighed. "But you are too young -to understand." Then his dark face relaxed into a smile. "I won't ask -if you received the letter I sent when you first arrived on Earth. I -can understand that a young man would wish the society of other—young -people."</p> - -<p>Emrys avoided Dyall's eye, and, so doing, met the gaze of the girl -standing next to the old man, and stopped, transfixed. She was very -young, less than forty, he judged, perhaps even less than thirty.</p> - -<p>It was long since he had seen a woman like her. Her hair was a soft -yellow, the only natural color among all the women in the room. Her -face was painted pink and white, not the blues fashionable that year. -Instead of being twisted and bedizened with cloth into fantastic shapes -and protuberances, her pretty body was clad in a simple translucent -slip. Yet, in spite of her almost deliberate dowdiness, she was -beautiful—not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but the -most ... no, striking was not it, either. What <i>was</i> the word he -wanted? He could not dredge it out of the pool in which so many of his -memories had been submerged for want of room.</p> - -<p>"This is my great-great-granddaughter Megan," Dyall introduced her. The -girl nodded and smiled. After a moment, Emrys forced himself to do the -same.</p> - -<p>"I won't press you to come visit us, Mr. Shortmire," Dyall said to -Emrys as he and his descendant finally turned to leave, "but I hope -that you will."</p> - -<p>"We should be so glad to see you," the girl said, with a shy smile.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps—perhaps I will come," he found himself saying. "One -day." The two men shook hands, and Nicholas Dyall and his -great-great-granddaughter moved away. Emrys stared after them for a -minute; then, without paying any attention to the exhibits, he went -back to his house and spent the rest of the evening staring at the -falling flakes in his snowplace.</p> - -<p>For years, he had thought he'd lost any capacity to feel. Now he knew -that was not true ... because he had been moved by Megan Dyall. How, -he could not say—not even whether it was love or hate he felt toward -her—but he <i>felt</i>. That was the important thing, and, because of that, -he had to take the risk and call on them.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He waited a week, then went to the Dyall house—a mansion, less -ostentatious than his, but probably more expensive. Dyall greeted him -warmly. "I'm glad you decided to come. Your father and I were not close -friends, but he was the only one left of my generation whom I knew. It -was a shock to hear of his passing, even though I hadn't seen him for a -century or so."</p> - -<p>"You've lived for such a long time, Grandpa," Megan said in her high, -sweet voice, "it's hard to imagine. But why doesn't everybody get the -longevity treatment, so we can all live a long time?"</p> - -<p>"Because it's difficult and expensive," her ancestor said, smiling over -her golden head at Emrys. "Because the old must make way for the young. -It is only given to those whose lives, the government feels, should be -prolonged, either because of the contributions they can still make, or -whose contributions have already been so great that this is the only -fitting reward."</p> - -<p>The girl stared at him with large blue eyes. "Does that mean you will -live forever, Grandpa?"</p> - -<p>"No," the old man told her. "All our science can give is an extra -half century. I don't know how long my life span would have been, but -I'm past the average and the extra half century, and so I'm living on -borrowed time."</p> - -<p>The blue eyes filled with tears. "I don't want you to die, Grandpa. I -don't want to grow old and die, either."</p> - -<p>Dyall looked down at her, and there was, Emrys thought, an odd -perplexity in his gaze. Didn't he find it natural for a young girl not -to like the idea of old age, of death?</p> - -<p>"But I shall want to die when my time comes, Megan," Dyall said. "We -all will." Gently, he touched her cheek. "Perhaps, by the time you make -your contribution to society, scientists will know how to give youth as -well as extra years. More years are not really much of a gift to the -old."</p> - -<p>"But I can't do anything, Grandpa," she sobbed. "I have nothing to -contribute."</p> - -<p>It was an outrage, Emrys thought, that this woman, by being the essence -of femininity, should be denied the ultimate reward society had to -offer. Motherhood alone should entitle her.... He was, of course, -already envisioning himself as the father of her children. <i>But could -he be a father?</i></p> - -<p>Old Dyall was saying, "Perhaps, Megan, by the time you are old enough, -our government will be wise enough to realize that beauty, of itself, -deserves the greatest reward Man can give." He turned to Emrys. -"Forgive me for getting so sentimental, but Megan looks as uncannily -like her great-great-grandmother—my wife—as ... you look like your -father. I can't bear to think she must die, too. It's a pity there is -no way she can stay young and beautiful for all time."</p> - -<p>Emrys found his fists clenching. The fingers were cold.</p> - -<p>"Alissa's portrait was painted just before I married her," the old man -said. "She was just about Megan's age then. Come, I'd like you to see -it."</p> - -<p><i>No!</i> something inside Emrys cried out, but he could not -courteously—or any other way—refuse to follow the old man.</p> - -<p>They went into another room. Hanging over the mantelpiece was the -painting of a girl in old-fashioned clothes. Anyone, not knowing, would -have taken her to be Megan. But Emrys knew she was not, and suddenly he -let himself remember what it was that Megan meant to him ... and why he -hated Nicholas Dyall with such coruscating fury.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">IV</p> - -<p>"You should have sent for me to come to you, Mr. Hubbard," Nicholas -Dyall said, with a gentle pity that infuriated the old lawyer, who knew -that he himself was young enough to be Dyall's grandson. Hubbard was -jealous—he would not conceal it from himself—bitterly jealous. It had -not been hard for him to rationalize Jan Shortmire's gift of years as -a worthless one; that old man's bitterness and disillusionment had not -inspired envy. But this hale and rosy old man seemed to be enjoying his -years.</p> - -<p><i>I may not have made any signal contribution to human welfare</i>, Hubbard -thought resentfully, <i>but I have done my best. Why must I die at an age -fifty years short of the age which this man is allowed to reach?</i></p> - -<p>"I am perfectly able to get about, Mr. Dyall," he said in icy tones, -"since I am in excellent health."</p> - -<p>Which he was, the doctor had told him, adding, however, "for your age."</p> - -<p>"What is more," Hubbard continued, "since I was on Ndrikull, it might -have seemed rather presumptuous for me to send for you; whereas I had -always been planning to return to Earth one day. I left at the time of -the plague."</p> - -<p>"You were wise. I merely retired to the country. I escaped the -virus, but the rest of my family was less fortunate. I have but one -remaining—my great-great-granddaughter."</p> - -<p>"Yes," Hubbard said, "I know. It's because of her I've come to see -you."</p> - -<p>He had not really planned ever to return to Earth. Ndrikull had been -comfortable and a man of his age did not risk a trip through space -unless the need was urgent. The memory of Emrys Shortmire had disturbed -him from time to time, but, he thought, probably the young man had died -of the plague. Even if he had not, what good would it do for Peter -Hubbard to be present on Earth? He could not counteract the presence of -an evil force without knowing the quality of that evil.