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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..1f1af0f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60881 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60881) diff --git a/old/60881-h.zip b/old/60881-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 0b9b77a..0000000 --- a/old/60881-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/60881-h/60881-h.htm b/old/60881-h/60881-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index dc54965..0000000 --- a/old/60881-h/60881-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1463 +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 The Last Trespasser, by Jim Harmon. - </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; -} - -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 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Last Trespasser, by Jim Harmon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Last Trespasser - -Author: Jim Harmon - -Release Date: December 8, 2019 [EBook #60881] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST TRESPASSER *** - - - - -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="356" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>THE LAST TRESPASSER</h1> - -<h2>By JIM HARMON</h2> - -<p class="ph1"><i>There was nothing wrong with<br /> -him that a Rider could not cure ...<br /> -and the rougher, the better!</i></p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1960.<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>They would not believe Malloy was alone in there, in the padded cell. -That made it worse.</p> - -<p>Malloy was in his month for lying on his stomach to avoid bed sores. He -was walking from Peoria, Illinois, to Detroit, Michigan, currently and -he had just reached Chicago. It was fine to see State Street again, and -the jewelry stores stuck in the alcoves of churches with the handsomely -barred windows.</p> - -<p>A man in Army-surplus green with an old library book was asking for -carfare to a hiring hall when they began opening the door.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" width="364" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Malloy rolled over on one elbow. It was peculiar. They hadn't done that -for three years.</p> - -<p>Two of them came inside, thick men with disinterested faces.</p> - -<p>"Try no sudden moves," one of them advised him.</p> - -<p>"We will anticipate you," the other one added.</p> - -<p>Malloy went through the unfamiliar process of standing up. He looked -at two men. "I wouldn't try anything against the four of you. I'm not -<i>that</i> crazy."</p> - -<p>"Time for an interrogation, Malloy," the orderly said. "Come with us."</p> - -<p>Malloy fell in between them and left the padded cell, frowning.</p> - -<p>"What kind of an interrogation?" he asked them.</p> - -<p>"What other kind?" one countered. "A sanity hearing."</p> - -<p>He felt his eyebrows jerk. <i>His sanity?</i> He thought that had been -established long ago. Or his lack of it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Malloy remembered the doctor. He hadn't had much else to do for several -years.</p> - -<p>He was Dr. Heirson, a graying man with starched face and collar. But -the younger man sitting with Heirson behind the broad, translucent desk -was a stranger to Malloy. He seemed to be a comic strip drawing, all in -straight lines.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Step forward, Michael," Heirson said.</p> - -<p>Malloy stepped forward. It had been a long time since he had been -allowed to travel so far.</p> - -<p>"Now relax, Michael," the doctor continued, leaning forward and -grinning hideously. "All you have to do is tell me the truth."</p> - -<p>"No, I don't, Doctor. I'm under no compulsion to tell you the truth. -I'm perfectly capable of lying if it would do me any good."</p> - -<p>"Hush that, Michael. You must not try to make believe you can lie. I -know you tell me only the truth."</p> - -<p>"All right," Malloy said, exhaling deeply. "Believe that I speak only -the truth if you like. But remember, I just told you that I'm a liar -and that must be true."</p> - -<p>Heirson blinked in watery confusion. He was obviously senile; only the -old man's Rider kept him from coming apart at his mental seams.</p> - -<p>The angle-faced man spoke into Heirson's ear. The old doctor continued -to blink for a moment, then faced Malloy, the lines of his face drawn -into an asterisk.</p> - -<p>"What? You mean to tell me that you don't have an inner voice that -urges you to tell the truth at all times?"</p> - -<p>"No," Malloy explained, "I do not hear voices."</p> - -<p>"You don't?"</p> - -<p>"Never."</p> - -<p>"And there is no inner sense that tells you when somebody is plotting -against you?"</p> - -<p>"Absolutely not."</p> - -<p>"And when you are in trouble or danger, there is nothing that allows -you to somehow look into the future or read minds or see through walls?"</p> - -<p>"I can't do any of those things," Malloy stated.</p> - -<p>Heirson threw up his hands. "Complete withdrawal from reality! -Pathological! Why is he here anyway?"</p> - -<p>The younger man grasped the withered thin upper arm and whispered -audibly but not understandably. Heirson's face eventually quivered -back in line with Malloy's.</p> - -<p>"Michael, do you know what year this is?" the doctor asked.</p> - -<p>Malloy thought about that one. He wasn't absolutely certain, but he -made some rapid calculations.</p> - -<p>"1978?"</p> - -<p>"1979! And what has been the single most important development in human -history in recent times?"</p> - -<p>Malloy sighed. He knew what he was expected to say.</p> - -<p>"The coming of the Riders."</p> - -<p>"And what are Riders?"</p> - -<p>"Riders," Malloy recited patiently, "are elements of a symbiotic -life-form. They have united with human beings to make one symbiotic -creature. They have given much more than they have taken. All prominent -religions recognize that they do not interfere with human free will. -They have made us healthier, virtually immortal, and near supermen. The -human race now is so much zoa, and every man is a zoon. Every man but -me. <i>Damn it, I don't have any Rider!</i> I'm not a superman and I cannot -get away with pretending to be one!"</p> - -<p>Heirson oscillated his head. "Michael, Michael, your case isn't -unique. There are others who claim that they have no Riders—usually -maintaining that they are naturally superhuman and need no help from -some funny kind of foreigner. They are tolerated the same way, that -B.R., we tolerated people who claimed they possessed psychic auras, or -who got up in cathedrals and yelled that they had no souls. But you, -Michael, are a trouble-maker. You've been rude, vulgar, and reckless -with your life and others in your pretense to be Riderless. Your -pathological retreat from reality leaves us with no choice but to—"</p> - -<p>The other man behind the desk shoved a paper in front of Heirson and -tapped it forcefully with an index finger.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Heirson read the paper and his eyebrows went askew. "Yes, yes, we -have discovered that there is a basic difference between you and the -others who maintain they have no Riders. It would seem it <i>has</i> been -established that you really <i>do not</i> have a Rider. Remarkable! Yes. -Well, I have no alternative but to dismiss you from this institution, -Michael Malloy, and to extend to you my personal apology for any -inconvenience your three-and-a-half-years' detainment may have caused -you."</p> - -<p>A trick, Malloy thought.</p> - -<p>Only what point would there be in tricking him?</p> - -<p>The oppressive horror of it crushed down upon him with its full weight.</p> - -<p>"Oh no," he said. "No, sir. Take me back to my padded cell. I've got -my rights. I'm not going out there again. Maybe I could have learned to -live with it once, but not now. I can't face up to living with a world -of supermen, people who can do everything better than I can. <i>Take me -back.</i> I think I'm going to get violent any minute now!"</p> - -<p>He took a swing at the nearest guard, but naturally the guard's Rider -told him what was coming and he dodged deftly, caught Malloy's arm -and twisted it into half-nelson to hold him completely, infuriatingly -helpless. Malloy had to hold back tears of frustration.</p> - -<p>"Fortunately," Dr. Heirson croaked, "you can do no harm even if you do -get violent, and I'm sure everyone will want to do everything possible -for a poor unfortunate like yourself. We all will make allowances."</p> - -<p>"No, no, no!" Malloy announced with the rhythm of his stomping feet. "I -won't leave here! I <i>won't</i>!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The man beside Heirson favored Malloy with a smile; Malloy wasn't -sure whether it was friendly or mocking. The stranger nodded his head -briefly to the guards.</p> - -<p>Malloy was dragged, protesting, down the marble-floored hallway to the -entrance of the mental hospital. His anguished cries echoed across the -ornate ceiling of the old building.</p> - -<p>He was shoved out the front door with a parcel in brown paper under his -arms.</p> - -<p>Malloy made one desperate attempt to get back inside but the massive -door clanged in his face, and he could hear the reverberations dying -away inside and the steady retreat of footsteps.</p> - -<p>Malloy turned away in pain from the unaccustomed brilliance and warmth -of the sun and banged on the door with his fists and demanded to be -readmitted.</p> - -<p>He grew hoarser and hoarser and he slid further and further down until -he was squatting on the threshold, his cheek rested against the warm -varnished surface of the door.</p> - -<p>Malloy had never been an overly proud or vain man before the Riders had -come. After all, he'd had one of the most menial jobs on Earth; he had -been a magazine editor. But now he felt squashed under the thumb of -humiliation.</p> - -<p>The monstrous indignity of it all!</p> - -<p>To be thrown out of an asylum!</p> - -<p>After a time, Malloy felt a coolness, a wetness on his head.</p> - -<p>He dreamed a little dream to himself that he knew was a dream: they -were coming to wrap him in warm sheets again.</p> - -<p>But it was only a dream. This wetness wasn't warm—it was chilly. He -finally identified it from his memories. This was rain.</p> - -<p>He stirred himself and gathered up the brown bundle that he knew must -contain his suit, papers and a little money.</p> - -<p>Malloy trudged down the road toward the town that lay below the -sanitarium, his collar turned up.</p> - -<p>He found he didn't mind the rain so much. It tended to settle the dust, -and the walk would be a long one.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Grayson Amery, the iron-haired publisher, greeted Malloy with a firm, -warm, dry handshake.</p> - -<p>"Michael, it's certainly good to see you again. You are looking well."</p> - -<p>"Yes, the bruises left by the strait jacket straps don't show," said -Malloy.</p> - -<p>"A unique miscarriage of justice," Amery said.</p> - -<p>"I certainly hope it's unique. I hope there aren't any more poor devils -like me locked away."</p> - -<p>Amery offered Malloy a chair with a broad, well-manicured hand. "I'm -confident that there aren't. And you are out now, fortunately."</p> - -<p>"You can call it fortune if you like," Malloy said uneasily.</p> - -<p>"But you <i>are</i> glad to be out?"</p> - -<p>Malloy hesitated. "I'm resigned to it. The flow of time washed some -of the salt out of the wound. Being born is definitely a traumatic -experience."</p> - -<p>"How well I remember!" Amery said.</p> - -<p>Malloy glanced at him sharply, then eased back in his chair. Of course, -like everybody else, thanks to his Rider, Amery had total recall. -Malloy couldn't even remember his first birthday party.</p> - -<p>"Is there any way I can be of help to you, Michael?" Amery went on.</p> - -<p>"Sure. I want my job back."