</p> - -<p>Then, picking up the kind of journal he did not usually read, he -had seen mentioned the fact that Jan Shortmire's son was "courting" -Nicholas Dyall's great-great-granddaughter. And he had known the need -was now urgent. He must go back to Earth and warn someone; it was his -duty. A letter could not convey the hatred and fear with which the -young man had inspired him. Obviously, old Dyall had been the person to -warn. Yet he did not seem right.</p> - -<p><i>I do not like this man</i>, Hubbard thought. And then: <i>This is the -second man I have taken such an instant dislike to. Can it be senility -rather than perceptiveness, and have I been foolish to come all this -way?</i></p> - -<p>"You've come because of Megan?" Dyall raised eyebrows that were still -thick and black. "Have you met her? Do you know her?" His voice -sharpened. "She has never spoken of you."</p> - -<p>"I have never met her," Hubbard said, and saw Dyall relax. Hubbard -waited, but the other man said nothing, so he went on, "I wanted to -talk to you about the man she's been seeing, this Emrys Shortmire." -Leaning forward, Hubbard spoke slowly, as if, by giving weight to -each word, he could make them sound less fantastic. "He's a monster. -Literally, I mean. His mother was a Morethan. Or <i>is</i>. For all I know, -she may still be alive."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hubbard had not thought of this before, and it shook him. Yet, if Iloa -Tasqi was alive, then Emrys Shortmire must be considered to be, to all -intents and purposes, Morethan entirely, working only for the interests -of that planet. After all, his mother had been the only parent the -boy had known. Even on Clergal, he must have been brought up under a -strong Morethan influence. Now, if the female was still alive, then the -influence would be alive, too. Since Morethans were not permitted on -Earth, there would be an obvious advantage for them in having someone -here.</p> - -<p>Dyall was holding back a smile, not too well. "I didn't know a human -and a Morethan could—ah—breed together."</p> - -<p>And, obviously, he didn't believe it. There was no way Hubbard could -prove it, unless he asked Emrys to produce his birth certificate again. -"It isn't generally known that the two species can reproduce together," -he finally said, "nor should it be."</p> - -<p>Then he looked directly in Dyall's black eyes—impossible that eyes -so keen should be so deliberately blind, that any aware human being -should not have sensed <i>something</i> of that dark aura. "Haven't you felt -something strange about young Shortmire?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Can't say I have," Dyall chuckled. "He seems an agreeable enough young -fellow."</p> - -<p>"He's sixty-five years old."</p> - -<p>"Really? I should have taken him to be younger. But youth lasts longer -these days. And there's—" Dyall gave a little laugh—"no crime in -being old, or you and I would be in prison, wouldn't we?"</p> - -<p>Hubbard would not let himself be distracted. "He looked less than forty -when he came to Earth, and he hasn't, I understand, changed in the past -ten years."</p> - -<p>"Ten years is not so long." Dyall's swarthy hands began playing with -the ornaments on his desk. Clearly, he was impatient to be rid of -his tedious caller, and Hubbard struggled with the instinctive good -breeding that told him to get up and leave. This was not a social call, -so it did not matter that he was boring his host, however.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, he was not getting anywhere. Perhaps he could -<i>blast</i> the other out of his smugness. "Look, Dyall, I know this is an -outrageous thing for a man of my profession to say. I haven't a shred -of proof, not a suspicion—but I'm morally sure he killed his father."</p> - -<p>Instead of showing shock or anger or even thought, Dyall merely gave -him a tolerant smile. "You're an old man, Mr. Hubbard. We're both old -men," he amended graciously, "so we're apt to—jump at shadows."</p> - -<p><i>I'm an old man</i>, Hubbard thought angrily, <i>and you're an old fool!</i></p> - -<p>"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the young man," Dyall -continued, "or not-so-young man, if you prefer. He appears to be very -fond of Megan, and if he should choose to marry her, it would ease my -mind considerably. I've exceeded my life span myself, you know."</p> - -<p>Since Peter Hubbard had done the same, and his span was considerably -shorter, he had no sympathy. "You'd—let the strain continue?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps it's a good strain. I understand the Morethans are said to be -immortal. If so, the genes might be a desirable addition to our own."</p> - -<p>He was laughing openly now. Hubbard almost wept with helplessness. -There must be <i>something</i> he could do. But what? He could not take the -trip to Morethis; he would certainly die on the way. And what could -he do there? There was no guarantee that, if there was anything to be -found, he would find it, or even if he reached the planet alive, that -he would go back alive.</p> - -<p>"Won't you stay and dine with us tonight, Mr. Hubbard?" Dyall asked.</p> - -<p>"No—no, thank you," Hubbard said, feeling no necessity for making an -excuse. The offer had represented only the barest kind of courtesy.</p> - -<p>Dyall got up. "Perhaps another night then?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps." Hubbard rose to his feet also, trying to appear brisk and -alert and <i>young</i>. At least he could walk without aid, he thought, -staring pointedly at the stick leaning against the wall. "I would -rather you didn't tell Shortmire I had come to see you about him."</p> - -<p>"Of course not, if you wish."</p> - -<p>But Hubbard knew Dyall would not keep the stranger's visit from his -friend. Odd that Dyall and young Shortmire should be friends. Not so -odd either, though; young Shortmire had no reason to love his father. -Besides, although Jan Shortmire had hated Nicholas Dyall, that did not -mean Nicholas Dyall had hated Jan Shortmire, or even knew of the other -man's animosity.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As he was riding back to his hotel, Hubbard let his tired old body -indulge the aches and pains that were its rightful heritage. As his -body relaxed, his mind relaxed, and he began to think more clearly. -Perhaps Dyall would not listen to him—perhaps Dyall had some reason -for not listening—but the government might.</p> - -<p>What young Shortmire might have done as a human, they would consider a -matter for local law—but the fact that human and Morethan had begotten -offspring would interest them. The fact that the Morethans might have -managed at last to get a spy on Earth would interest them. If Emrys -would not surrender his birth certificate, they could get another from -Clergal. Only, would the government's representative believe Hubbard -enough to get that birth certificate? Or would they, like Dyall, -dismiss him as a doddering old fool?</p> - -<p>The private humiliation had been hard enough; he hated to risk a public -one. But it was his duty to tell officialdom of his suspicions, he knew -miserably. Never again could he think with pride of himself as a worthy -citizen if he didn't at least make the attempt. Never again could -he let himself feel a justifiable jealousy of those with endowments -superior to his, if he did not prove himself worthy of what he had.</p> - -<p>Well, there was no hurry; he would sleep on it. He was mistaken. In -the morning, before he had even started to decide upon any course of -action, the front desk called to announce that a Mr. Shortmire wished -to see him.</p> - -<p>"Very well," the old lawyer said wearily into the machine, <i>to</i> the -machine, for it was the Dyall itself speaking. "Send him up."</p> - -<p>A short while later, there was a rap on the door. "Come in," Hubbard -called.</p> - -<p>The door slid open. A man entered, a tawny golden youth with eyes like -burnished metal. "Do you know who I am, Peter?"</p> - -<p>"Of course," Hubbard said, faintly disgusted, since he considered -melodrama vulgar. "You're Emrys Shortmire."