</p> - -<p>Amery's forehead squeezed into lines of distress. "Yes, I was made -aware of that. But, Michael, there have been a lot of changes in the -publishing business since you were with us. For instance, it would be -difficult for you to proofread a manuscript today."</p> - -<p>"I'm hardly the type who can't spell. I haven't forgotten that."</p> - -<p>"I know, Michael, but here—have a look at this."</p> - -<p>Amery handed over a sheet of paper.</p> - -<p>Malloy glanced at it. It seemed a typical sheet of a writer's -manuscript, though a horrible yellowish gray that made the typescript -from the tatters of a ribbon almost illegible. It was also smudged with -jelly-doughnut fingerprints and there were several holes burned in it -by droppings of cigarette ash. Pretty sloppy, but things didn't seem -to have changed much. Not until he read the paper.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><i>—/Cynthia/—/ (walked) -toward —/#((him))#/— -jauntily (/).</i></p> - -<p><i>"'Hi,'" —/she/—# called -(out) to ((him)).</i></p> - -<p><i>"'/Hello/'", 'Sweetstuff', -he / said /, ((trying)) to -# sound # (gay) /....</i></p></div> - -<p>Malloy looked up blankly. "What are all the cockeyed punctuation marks -doing in there?" he asked.</p> - -<p>Amery exhaled Havana smoke expansively. "That's the way things are now, -Michael. Those punctuation marks indicate whether the protagonist's -thoughts are self-directed or Rider-directed, or a combination of -both, and which is dominant at the time, human or Rider. They became -absolutely essential with the coming of the Riders."</p> - -<p>Malloy covered his lips with his fingers. "Of course, I don't -understand this punctuation now. But I could learn it quickly enough."</p> - -<p>The publisher shook his massive head. "No, you couldn't learn it. -You don't have a Rider. You could never understand all the little -subtleties."</p> - -<p>"I could fake it."</p> - -<p>"Never. It might get past the average reader, but the author and -critics would know right away. All an editor can do is watch for -typographical errors and change them the way the author wanted them -if his fingers hadn't tripped over the wrong keys. As it was, we used -to get a good many complaints from writers about you making changes in -their work."</p> - -<p>"Grammar," Malloy explained. "I got kind of a bug about grammar. I used -to fix up manuscripts some."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Rubbing out his fat cigar, Amery leaned across his desk. "This isn't -like the good old days when I started out, Mike. If I had my way today, -I'd get the National Guard ordered out and have those miserable slobs -grind out stories with a bayonet at their backs!" The red gleam dimmed -in Amery's eyes. "Those were the days, by God! Back then you didn't -edit manuscripts with any dinky little blue pencil—you used a razor -blade and a grease stick!"</p> - -<p>Amery slumped down in his swivel, his eyes now only embers. "But that -day is over, Mike. Writers have their rights, damn them. You get the -wrong punctuation in one of their private-eye epics, Mike, and one of -them will slap a suit against the company for defacing a Work of Art, -and both of us could land in jail."</p> - -<p>"Westerns," Malloy suggested in desperation. "Historical fiction. They -can't employ the new punctuation. I could edit them."</p> - -<p>The veteran publisher shook his head again. "No. Cowboys in westerns -today turn your stomach more than ever with their damned nobility and -purity. Heroines in historical novels act just as if deodorants and -Living Bras had been in use back then. And these stories are written as -if the characters <i>did</i> have Riders, with only a few minor concessions."</p> - -<p>"Okay." Malloy stood up. "I'll go quietly."</p> - -<p>"Maybe you're lucky, Mike," Amery said up at him. "I remember -old-fashioned ideals like privacy and free will and free enterprise. -They don't exist any more. You can't tell me that my free will hasn't -been affected. Why, every business deal I've had since the Coming has -been strictly ethical. You know that isn't like me!"</p> - -<p>"No," Malloy admitted thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>"I'm even so ethical now that I recognize I owe you something. I know -money can't repay—"</p> - -<p>"Hell it can't," Malloy said quickly.</p> - -<p>The publisher stripped off a sheaf of bills with deliberation.</p> - -<p>Malloy pocketed them. Enough to keep him eating for a couple of months. -After that, there was always the Salvation Army. He didn't have -anything to worry about, really.</p> - -<p>"Amery, what would <i>you</i> do if you were in my place?" he heard himself -ask suddenly.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Amery steepled his fingers. "I hesitate to suggest a deception to -anyone, but since you ask me what I would do if I didn't have a Rider, -I will tell you the truth: I would pretend that I did not have a Rider."</p> - -<p>"What are you talking about? I <i>don't</i> have a Rider. So far as I myself -personally know, I'm the only person in the whole damned world that -doesn't have one. I'd like to find out why, but I'm no scientist. So I -just have to live with it. Or without it."</p> - -<p>"There's a very, very fine difference," Amery pointed out with one -finger. "Semantics is no longer a living science since the Coming, but -I'll try to make myself clear. You must pretend to have to pretend that -you don't have a Rider. Join the Jockey Set."</p> - -<p>"Jockey Set," Malloy mumbled, massaging the back of his neck. "I've -been put away for three and a half years. What's the Jockey Set?"</p> - -<p>"Jockeys are characters who pretend that they don't have Riders, that -they are self-sufficient human beings. Sometimes they use their Riders' -powers and claim to be natural supermen. Sometimes they leave Rider -power untapped and pretend to be natural, old-type human beings. But -they are all fakes. The Rider in them comes out sooner or later."