</p> - -<p>"You're wrong," the man said. "I'm Jan Shortmire."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">V</p> - -<p>Emrys Shortmire had gone home the night Dyall had shown him the -portrait of his long-dead wife, and Emrys had dreamed, not of Megan -Dyall, but of Alissa Embel, Megan's great-great-grandmother, whom he -had wanted a hundred years before, and who had married Nicholas Dyall. -Consciously, he had forgotten her, but at the back of his mind, she -had, for over a century, walked hand in hand with his hatred.</p> - -<p>That night he understood what he had not realized then. He had -completed the engines with which he had been tinkering for years -with a real vengeance. He had taken the first starship out into -space himself—when no one had faith in his engines, least of all -himself—merely "to show her" what a great man he was, even if he died -in the showing. In his spite, he had opened up the stars for mankind.</p> - -<p>And when he returned, years later, he found that Dyall, too, had -stopped tinkering and had changed the pattern of his gadgets to one -more acceptable to the public taste. Before, they had operated quite -satisfyingly, but they had not been salable in the shape he had given -them, and no manufacturer had been interested in leasing the patents. -Now that he had yielded, manufacturers were falling all over themselves -to get the right to produce his machines.</p> - -<p>Dyall's was not as soul-stirring a success as Shortmire's—he did not -inspire cheering crowds and parades—but a more enduringly popular -one. The Shortmire engines carried humanity to the stars, but it was -the Dyall machines that cooked humanity's dinners and kept its houses -clean. So humanity respected Jan Shortmire and took Nicholas Dyall to -its collective heart.</p> - -<p>Emrys awakened, remembering all this and rigid with loathing for -Nicholas Dyall, and for the world which had allowed Nicholas Dyall to -take from him something he had wanted. Something which had, as soon as -he'd known for sure he'd lost it forever, become what he wanted most. -And also he hated the world which had given Alissa Embel to Dyall -and had then proceeded to heap on him in addition every honor Jan -Shortmire himself had won in an effort to make up for what he'd lost. -Jan Shortmire had risked his life in space; Nicholas Dyall had sat -comfortably in his chair—and both were equally honored.</p> - -<p>Then Emrys—as Emrys—caught hold of himself. It was true that -originally there had been injustice. But it had been righted and so -there was no more reason to hate Dyall. <i>I have a second chance, but he -will have none. I will live out another full lifetime, and I will have -Megan, too, and he'll die in a few years. And as for the world, I have -already revenged myself on it in advance.</i></p> - -<p>He got up and pulled a spun-metal robe about him, amethyst and sable—a -gift from Morethis. There was always a costly gift on his birthday, -either out of kindness or cruelty, together with a vial of the golden -capsules.</p> - -<p>What a pity, he thought, as he went downstairs, that Dyall and the -world both would never know the truth: that Jan Shortmire had no son, -that Emrys and Jan Shortmire were one.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Morethans first came to Jan Shortmire when, approaching his natural -old age, he had traveled as a visitor to their planet—largely because -old men did not go to Morethis—and they had made him their offer. He -had laughed in their dark and exquisite faces.</p> - -<p>"My own government will give me fifty years more of life," he said, -for he had heard, during the voyage out, that he would be on the next -honors list. "What need do I have of you?"</p> - -<p>"We can give you far more than fifty years," they'd told him. "And -youth, besides."</p> - -<p>At that, he had stopped laughing, but still he had not accepted their -offer, for many reasons ... doubt and fear, perhaps some shreds of -honor, and certainly, since he was a man of science, skepticism.</p> - -<p>Then, when Shortmire was nearing the end of those fifty extra -years which had, indeed, been granted him by a grateful Earth -government—together with a plaque, suitably inscribed—he had -received a gift. It was one of those great crystalline prisms from -Morethis that were so fashionable on Earth as lighting fixtures, not -because they saved fuel—for one such prism would cost ten lifetimes -of fuel—but because they gave a light no Earthborn device could give, -making the old look young, the stupid wise, and, most important of all, -the ugly beautiful.</p> - -<p>Shortmire looked into the lambent depths, wondering who had sent him so -costly and so useless a gift. Suddenly the flame vitrified into a face -that flashed up at him from the crystal—a face that was beautiful in -its horror, and horrible in its beauty. He closed his eyes, but when he -opened them, the iridescent eyes were still there, mocking him for his -cowardice.</p> - -<p>"I am Uvrei," a deep voice of tingling sweetness said, "god among gods -and man among men. I bring you greetings from Morethis, Jan Shortmire."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="388" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Shortmire knew well enough what Uvrei must want, for the Morethans' -long-ago offer had risen of late to the top of his thoughts. They could -not do what they claimed, he had tried to reassure himself, whenever -the memory returned; it was a trick which he had been clever enough not -to fall for. But part of his mind did not believe this, and that part -was glad to see Uvrei.</p> - -<p>"What do you want of me?" he demanded.</p> - -<p>The Morethan smiled, and each glittering tooth was a fiery brilliant. -"The same as before, on the same terms," he said, offering no -enticements. The man who would accept such an offer would provide his -own.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>If they were capable of doing this ... thing with the crystal, then -they might also have other powers. So Shortmire could no longer pretend -that what they offered him was impossible. On the other hand, what they -required of him in return was truly terrible. Could they really do what -they said?</p> - -<p><i>After all, my world has not done overmuch for me. Others, like -Nicholas Dyall, have wealth and power and....</i> He would not let himself -think of Alissa Dyall, since she must long be dead, of old age, if -nothing else. The last he had heard of her was when she and Dyall had -announced their wedding date. Then he had taken the ship fitted out -with the engines everyone said would not work, and he had fled into -space. When he had come back, no one had spoken of her, and gradually, -in his new-found importance, he had to some degree forgotten her, -though he never forgot Dyall.</p> - -<p>Pity to think of Alissa as having grown old. Even more of a pity to -think of himself as having grown old, for he could see that in every -mirror he passed.</p> - -<p>"You're sure you can give me youth as well as life?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Not only youth, but perpetual youth," Uvrei assured him. "Youth such -as you did not know even when you were young."</p> - -<p>But Shortmire was still suspicious. Even if the Morethans could do what -they said, how did he know they would? An alien concept of honor might -have no reference to the terrestrial one. "How do I know I can trust -your word?"</p> - -<p>Uvrei's face grew black, literally black, and the crystal shivered -until, Emrys thought, it would split. And he shivered, too, knowing in -the fine nerves and little muscles of his body what would happen to him -at the final shivering. A fear filled him then that he had never known -before, not even when he faced space for the first time, and in the -midst of that fear came the thought that, if he truly hated Earth, this -was the most artistically nasty revenge he could take.