</p> - -<p>"But if they have Riders, will I be able to fool them into thinking I'm -only pretending to be without one?"</p> - -<p>Amery lifted his shoulders and drew down the corners of his mouth. "Who -knows? I will tell you this, though—you must be pretty much of a blank -to a Rider. If they won't touch you, it must mean they can't."</p> - -<p>Malloy started to ask him how he knew what Riders felt about him, then -thought better of it.</p> - -<p>"How would I fake trying to hide the fact that I didn't have a Rider? I -suppose, maybe, by slipping up and letting myself predict the future or -something...."</p> - -<p>"That's it!" Amery beamed. "You see? It will be easy!"</p> - -<p>"Of course," Malloy said dully.</p> - -<p>"I mean, that is to say, any time you don't do something and don't do -it particularly well, the Jockeys will only admire your splendid act."</p> - -<p>Malloy nodded thoughtfully. He turned and shook hands with the -publisher. "Well, Amery, thanks for the money—and the advice. You -always were the most devious master of deceit I ever knew."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," Amery said with great sincerity.</p> - -<p>"There's one more thing. This may sound silly, but they found me out -pretty quick after it happened. What does a Rider look like? Where do -they come from? Where do they fasten onto the brain or body of human -beings?"</p> - -<p>Amery leaned across the desk and backhanded Malloy in the mouth.</p> - -<p>"Get out!" Amery said.</p> - -<p>Malloy left the office, holding a handkerchief to his cut lip.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was a dump. The name had changed a half dozen times over the last -half century, but the spots in the tablecloths remained the same. The -dump had seen the Lost Generation, the Beat Generation, and now the -Ridden Generation.</p> - -<p>Only, Malloy supposed, they called themselves the Riderless Generation. -Well, maybe they were. Maybe they were like him.</p> - -<p>He walked in, hanging onto that thought, his stride long. He cut down -his stride. At that rate he would be out in the alley soon.</p> - -<p>Self-consciously, Malloy slid into a chair at a vacant table so he -wouldn't draw undue attention.</p> - -<p>As he began idly tracing the grease spots on the tablecloths that -looked like the wrappers from a line of cereal boxes, all red -and white checks, he discovered every shaved head in the room was -triangulating him.</p> - -<p>He shifted uncomfortably. He was playing it middle-of-the-road. He -had a close crew-cut and wore a plaid flannel shirt and purple velvet -ballet leotards. Maybe he was too far on the conservative side for here.</p> - -<p>"Spell it, saddle," the counterman called to him without coming front.</p> - -<p>"Cola," he ordered. "With chickory, pecans and honey."</p> - -<p>"One sou'easter on the path," the counterman called out tiredly.</p> - -<p>"With you're going to sit there, He?" a liquid female voice flowed into -his ear.</p> - -<p>"With I'm doing it, She," Malloy said, not turning.</p> - -<p>She eased around in front of the table. She was red-haired and built, -wearing black leotards and a coat of black enamel.</p> - -<p>"Your pupils are going to wear me away," the redhead said.</p> - -<p>"I've only got eyes. How else can I read you?"</p> - -<p>"That is Truth. Tru-u-th."</p> - -<p>The counterman set out Malloy's drink. "It's waiting for you, saddle. -Don't tease it or it'll bite."</p> - -<p>He went for the cola and brought it to the table.</p> - -<p>"You came back?" she said.</p> - -<p>He pulled up his chair. "I always come back. You can risk money on it. -Saddle up?"</p> - -<p>"Saddle before the post, my touchstone."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The girl sat down. Her green eyes were moving, always moving, but -mostly over Malloy, his chair, the table. "You going to keep possession -here long?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know any reason why not," said Malloy.</p> - -<p>"Of course you don't!" she snapped. "Only—they close at five."</p> - -<p>"The billboard gives it two dozen hours a day."</p> - -<p>"They trim a little off at five. To sweep the floors and change the -tableshrouds."</p> - -<p>"Change 'em from one table to another," Malloy jibed.</p> - -<p>"You formed it. Clean ones in front, dirty ones in the shadows. Let's -try breathing air," she suggested.</p> - -<p>"Wait'll we gate up. I've got pecans to drink."</p> - -<p>The counterman's hawking laugh filled the room. "Let him wait, Mandy. I -might as well wait to later to sweep it in."</p> - -<p>Her face caught fire for an instant. "The Board of Health don't go away -just because you can read their dirty minds."</p> - -<p>"So take him out," the counterman snarled.</p> - -<p>Malloy suddenly decided he had played hard to get long enough. This was -his first chance to get in with the Jockeys. From what he had heard, -they had some kind of underground set-up to help their own in business -and the arts. He needed that help.</p> - -<p>"Let's lope," he said, pushing his chair back and leaving silver on the -table for the drink and a tip.</p> - -<p>He touched the girl's lacquered arm and steered her toward the door.</p> - -<p>Behind him, the floor fell in.</p> - -<p>Ripping, tearing, rendering, splintering, crashing, crushing, -reverberating bedlam!</p> - -<p>Of course, it couldn't have been the floor caving in, Malloy thought as -he turned to see a great hole where the floor had disappeared.</p> - -<p>The hole was where the table and chair he had been using had stood a -moment before.</p> - -<p>Flapping at the sides of the cave-in were innumerable thicknesses of -linoleum, and between each one an incredible accumulation of filth and -debris—O. Henry candy bar wrappers, a cover from a <i>Collier's</i>, a -booklet on the new Packard ("Ask the Man Who Owns One"), a newspaper -article on Flo Ziegfield's girls (stop thinking in slogans), but mostly -just dirt—dust, webs, lint, filth. There had been no boards under -the table; the ends of the exposed boards weren't freshly broken but -old and rotted porously smooth. Only the linoleum and the dirt had -supported the table for years.</p> - -<p>Malloy edged closer and saw some broken sticks lying on a jagged pile -of coke standing out black in the darkness far below.</p> - -<p>The redhead pulled him back from the edge, her fingers digging into his -biceps, writhing with a strange passionate intensity, as if she were -trying to knead him into a layer for a pie.</p> - -<p>"With you're a REAL Jockey, He, a REAL Jockey, a REAL ONE. <i>Truth!</i> -I'm going to take you to the Commissioner, He, the Commissioner in his -saddle."</p> - -<p>Somehow, uncertain, yet surely, Malloy was dimly pleased at this.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Don't say it," the fat man remarked, glancing up for an instant, then -lowering his eyes to the splay of papers on his desk. "No esoteric -jargon, please."</p> - -<p>"All right," Malloy said readily. "Shall I sit down?"</p> - -<p>"By all means, saddle up." A second chin trembled. "Damn it, there <i>I</i> -go. Have a chair."</p> - -<p>Malloy took the only chair not piled down with books, or maps, or -correspondence, or manuscripts, or notes. It had a straight back and a -plastic seat, piously uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>The big man looked up a second time and folded rows of pink sausages -complacently. "So you want to be a Jockey, eh?"</p> - -<p>Malloy thinned his lips and licked the insides of them, making a snap -judgment. "Not really. I don't have a Rider, and I want what help -the Jockeys can give me. I'm not particularly anxious to acquire -introverted slang and a shaved head, but if that goes along with the -help...." He spread his hands eloquently.</p> - -<p>"So you don't think you have a Rider?"</p> - -<p>Malloy didn't know how to answer that. "I don't think I have a Rider," -he repeated without inflection.</p> - -<p>"I don't think I have a Rider, either—only I know I do," the fat man -said.</p> - -<p>Malloy stood up elaborately. "You dirty steed."</p> - -<p>"Oh, sit down, Malloy, sit down. I'm a Jockey like the rest of you. -There's only one difference. I <i>know</i> I'm sick. I've got a Rider and -all its powers, but I could no more use them than an acrophobe could -climb a ladder up the Empire State to get at a naked princess sitting -on a bag of gold."</p> - -<p>Malloy eased back down onto the chair and shook his head slowly. "That -<i>would</i> be a hell of a way to be."</p> - -<p>The big man slammed down two hams made out of fists. "You are exactly -the same way, sonny boy! Only you don't know any better."</p> - -<p>Malloy swallowed. The man known as the Commissioner might be right at -that. "Have it your way," Malloy said. "But I sure <i>think</i> I don't have -a Rider."</p> - -<p>The Commissioner smirked. Malloy knew what that meant. He knew men -like the fat boy; he understood them. He had had Grayson Amery, Dr. -Heirson—he knew the breed.</p> - -<p>"What are you holding back on me?" Malloy demanded.</p> - -<p>"Malloy, do you even know what a Rider is?"</p> - -<p>Malloy paused. Then, "No, I don't."</p> - -<p>"I thought not. Shall I tell you?"</p> - -<p>"I imagine you were planning to."</p> - -<p>The Commissioner braced his fists on the work surface of the desk and -lifted his bulk halfway from the chair. "The Riders are a disease. Like -rabies."</p> - -<p>Malloy cleared his throat. "That's one way to look at them."</p> - -<p>"Don't be servilely civil to me. That is an accurate, clinical -description of the Riders—they are a cerebral infection."</p> - -<p>"You mean their powers of emergency telepathy and precognition, their -seeming secondary personality—all that's a hallucination?"</p> - -<p>Malloy was fevered as he asked it. It was at last some confirmation of -his own theory. The whole world was sick, except him.</p> - -<p>"That is exactly what I <i>don't</i> mean," the Commissioner said -contemptuously. "The Riders are real entities, capable of real miracles -so far as we are concerned. But they aren't mammals, or insects, or -pure energy forms—they are viruses."</p> - -<p>"Viruses that can think?" Malloy asked, aghast.</p> - -<p>"No. No one unit of the strain can think, but <i>chains</i> of them can. -Together they form different combinations and responses, like analog -components or brain synapses. Objectively, they are an infection that -can enter the body anywhere but that always spread to the prefrontal -lobes—like rabies. Only they don't destroy tissue; the Riders are -benign parasites."</p> - -<p>"That's one word for them," Malloy admitted. "But if they are a virus, -there must be antibodies—is that the word?—for them?"</p> - -<p>The fat man snorted unpleasantly. "You can't fight an infection that is -smart enough to consciously change its shape and fight back. Natural -adaptation and mutation are tough enough. Besides, nobody would stand -for being cured of his Rider, any more than you would let me 'cure' you -of having eyes."</p> - -<p>"Then what was your point in telling me the nature of the Riders? You -weren't merely conducting an adult education class."</p> - -<p>"True." The Commissioner burped delicately and settled back in his -chair. "As a matter of fact, there is one thing I left out: the Riders -aren't suited for Earth. They have difficulty in adapting themselves to -live on this planet. Once they get into a human being, they are okay. -But before that they are weak and have to get hothouse care. Exactly -that—<i>hothouse care</i>."</p> - -<p>Malloy's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He pulled it loose and -said, "And you can break the windows of hothouses!"</p> - -<p>The Commissioner smiled. It was unpleasant to watch.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Nothing personal, Malloy," the Commissioner whispered almost -subvocally as they lay together in the green ooze, "but we haven't -known you long enough to give you our trust. The first false step will -be a long one for you—exactly six feet."