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The crystal trembled to stillness as Uvrei's face paled to composure. -"If you were not an Earthman, Jan Shortmire," he said, "we would not -have needed you, nor you us. And an Earthman could not be expected -to know that the words you have just spoken are the insult that, on -Morethis, is deadlier than death; for the word of an immortal—no -matter to whom or what he gives it—is as sacred and enduring as he -himself."</p> - -<p>"I apologize," Shortmire said quickly, "for my ignorance."</p> - -<p>"And I forgive you," Uvrei declared, as grandly as if he <i>were</i> a god, -"because of that ignorance. Moreover, since you cannot help your racial -deficiencies, I will make this bargain with you. Come to Morethis. -There we will give you the life and youth we promised. Then, when you -are satisfied that we have given you what you desire, you will give us -what we desire."</p> - -<p>Not having been too honorable a man in his own hundred and fifty-five -years, Jan Shortmire still could not believe that the Morethans would -act in all honor. However, even the remote possibility that they would -play fair was strong temptation for an ardent man pushing death. So -he had agreed. He had wound up his affairs and made his will in favor -of "his son." Then he had left Earth to go to Morethis, to die as Jan -Shortmire and he resurrected as Emrys Shortmire.</p> - -<p>The Morethans had kept their word, though there were times when he -wished they had not. For no phoenix casting itself into the fire to -burn alive in agony, so that it might rise again, young and strong and -purified, from the ashes of its own dead self, could have suffered the -excruciating torment of both mind and body that he suffered as, little -by little, he was made young again.</p> - -<p>Uvrei had warned him that this would happen. "To become one of us, you -must be capable of all-endurance." So, for three years, he had lived -on the miasmic planet, suffering unending, unbearable pain—not only -his, but of the others whose lives went to make his new life. Slowly, -agonizingly, these were stirred into the shrieking cauldrons of his -body, until they blended and melted and coalesced to become his new -shape.</p> - -<p>Then Uvrei had led him ceremoniously to a reflecting glass and shown -him Emrys Shortmire—a boy far more handsome than the boy Jan Shortmire -had been, though, at the same time, his twin. The only thing not quite -human about Emrys Shortmire was his eyes, and how could they be human -after what they had seen? But he would forget all that once he was back -on Earth, forget the payment that had been exacted—and prepare to live -his new life to the full.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>All this Emrys Shortmire told Peter Hubbard in the quiet of the -expensive hotel room. It was pleasant to be able to unburden himself at -last. For the past eleven years, there had been a secret side of him -that must always walk apart, even from Megan. Now there was someone who -could know the whole of him, and he was grateful to Hubbard for having -come back to Earth.</p> - -<p>But Hubbard sat there staring with so fixed a gaze that, for a moment, -Emrys thought he was dead. Then he realized that it was only shock; all -this had been too much for so old a man. Selfishly, he had heaped his -burden upon another, without asking whether that other was willing, or -able, to share it.</p> - -<p>"Peter," he began, "I'm sorry...." not quite sure for what he was -apologizing. He could not have trusted the old man at the beginning, -just as he <i>had</i> to trust him now. But of course he was apologizing to -Peter Hubbard, as the representative of humanity, for what he himself -had done to Earth.</p> - -<p>He began to give unasked-for explanations. "I deliberately made you -suspect I killed my father, because if you suspected one of us had done -away with the other, why, then, you'd automatically have assumed there -were two." He looked down at the floor. "And I wanted you to hate me. -We couldn't be friends; otherwise, knowing me better than anyone else -alive, you might have guessed...."</p> - -<p>"I doubt it," Hubbard said wearily. "Almost anything else would have -seemed more likely." Presently he asked, "Weren't you afraid I might -investigate?"</p> - -<p>Emrys smiled. "What could you find out? After all, I <i>hadn't</i> killed -Jan Shortmire."</p> - -<p>The smile became a little fixed. "I wouldn't have cared even if you had -told someone your suspicions then," Emrys went on doggedly, "because I -knew no one would believe you. But now—" he colored—"well, I don't -want you to tell Megan Dyall anything ... bad about me. You see, I ... -love her."</p> - -<p>"I gathered that impression," Hubbard said.</p> - -<p><i>But why does he sound so unhappy about it?</i> Emrys thought angrily. -<i>What's wrong with me?</i> Because he was in love, he could not appreciate -the irony of that thought.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">VI</p> - -<p>Peter Hubbard looked at his old friend with the young face and the -young body and the eyes that were unhuman—but less so than before. -This was a frightful thing that had been done, and by and by he would -feel the full horror of it. Right now he was too numb to care. He felt, -as Emrys Shortmire must have felt on coming back to Earth, detached and -without interest. <i>But I've felt this way before</i>, he thought; <i>it's -because I'm old.</i></p> - -<p>"Were you really satisfied with your bargain, Jan?" he asked, almost -casually.</p> - -<p>"Not at first," the boy admitted, sinking down on the couch and -clasping his hands around his knees. So young, so graceful, and -so ... unnatural. "It seemed to me then that the Morethans had given me -youth and taken away humanity. Because, once I found I was physically -capable, I found I didn't really want the things I had craved so much -before."</p> - -<p>"So they did trick you?" When all was said and done, Hubbard thought, -you could never trust an alien life-form, a foreigner.</p> - -<p>"No, <i>no</i>! You still don't understand. The way I see it is that ... -certain elements in us may not mean anything to them. They don't know -they're there, so they wouldn't realize that anything got lost in ... -the process."</p> - -<p>"Do you think, Jan," Hubbard asked slowly, "that the way you felt—or -didn't feel—might not have anything to do with the Morethans at all? -That, for all your young body, you are an old man and feel like an old -man?"</p> - -<p>"Nonsense! I know what it is to feel like an old man, and I know what -it is to feel like a young man, and I—I felt like neither."</p> - -<p>"When a man has lived a certain number of years," Hubbard said, knowing -that envy gave the truth relish, "he is an old man. Age is in the mind -and heart, not only in the body."</p> - -<p>"That's a lie!" Then Emrys said, more calmly, "If that's so, why did -everything change when I met Megan? Because I found then that my -emotions had not been lost! I had a feeling for her that I'd never had -for another woman—not even for Alissa, I think. I hadn't imagined -there could be a woman like Megan in the world, so sweet and amiable -and completely feminine." He looked angrily at Hubbard. "You think I'm -sentimental, don't you?"</p> - -<p>Hubbard tried to smile. "There's nothing wrong with sentiment." But -sentimentality was characteristic of an old man's love.</p> - -<p>Emrys laughed and hugged his knees. He was overdoing the ingenuousness. -Of course he deliberately played the part of a boy young enough to -be his own great-great-grandson, because he was wooing a woman young -enough to be his own great-great-granddaughter. And Hubbard remembered -how he himself had attempted to move briskly before Nicholas Dyall. -Emrys Shortmire would not have the physical aches that he'd had as -a result, but could there be psychical aches? Could an old man ever -actually be young?