</p> - -<p>Malloy tried to squint through the foggy darkness, and almost instantly -gave it up. "You can't blame me for everything, Commissioner. I told -you I wasn't convinced that some of the Riders in there won't precog -our plans to save themselves."</p> - -<p>"All the ones we are going to destroy are the unhooked-up ones. They -can't send anything any more than one unattached telephone could. -They aren't really very good with their psi powers. It's strictly an -emergency talent, like our sudden spurts of adrenalin."</p> - -<p>He gave an unsatisfied grunt and bellied forward.</p> - -<p>Up ahead of Malloy, the Commissioner and an unstable stable of Jockeys -who had been coming into town for weeks lay the secret hatchery of -unhosted Rider viruses. They could only multiply beyond a certain -self-maintaining balance inside the human body, and had to be grown -in cultures on Earth, outside the healthy climate of a null-gravity, -radiated vacuum in space.</p> - -<p>It was the Commissioner's plan to destroy all the virus cultures, -so that in eighteen years or so there would come along a Rider-free -generation to outnumber the minor supermen still infected by the Riders.</p> - -<p>Malloy had a lot of doubts about the plan, but he was willing to go -along for his own reasons.</p> - -<p>During the past few weeks of indoctrination and commando training, -Malloy had had time to think. It hadn't taken nearly that long to -figure out the Commissioner.</p> - -<p>The Commissioner was simply a man who had to have power, and he -couldn't stand for a whole human race to be more powerful than he was, -just because of a lack within himself. He was out to pull everybody -down to his level, so he could stand out again and take over.</p> - -<p>Still, Malloy thought, I may have something to say about that.</p> - -<p>The men and a few women crawled through the semi-tropical Florida mud -toward the low buildings glimmering in the light from the thin crescent -of moon.</p> - -<p>Malloy elbowed a foot closer to the hothouse breeding factory up to -here in stinking muck. Any second now, he thought, somebody is going to -roll over on a cottonmouth.</p> - -<p>"Ready with your cloths," a man next to him relayed, first catching his -attention and mostly lip-synching it.</p> - -<p>Malloy dug out his Asphixion pad, and readied the tab to pull off the -plastic coating. Clamped over the guards' faces, the catalytic agent -would rapidly absorb the men's oxygen. With a partial vacuum in the -mouth and larynx, no cries could carry and the victim would rapidly -black out.</p> - -<p>The pad would be removed and the guards would be allowed to catch up on -their air intake. They wouldn't be harmed in any way final, so their -emergency psi warning system wasn't supposed to cut in.</p> - -<p>Malloy shrugged.</p> - -<p>The plan would never work.</p> - -<p>It was based on equal parts of megalomania and wishful thinking.</p> - -<p>Malloy's only problem was when and how to best expose the plot before -it was found out without his help.</p> - -<p>He couldn't stand up and shout a warning. If he tried that, one of the -fanatic Jockeys was sure to clamp an Asphixion pad over his face, and, -with him, they might not be considerate enough to remove it.</p> - -<p>Only a treacherous, self-seeking rat would even think of exposing -these poor misguided people and betraying his own race to some -extra-terrestrial viruses.</p> - -<p>Malloy's elbows slipped out from under him and he went face first into -the mud.</p> - -<p>He forced himself to keep from spluttering and lifted his head. <i>Where -had that idea come from?</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For one adrenalin-charged moment, he thought he had finally acquired a -Rider.</p> - -<p>But no. A Rider would hardly urge him to carry out an attack against -the citadel of existence to its own kind. It had to be something -simpler, more elemental than that.</p> - -<p>The voice had been his own conscience crying out against treason.</p> - -<p>He followed the probable train of circumstances if he heeded his -conscience.</p> - -<p>He would most probably be killed in this useless attack. He doubted -that this was the <i>only</i> breeding chamber for Riders, or, that if it -were, the Riders safely in human bodies couldn't transplant part of -themselves and start new cultures.</p> - -<p>If he wasn't killed, he would probably be returned to his cell, his -padded cell, by Rider-ridden people.</p> - -<p>If he were somehow let off, he would be left to wander the streets, a -public ward.</p> - -<p>The trouble with his conscience was that it wasn't logical—and it had -a poor memory.</p> - -<p>It didn't recall those three and a half years mislaid in an asylum.</p> - -<p><i>Only an unprincipled</i>—</p> - -<p>Malloy shut it off and felt a drop of sweat running down the deep -crevices between his eyebrows. My only problem, he reminded himself -again and again, is how and when to expose this raid before they -discover it without my help.</p> - -<p>The solution bloomed in his mind.</p> - -<p>It was remarkable how well the human mind could operate under stress.</p> - -<p>He half-rose from the mud so he would be silhouetted to anybody -watching, and fell back.</p> - -<p>The guards hadn't spotted him, but he heard the Jockeys scurrying -toward him through the mud.</p> - -<p>The squishing halted near him.</p> - -<p>He waited.</p> - -<p>The commandos moved ahead, leaving him behind.</p> - -<p>When he felt it was safe, Malloy took the Asphixion pad off his face—a -pad without the transparent plastic coat being pulled off.</p> - -<p>He made out a buddy team of Jockeys almost on top of the first -Rider-ridden manned post. All the others had to be far ahead....</p> - -<p>Malloy leaped to his feet—or tried to. He managed to slosh to his -knees.</p> - -<p>"<i>Raid!</i>" he screamed. "<i>Jockeys are raiding the hothouse!</i>"</p> - -<p>The lights flared up, a magnesium, Fourth-of-July night glare. Guards -with guns sprang from everywhere. The guns went into action. Clouds of -crystalline Asphixion snowed down on the raiders.</p> - -<p>From far back, Malloy watched in satisfaction.</p> - -<p>The sound came from behind him.</p> - -<p>The Commissioner blobbed forward, a distorted ball of slimy mud.</p> - -<p>"I will crush you under my foot like a bloated white grub!" the fat man -announced with sincerity.</p> - -<p>Malloy's eyes narrowed in the darkness.</p> - -<p>"Stay away from me Commissioner, or I'll push you down—way, way down!"</p> - -<p>The blocky figure retreated a step, quivering impotently.</p> - -<p>Malloy nodded to himself.</p> - -<p>The Commissioner had spoken too knowingly of a terrible fear of falling.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The interrogator was the younger man who sat next to Dr. Heirson during -Malloy's release from the hospital.</p> - -<p>"I feel you'd like to know my identity, Mr. Malloy. My name is Pearson; -I work for the federal government. Now would you tell me just what you -hoped to gain by betraying the assault force of Jockeys?"</p> - -<p>It was the crux of the matter.</p> - -<p>Malloy took a deep breath and said it.</p> - -<p>"I want a Rider. I want to be like everybody else. If you people have -any sense of gratitude and justice—and you seem to—you'll set up some -kind of scientific project to find out why I haven't caught a case of -Riders and to see that I am properly infected."</p> - -<p>Pearson leaned back in the other straight chair inside the -rough-boarded outbuilding.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Malloy, we <i>know</i> why none of the Riders who drifted in from outer -space infected you. You already <i>had</i> a Rider—an entirely human, -not alien, one. You are schizoid—you have a split personality. You -adjusted to it to an incredible degree and submerged it, but it was -still there and no alien would touch a man who already had two minds."</p> - -<p>Malloy felt no emotion, only an inescapable acceptance. "My -conscience," he said.</p> - -<p>Pearson nodded. "Your second personality is becoming steadily less -recessive."</p> - -<p>"But telepathy—all the tricks of the Riders—I can't do them."</p> - -<p>"You will be able to. Two minds <i>are</i> better than one. It would seem -that schizophrenia is the natural state of supermen, when properly -trained and integrated. In fact, you should be able to accomplish more -than a Rider-ridden man—you will have two human personalities, and the -Riders are little more than viruses conscious of their own existence."</p> - -<p>"You mean I'm a <i>superman</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. But unfortunately you are a threat to the present order because -of your non-Rider attitude. You are being returned to your padded cell. -There are guards outside. I hope you will walk out quietly to meet -them."</p> - -<p>Malloy walked out quietly to meet the guards who would take him away. -On his way out, he met Grayson Amery coming in.</p> - -<p>Pearson shook hands warmly with the publisher.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Amery, the government owes you a vote of thanks for recommending -Malloy for this job of infiltrating the Jocks. Turning against one of -your own kind is never easy...."</p> - -<p>Amery laughed lightly. "Malloy was not 'one of my kind.' He was an -editor. Even worse than that, I think in his attitude he always -remained no more than a writer. I understand he is being returned to -confinement?"</p> - -<p>Pearson looked troubled. "Yes, sir. Personally, I would feel more -comfortable if he were eliminated. I am not at all sure that we can -keep Malloy under lock and key once he develops his potential of -schizophrenia."</p> - -<p>"I know. Unhappily, the primitive ethics of the Riders prevent our -taking care of Mike in the most efficient way. That's what I wanted to -talk to you about. May I sit down?"</p> - -<p>"Please do, sir," said Pearson.</p> - -<p>Amery took the vacant chair and leaned forward with boyish enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Pearson, I have faith in humanity. I believe we can keep the -benefits of any situation, including the Riders, and eliminate the -disadvantages and limitations. My boy, all of us must start to work to -find a way to override the Riders!"</p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Last Trespasser, by Jim Harmon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST TRESPASSER *** - -***** This file should be named 60881-h.htm or 60881-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/8/8/60881/ - -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 public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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/license - - -Title: The Last Trespasser - -Author: Jim Harmon - -Release Date: December 8, 2019 [EBook #60881] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST TRESPASSER *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - THE LAST TRESPASSER - - By JIM HARMON - - _There was nothing wrong with - him that a Rider could not cure ... - and the rougher, the better!_ - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1960. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -They would not believe Malloy was alone in there, in the padded cell. -That made it worse. - -Malloy was in his month for lying on his stomach to avoid bed sores. He -was walking from Peoria, Illinois, to Detroit, Michigan, currently and -he had just reached Chicago. It was fine to see State Street again, and -the jewelry stores stuck in the alcoves of churches with the handsomely -barred windows. - -A man in Army-surplus green with an old library book was asking for -carfare to a hiring hall when they began opening the door. - -Malloy rolled over on one elbow. It was peculiar. They hadn't done that -for three years. - -Two of them came inside, thick men with disinterested faces. - -"Try no sudden moves," one of them advised him. - -"We will anticipate you," the other one added. - -Malloy went through the unfamiliar process of standing up. He looked -at two men. "I wouldn't try anything against the four of you. I'm not -_that_ crazy." - -"Time for an interrogation, Malloy," the orderly said. "Come with us." - -Malloy fell in between them and left the padded cell, frowning. - -"What kind of an interrogation?" he asked them. - -"What other kind?" one countered. "A sanity hearing." - -He felt his eyebrows jerk. _His sanity?