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Emrys' face grew sober. "I've never touched her, Peter—really touched -her, I mean. She's not like other women, you know."</p> - -<p>"I know," Hubbard said, remembering back to the time when he, too, had -been in love. Only the memory was not tender in him, because he had -married the girl and lived with her for nearly seventy years.</p> - -<p>"Peter, you aren't listening!"</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry," the old man said, waking from his reverie. "What were you -saying?"</p> - -<p>"I said, do you think Megan would be willing to marry me, if she knew I -was older than her great-great-grandfather?"</p> - -<p>But there was a more important question that Hubbard could no longer -refuse to face. "Jan, what did you give the Morethans in return for -what they gave you?"</p> - -<p>"You haven't answered my question."</p> - -<p>"I can't answer it, because I don't know the girl. But you can answer -mine, because you know what you gave the Morethans."</p> - -<p>Emrys was silent for a moment; then he laughed. "I gave them my soul," -he said lightly. "Like that fellow in the opera."</p> - -<p>"I know that. What I'm afraid of is that it wasn't enough. In what form -did you give it to them, Jan?"</p> - -<p>"You have no right to catechize me like that."</p> - -<p>The old man's voice was soft. "I think I have."</p> - -<p>Emrys was a long time in answering. When he finally spoke, his voice -was flat and dead. "All right, I gave them the blueprints for the -space-warp engines. What else did I have to give them in exchange?"</p> - -<p>Hubbard expelled a long breath. He had answered this question for -himself many minutes before. Still, the shock of confirmation was too -great. All hope was gone now. "Perhaps you had a right to sell your own -soul, Jan, but you had no right to sell humanity's." His good breeding -held up all the way. This man had betrayed the whole of mankind, and so -he, Peter Hubbard, reproached him gently for it. Though, come to think -of it, what good would savage recrimination—or anything—do?</p> - -<p>"But <i>you</i> don't have to worry about it, Peter!" Emrys cried. "Listen, -the Morethan technology is so alien, so different from ours, because -it's based on mental rather than physical forces, that it'll take -centuries before they can acquire the techniques they'll need to build -the engines. And they'll have trouble getting the materials. We'll both -have been long in our graves by the time they'll reach Earth."</p> - -<p>"And that makes it all right? It doesn't matter to you what happens to -your own home planet once you are dead?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The young-looking face was flushed. "Why should it? Does Earth care -what happens to me? During the plague, they cursed my name because I -invented the star-engines. That's the only time Earth remembered me."</p> - -<p>"During the plague, men were insane, Jan," Hubbard said, knowing his -own sweet reasonableness was ludicrous under the circumstances, "not -responsible for what they said. They don't curse your name any more."</p> - -<p>"No, they've forgotten it." Emrys looked at Hubbard with blazing, -unhuman eyes. "Why should you expect me to put their welfare before my -own?"</p> - -<p>"You must, if the race is to survive."</p> - -<p>Hubbard expected Emrys to say, "Why should it survive?" but apparently -there was a grain of emotion left here. "It will survive. The Morethans -are not—" the word seemed to stick in Emrys' throat—"monsters."</p> - -<p>"Jan," Hubbard said in a monotone, "eleven years ago, after you came to -Earth for your inheritance, I became interested in Morethis—naturally -enough, I suppose. I started scanning everything I could lay my hands -on, and I learned a great deal about it—as much, I believe, as anyone -off Morethis knows. Except, of course, you."</p> - -<p>Emrys rose and began to pace the floor. "Nobody really knows anything -about Morethis. Most of what has been written is a—a pack of lies. One -liar copied from another, and so they perpetuate the lie. Scandal has -always sold better than truth!"</p> - -<p>Hubbard said, "There is a legend that the Morethans once had limited -space travel, though no way of warping space to bring the distant stars -closer, since they did not use engines. But there were many stars close -to them, and they traveled from system to system, sucking each one dry. -Then there were no living planets left in their sector of space, and -their engineless ships could not bridge the gap to the next cluster, so -they found themselves trapped on a dying planet that revolved around a -dying star, and they, as a race, began to die themselves."</p> - -<p>Emrys tried to laugh. "Looks like a fine case of poetic justice, but—"</p> - -<p>"Wait. I haven't finished. The race did not die completely; it decayed. -Certain among the people stayed alive through sucking the lives of -the others; certain among them still kept some vestiges of the old -traditions and knowledge; certain among them waited."</p> - -<p>"Is that the end of your story?"</p> - -<p>Hubbard nodded. Emrys' face was ashen. "Well, it's an old wives' tale," -he sputtered. "All the Morethans want is to be able to compete on an -equal basis with Earth. They don't want to be exploited, nor do they -intend to...." As his eyes caught Hubbard's, his voice trailed off. -"Anyhow, I'll be dead," he said. "I don't give a damn what happens -after I'm dead."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hubbard didn't believe it. He couldn't. There is no man who has not -some love for his own kind, be it ever so little, merely because they -look like him.</p> - -<p>"You won't tell anybody who I really am?" Emrys asked childishly. -"You're still my friend, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>Hubbard sighed. Was he still this creature's friend? He didn't know. -"Who would believe me?" he finally asked. "And even if they did, what's -the use? Nothing can be done. The only thing that's ever protected us -from the Morethans is distance. When they reach Earth, they will have -already conquered us. Mental powers are always stronger than physical -powers at close range."</p> - -<p>"That's right." Emrys seemed to be relieved at the idea that the -question was out of his hands. "Too late now to do anything about it."</p> - -<p>Hubbard nodded. There was no way out that he could see.</p> - -<p>"But you <i>do</i> promise not to tell old Dyall that I'm my father instead -of me?" Emrys asked anxiously.</p> - -<p>"Even if he believed me, he wouldn't care. All he wants is a good -match for that great-great-granddaughter of his."</p> - -<p>But was that all? As far as money went, Nicholas Dyall was reputed to -be the richest man alive. And if he was truly fond of the girl, would -he not at least have investigated the young man?</p> - -<p>"You're <i>hard</i>!" Emrys complained, but without rancor.</p> - -<p>"I have a suspicious nature," Hubbard said thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's -the legal mind. At any rate, I don't care for Nicholas Dyall."</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't either, but I don't really give a hang what kind of a -great-great-grandfather-in-law I'm getting. All I care about is Megan. -Do you think it's wrong for me to ask her to marry me?"</p> - -<p>"Can't you understand that, at this stage, the girl doesn't matter?"</p> - -<p>"No," Emrys said simply. "I cannot imagine her not mattering."</p> - -<p>After he had gone, Hubbard still found himself thinking about Nicholas -Dyall. In his whole lifetime, the old lawyer had personally known -only two men whom society had deemed worthy of its highest honor, the -longevity treatment. And these were more than most men had met, for the -longevity treatment was given to very few. Both of the two, Dyall and -Shortmire, had some defect in their personalities that warped them—all -but completely, in Shortmire's case—away from the human virtues.</p> - -<p>Was that defect a part of the creative talent that had earned the -individual his right to the treatment? Or did it arise as an effect -of the treatment itself? Because, if that was the case, then Earth's -longevity treatment might be nothing more than a primitive form of the -Morethan "process."</p> - -<p>Since only straws remained to be grasped at, no one thing Hubbard did -would be more futile than any other. And since he had nothing better to -do, he might just as well investigate this new avenue. Jan Shortmire -had hated Nicholas Dyall. Had Nicholas Dyall hated Jan Shortmire with -equal venom? And, if so, had he done anything about it?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">VII</p> - -<p>A Gong sounded and a mechanical voice announced, "Mr. Peter Hubbard to -see Mr. Dyall and Mr. Shortmire."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to say he has the <i>gall</i> to come see us, after the -accusations he made against you, Emrys?" Dyall demanded incredulously. -"I still can't understand why you sent him an invitation to the -wedding, but that he should make a casual social call...!"</p> - -<p>"We've come to terms." Emrys smiled. "After all, at his age, he can't -be held accountable for everything he says."</p> - -<p>"I'm at least fifty years older than he is!" the old engineer almost -spat. "And you—do you mean that I am not responsible for what I say?"</p> - -<p>Knowing that he was the other man's senior by some twenty years -himself, Emrys was malevolently pleased. "Some people retain their -faculties longer than others," he observed. "And Hubbard was my -father's friend, as well as his lawyer, so he's the closest thing to -a relative that I have on Earth. Except you, of course; you were my -father's friend, too."</p> - -<p>Dyall's lips tightened. "How does Hubbard know you're in this house -right now? Do you think he's having you followed?"</p> - -<p>It was possible, but Emrys didn't care. For almost a year now, his life -had been blameless, and, strangely, it suited him to live that way. -"I'm here in this house most of the time. It wouldn't be hard for him -to figure out where he could find me."</p> - -<p>The gong sounded again. Dyall looked undecided.</p> - -<p>"If <i>I</i> can forgive him, sir," Emrys said gently, "surely <i>you</i> can."</p> - -<p>"Show him in," Dyall rasped to the machine.</p> - -<p>Megan rose to go, but Emrys kept hold of her small, cold hand. "I'd -like you to meet Peter Hubbard, dear. He's really a nice old fellow -when you get to know him. Just a bit too much of a do-gooder, that's -all."</p> - -<p>Dyall snorted.</p> - -<p>"I shall be glad to know any friend of yours, Emrys," Megan said, -sitting down again obediently.</p> - -<p>After a moment, Peter Hubbard came into the room. "Peter, this is my -fiancée, Megan Dyall." Smilingly, Emrys waited for the usual inane -felicitations. He couldn't expect a man of Hubbard's age to be bowled -over by this loveliness, but still surely no man, no matter how -ancient, could be completely insensible to the girl's charm.</p> - -<p>Hubbard stood still and stared at her. "Amazing...." he murmured. -"Amazing...." Then he turned to Dyall. "You are to be congratulated, -sir."</p> - -<p>Emrys was annoyed. He knew Hubbard was too well-bred to make a remark -like that unintentionally. However, he pretended to be amused and said, -"You're supposed to congratulate <i>me</i>, Peter."</p> - -<p>But Hubbard continued his inexplicable rudeness by paying no attention -to Emrys and, instead, staring at Nicholas Dyall. And finally Dyall -said, with a strangled laugh, "I think perhaps in this instance Mr. -Hubbard is right."</p> - -<p>He threw himself into an easy chair with an attempt at nonchalance, -but it was embarrassingly apparent that his stick was not enough to -support him any more. His old body was trembling. And Emrys found that -he himself was trembling, too.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was a painful silence. Everyone seemed to be waiting. Even Megan -glanced from one to the other with her usual expression of bright-eyed -interest.</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately, Mr. Hubbard," Dyall said at last, "you've reached your -conclusions too late to do anything except perhaps hasten an end that -is, you'll concede, by now inevitable."</p> - -<p>"Yes," Hubbard agreed, "you've won <i>your</i> game." He came a little -further into the room, so that he was standing over the other old man. -"I do believe that, of the two, you are the worse. He did what he did -out of spite. You created that spite and kept it alive."</p> - -<p>Dyall's dark face flushed and his hands tightened on his cane. "But I -had a right to do what I did. And I hurt only one person. Two, if you -include me. Give me credit, at least, for the smallness of my scope."</p> - -<p>Hubbard glanced at Megan. And Dyall broke into the shrill cackle of an -old man. "But you know, you <i>know</i>, and still you think of her! How -sentimental can you get? Don't you realize—"</p> - -<p>"How much does she?" Hubbard said. "How much do you?"</p> - -<p>Emrys had become nearly frantic with frustration and bewilderment. He -was the one who had secrets; nobody else. Nothing was to be kept hidden -from <i>him</i>! "What are you two blabbering about?" he almost screamed. -"It doesn't make sense—any of it!"</p> - -<p>Hubbard turned toward him, his head and neck moving with the deliberate -precision of a piece of clockwork. "It makes very good sense, Jan. I -realized that I could find out nothing more from the stars, so I turned -my researches back to Earth. I've been investigating Mr. Dyall."</p> - -<p>"What did you find?" Emrys asked tensely. Why did Peter call him by his -former name in front of his former enemy? Had the old fool forgotten -his promise, or had he broken it on purpose? "<i>What did you find out?</i>" -he repeated.</p> - -<p>Hubbard's voice was filled with pity. "Just this: Nicholas Dyall never -did marry Alissa Embel."</p> - -<p>Emrys' fear exploded into a scarlet rage. "Then Megan is—" He advanced -on Dyall, his fists clenched. "If you took Alissa and then didn't—"</p> - -<p>Hubbard caught his arm in a frail grip. "Don't be so hasty, Emrys. -Dyall did no wrong to Alissa Embel, whatever wrong he may have done to -you."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," Dyall murmured, "for granting me that I gave her all I -had, but it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted—" his old eyes were -filled with hate as he looked at Emrys—"you."</p> - -<p>"Alissa Embel killed herself on the day before the wedding," Hubbard -told Emrys. "She, as we attorneys say, died without issue."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Emrys was glad that, since he could not have had Alissa, Dyall had not, -either. At the same time, he felt an overwhelmingly poignant sense of -sorrow, that he should have had three full lifetimes, and the woman he -had loved—insofar as Jan Shortmire had been capable of love—not even -one.</p> - -<p>He raised dull eyes to the two old men. "Then who is Megan?"</p> - -<p>Hubbard hesitated. But what worse could there be to tell? And then -the lawyer asked a ridiculous question, "Jan, do you know why Dyall's -machines didn't meet popular favor until he changed them?"</p> - -<p>Emrys plunged back once again into the well of his memories. "Nobody -wanted to buy machines that looked too much like people; it made -them ... uncomfortable. So Dyall stopped designing robots and made -machines adapted to their separate functions and—" His voice became a -cry of anguish. "<i>Megan!</i>"</p> - -<p>She turned her bland, smiling doll face toward him. "I'm sorry, Emrys," -the sweet voice said.</p> - -<p>Dyall's eyes were squeezed shut and something glistened on the edge -of them—something that Emrys would not admit were tears, because he -himself could never cry.</p> - -<p>"When Alissa died," Dyall said, "I knew I couldn't love another woman. -So I made a mechanical doll in her image. I made her the woman every -man dreams of—lovely and sympathetic and undemanding. And I told -myself she would be better than the original Alissa because she would -be perfect, and Alissa wasn't; she would stay young forever, while the -real Alissa would have grown old ... if she had lived. But it wasn't -the same for me."</p> - -<p><i>Why was she the same for me, then?</i> Emrys wondered bitterly. <i>Was it -because I didn't know? Is that all love is—self-deception?</i></p> - -<p>"Perhaps," Dyall went on, "Man cannot appreciate true perfection; -perhaps he's not good enough himself. Still, she was company of a sort -and so I kept her by me. And then, when I read of Emrys Shortmire's -arrival on Earth, I sent him a note, but he didn't answer; however, I -contrived to get a look at him anyway. Then I knew for sure that he was -Jan Shortmire himself; and then I knew what Megan's destiny was...."</p> - -<p>"How <i>could</i> you know he—I was Jan Shortmire?" Emrys demanded angrily. -It was insupportable that old Dyall should have known all along; it -spoiled the joke. "Where would you have—have gotten the concept?"</p> - -<p>The old man smiled, opening his eyes. "Because the Morethans made me -the same offer they did you! Did you think you were the only one?" And, -throwing back his head, he derisively began to laugh aloud.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>More than ever, Emrys hated the Morethans, not for what they would do -to Earth's pride, but for what they had done to his. Because now there -was nothing that he had been offered that Dyall had not been offered -also. And Dyall had not accepted the Morethans' offer, thereby proving -himself the better man. And Dyall had tricked him, thereby proving -himself the cleverer man. And Dyall had hated him even more than he -had hated Dyall, thereby proving himself the more constant man. So -there Emrys Shortmire, Jan Shortmire, was left ... with nothing but a -youthfulness of which, he had to admit to himself, he had grown rather -tired.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, Emrys," Megan said. "I'm terribly sorry."</p> - -<p>Dyall sprang from his chair. "I'm sick of that piping doll's voice of -yours! I've stood it for a century, and that's long enough!" Raising -his stick high in the air, he crashed it down upon the golden head, -the pretty pink and white face. And, frozen in horror, Emrys could -not move until it was too late. He had not conceived old Dyall capable -of committing outright murder so wantonly. Probably he wasn't; to him, -Megan was and had been always a doll.</p> - -<p>And now she was a heap of broken wheels and gears on the thick rug. -Still, out of the heap of twisted machinery, a tiny, tinny voice kept -repeating "I'm sorry, Emrys. I'm terribly sorry."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="600" height="237" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Exhausted by his effort, Dyall sank back into his chair. And he laughed -as Emrys, wanting desperately to weep, unable to, bent over the pieces, -trying to fit them together again.</p> - -<p>"You'll never do it, Jan," he croaked maliciously. "Even a good -engineer would never be able to repair it now. If I know how to create, -I also know how to destroy!" And he went into another paroxysm of -gleefully triumphant laughter.</p> - -<p>Emrys saw that Megan was indeed far beyond his powers, and probably -old Dyall's, to repair. Filled with fury—the one emotion, he saw now, -that he had not given up—he turned to smash Nicholas Dyall as Dyall -had smashed his doll. But the old, old man sat perfectly still in his -chair. There was a broad grin on his face.</p> - -<p>He made a very cheerful corpse.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">VIII</p> - -<p>Emrys Shortmire found that he did not want life any more. He went back -to his mansion and he tried to hang himself. But the rope would not -cut off his breath. He pointed a ray gun at his head, and although the -heat became intolerable, it did not burn him. He swallowed poison and -waited. Nothing happened. He threw himself off the roof and landed -unhurt upon the pavement below. He went back inside and slashed his -wrist and saw the cuts close before his eyes. And as he stared at -the unmarked skin, thick fog filled the room, and he heard Uvrei's -voice—and it was the greatest ignominy of all that the Morethan's -voice should <i>dare</i> to hold compassion.</p> - -<p>"Don't you know, Emrys, that an immortal cannot die?"</p> - -<p>When Emrys forced himself to look at the ancient one, he saw that -the beautiful eyes were filled with an unhallowed pity. "You are an -immortal god, son of my spirit. You can destroy anything except one of -us—and you are one of us now."</p> - -<p>"I'm not one of you. I'm not a god, nor are you. I'm not...." Emrys -looked down at his wrists, then back at Uvrei. "But I may be immortal," -he acknowledged. "It wasn't just a figure of speech?"</p> - -<p>"You will never die, Emrys. You will exist forever, like us, a handful -of changelessness in a changing universe."</p> - -<p>"Then I <i>won't</i> be dead when you come to Earth?" He had fancied himself -out of it, but what exquisite punishment that not until he had tired of -life had he found out he was cursed with unwanted life forever. He had -not been a good man, but was any man evil enough to deserve this?</p> - -<p>"When we come to Earth, you will be waiting for us. But you will look -forward to our coming." And Uvrei said once again, "You are one of us, -Emrys."</p> - -<p>"I'm not! I'm <i>not</i>!"</p> - -<p>"Of course you are. Like us, you do not breathe air—"</p> - -<p>"I do...." And then Emrys remembered that the rope had not cut off his -breath, and it might well have been because he had not been breathing.</p> - -<p>"Like us, you do not eat food."</p> - -<p>"But I do!" And here Emrys was genuinely perplexed.</p> - -<p>"We left you your digestive system, because part of the pleasure you -craved comes through that. But you could completely deny yourself the -food that you thought sustained you and feel no ill effects—at least -no physical ones. It's the pills that feed you, Emrys."</p> - -<p>"Well," Emrys said slowly, "they're food, then."</p> - -<p>"Of a sort. But not the kind you mean. You cannot exist without us and -our skills, Emrys. Each vial of pills consists of the mitogenetic force -of ten tons of life."</p> - -<p>"What kind of life?" Emrys asked.</p> - -<p>"Does it really matter?"</p> - -<p>"You said I cannot exist without you," Emrys pointed out shrewdly, -"that I need the pills. So I could stop taking them, couldn't I, and -starve myself to death?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Uvrei smiled. "Yes, you could do that. Only it would take, say, about -fifteen hundred terrestrial years—perhaps, since we have given you -a strong, young body, as much as two thousand. Do you think you are -strong enough to starve yourself to death over a period of two thousand -years?"</p> - -<p>Emrys knew he was not. In that first anguish, all he could think of -to do was to humble himself before the Morethan. "I have served your -purpose. Why not be merciful to me now?" he pleaded. "At least let me -die."</p> - -<p>"I could not, even if I would. So little of our old powers remain. We -have kept the secret of perpetual life, but we have lost the secret of -perpetual death."</p> - -<p>"But that's the greater secret!"</p> - -<p>"Of course it is!" For the first time, Emrys saw the Morethan high -priest lose control. "Do you think I don't know what it is to crave -death?"</p> - -<p>After a silence, the voice, once more chillingly warm, said, "Come, -my son, being one of us, you have nothing to fear from our arrival. -You no longer have anything in common with these animals. You cannot -even—what is your word?—love them. When you tried, you fixed upon a -machine with the face of a memory."</p> - -<p>"Would a human being have known she was a machine?"</p> - -<p>"A human being would have known."</p> - -<p>"Then ... I am a machine, too? A machine created by mental, rather than -physical processes, but a machine nonetheless?"</p> - -<p>"In a sense," the alien said thoughtfully, "you could be called -that—though to compare you, as an artistic creation, with that -trumpery piece of gimcrack...."</p> - -<p>"Don't call her that!" Emrys shouted. "She's dead!"</p> - -<p>Uvrei began to laugh quietly. After a little, Emrys began to laugh, -too. "I'm being foolish," he said.</p> - -<p>"Extremely foolish," Uvrei agreed. "Resign yourself, my son, and accept -your fate. That is what we immortals have all had to do, one by one."</p> - -<p>Of course he could do that, Emrys thought. After all, he wouldn't be as -badly off as the other Earth people when the Morethans came; whatever -else happened, he, at least, could not be turned into a component part -of a little golden pill. Immortality was a dull future, but perhaps, -after the Morethans arrived, it would become more interesting.</p> - -<p>"Good-by, son of my spirit," Uvrei said. "We shall meet again -corporeally in a few centuries." The fog thickened about him and -disappeared, leaving its characteristic odor behind.</p> - -<p>And still Emrys could not resign himself. <i>Dyall could have had this, -too, if he had wanted it. This was what he was offered and what he was -strong enough to refuse. If I accept my fate, then I will always know -that I have come off second best to him.</i> And this prospect, more than -immortality, more than the knowledge of what would happen to Earth and -its people, was the one that Emrys found intolerable.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">IX</p> - -<p><i>Why doesn't he leave me alone?</i> Peter Hubbard thought, as, wearily, he -told the Dyall machine to let Emrys Shortmire up. <i>I am a very old man -and I will die soon. Can't he leave me alone in the little time left?</i></p> - -<p>But he could not forget the obligations of courtesy. He was polite to -Emrys Shortmire when the other man came in. Even if he hadn't been, he -saw, Emrys wouldn't have noticed; he was too full of his own thoughts.</p> - -<p>"Peter," he cried, almost before he was fully in the room, "did you -know that, in dying, Nicholas Dyall won a final victory over me?"</p> - -<p>The old man muffled a yawn. "You mean you can't die? Well, I was afraid -of that. I am sorry for you, Jan, but you brought this upon yourself."</p> - -<p>"I know," Emrys said, looking a little disappointed that the knowledge -did not startle the lawyer. "I will be alive when they come," he went -on, more subdued. "I will be waiting, or so they think."</p> - -<p>"I imagine that's what they counted on," Hubbard said indifferently. -"You not only giving them the secret of the engines but acting as a—an -outpost. They didn't sell their wares cheap, did they?"</p> - -<p>Emrys' eyes flashed copper fire. "But I will <i>not</i> be waiting to help -them. I will be waiting to <i>fight</i> them."</p> - -<p>"Brave words."</p> - -<p>"You think I can't fight them?"</p> - -<p>"Of course you can't. They have powers far beyond yours. And why should -you want to fight them? I know you hadn't planned to be alive when they -came, but it won't be bad for you. You're one of them now."</p> - -<p>Emrys sat down on the couch. "Physically I am. That's why I <i>can</i> -fight them. Look, Peter, I have centuries ahead of me. By giving me -immortality, they have also given me time."</p> - -<p>"Splendid. Time to do what?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," Emrys confessed. "But time is such a valuable commodity -in itself. With it, I could learn how to turn their own powers against -them."</p> - -<p>"Easier said than done," Hubbard observed.</p> - -<p>"Maybe I could—oh—invent a machine that will amplify my mind powers -until it can overcome all of theirs...."</p> - -<p>Hubbard said nothing.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, the engines I gave them can't take them out of this galaxy -any more than those same engines can take humanity out of it. But, -given time, I can invent <i>new</i> engines, Peter—engines that can jump -the gap from galaxy to galaxy. If I cannot give Man the weapons with -which to fight, at least I can give him the means by which to flee! -And, since I was the man who invented the one, I can be the man to -invent the other!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That was true, Hubbard thought, hope rising in him, despite all his -efforts to hold it back. That was possible. But would Emrys do this? -Right now, in the first flush of repentance, he might try to. But if -the work grew tedious, might he not say to himself: <i>Why bother? I'm -bound to live forever, anyway. Why should I care what happens to the -others of my kind?</i></p> - -<p>"Who knows, Peter," Emrys cried, "I may be able to invent engines that -can move the whole world—all our worlds—to another galaxy, where the -Morethans will never be able to follow!"</p> - -<p>"What's in it for you, Emrys?" Hubbard asked bluntly.</p> - -<p>"I want to save humanity ... and, of course," Emrys added, his eyes -lighting exultantly, "by doing that, I will do more than Dyall ever -did. My name will go down in history, and his—"</p> - -<p>"Do you hate him so much, Emrys, even though he's dead?" Hubbard asked -wonderingly, unable to conceive of such a thing.</p> - -<p>"<i>Especially</i> because he's dead," Emrys snarled. "Because now I'll -never have the pleasure of mocking him." He looked anxiously at -Hubbard. "Don't you think I'm doing the right thing, Peter?"</p> - -<p>The right thing, but for the wrong reason. Only for the wrong reason, -though, was Emrys sure to finish what he had set out to do. It was the -one motive that would keep him working long after he grew bored with -the work. It was humanity's only chance, and so it did not matter <i>why</i> -Emrys was doing this.</p> - -<p>"It's a splendid thing you're planning to do, Emrys," Hubbard said -warmly. "A splendid thing!"</p> - -<p>What if Emrys <i>did</i> go down in history? It would be thanks to him that -history had continued at all.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Yes, he was a vicious man. And Dyall had been equally vicious. And -Peter Hubbard was a good man—and it was he who had <i>not</i> been granted -that fifty extra years of life. What was goodness? Was it inherently -opposed to greatness? Did things get done only out of malevolent -motives—anger and ruthlessness and spite? If, as it seemed, goodness -was a passive force, and evil an active one, perhaps the world needed -both. And if, as it seemed, evil could beget good, then evil could not -be all bad.</p> - -<p><i>So</i>, Peter Hubbard thought, <i>there is hope for the Morethans as well -as for humanity.</i></p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Never Come Midnight, by Christopher Grimm - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEVER COME MIDNIGHT *** - -***** This file should be named 51834-h.htm or 51834-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/8/3/51834/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/51834-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/51834-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8cf808f..0000000 --- a/old/51834-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51834-h/images/illus1.jpg b/old/51834-h/images/illus1.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9a46825..0000000 --- a/old/51834-h/images/illus1.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51834-h/images/illus2.jpg b/old/51834-h/images/illus2.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4cb6f8c..0000000 --- a/old/51834-h/images/illus2.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51834-h/images/illus3.jpg b/old/51834-h/images/illus3.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 64f4a51..0000000 --- a/old/51834-h/images/illus3.jpg +++ /dev/null |