_ He thought that had been -established long ago. Or his lack of it. - - * * * * * - -Malloy remembered the doctor. He hadn't had much else to do for several -years. - -He was Dr. Heirson, a graying man with starched face and collar. But -the younger man sitting with Heirson behind the broad, translucent desk -was a stranger to Malloy. He seemed to be a comic strip drawing, all in -straight lines. - -"Yes, sir." - -"Step forward, Michael," Heirson said. - -Malloy stepped forward. It had been a long time since he had been -allowed to travel so far. - -"Now relax, Michael," the doctor continued, leaning forward and -grinning hideously. "All you have to do is tell me the truth." - -"No, I don't, Doctor. I'm under no compulsion to tell you the truth. -I'm perfectly capable of lying if it would do me any good." - -"Hush that, Michael. You must not try to make believe you can lie. I -know you tell me only the truth." - -"All right," Malloy said, exhaling deeply. "Believe that I speak only -the truth if you like. But remember, I just told you that I'm a liar -and that must be true." - -Heirson blinked in watery confusion. He was obviously senile; only the -old man's Rider kept him from coming apart at his mental seams. - -The angle-faced man spoke into Heirson's ear. The old doctor continued -to blink for a moment, then faced Malloy, the lines of his face drawn -into an asterisk. - -"What? You mean to tell me that you don't have an inner voice that -urges you to tell the truth at all times?" - -"No," Malloy explained, "I do not hear voices." - -"You don't?" - -"Never." - -"And there is no inner sense that tells you when somebody is plotting -against you?" - -"Absolutely not." - -"And when you are in trouble or danger, there is nothing that allows -you to somehow look into the future or read minds or see through walls?" - -"I can't do any of those things," Malloy stated. - -Heirson threw up his hands. "Complete withdrawal from reality! -Pathological! Why is he here anyway?" - -The younger man grasped the withered thin upper arm and whispered -audibly but not understandably. Heirson's face eventually quivered -back in line with Malloy's. - -"Michael, do you know what year this is?" the doctor asked. - -Malloy thought about that one. He wasn't absolutely certain, but he -made some rapid calculations. - -"1978?" - -"1979! And what has been the single most important development in human -history in recent times?" - -Malloy sighed. He knew what he was expected to say. - -"The coming of the Riders." - -"And what are Riders?" - -"Riders," Malloy recited patiently, "are elements of a symbiotic -life-form. They have united with human beings to make one symbiotic -creature. They have given much more than they have taken. All prominent -religions recognize that they do not interfere with human free will. -They have made us healthier, virtually immortal, and near supermen. The -human race now is so much zoa, and every man is a zoon. Every man but -me. _Damn it, I don't have any Rider!_ I'm not a superman and I cannot -get away with pretending to be one!" - -Heirson oscillated his head. "Michael, Michael, your case isn't -unique. There are others who claim that they have no Riders--usually -maintaining that they are naturally superhuman and need no help from -some funny kind of foreigner. They are tolerated the same way, that -B.R., we tolerated people who claimed they possessed psychic auras, or -who got up in cathedrals and yelled that they had no souls. But you, -Michael, are a trouble-maker. You've been rude, vulgar, and reckless -with your life and others in your pretense to be Riderless. Your -pathological retreat from reality leaves us with no choice but to--" - -The other man behind the desk shoved a paper in front of Heirson and -tapped it forcefully with an index finger. - - * * * * * - -Heirson read the paper and his eyebrows went askew. "Yes, yes, we -have discovered that there is a basic difference between you and the -others who maintain they have no Riders. It would seem it _has_ been -established that you really _do not_ have a Rider. Remarkable! Yes. -Well, I have no alternative but to dismiss you from this institution, -Michael Malloy, and to extend to you my personal apology for any -inconvenience your three-and-a-half-years' detainment may have caused -you." - -A trick, Malloy thought. - -Only what point would there be in tricking him? - -The oppressive horror of it crushed down upon him with its full weight. - -"Oh no," he said. "No, sir. Take me back to my padded cell. I've got -my rights. I'm not going out there again. Maybe I could have learned to -live with it once, but not now. I can't face up to living with a world -of supermen, people who can do everything better than I can. _Take me -back._ I think I'm going to get violent any minute now!" - -He took a swing at the nearest guard, but naturally the guard's Rider -told him what was coming and he dodged deftly, caught Malloy's arm -and twisted it into half-nelson to hold him completely, infuriatingly -helpless. Malloy had to hold back tears of frustration. - -"Fortunately," Dr. Heirson croaked, "you can do no harm even if you do -get violent, and I'm sure everyone will want to do everything possible -for a poor unfortunate like yourself. We all will make allowances." - -"No, no, no!" Malloy announced with the rhythm of his stomping feet. "I -won't leave here! I _won't_!" - - * * * * * - -The man beside Heirson favored Malloy with a smile; Malloy wasn't -sure whether it was friendly or mocking. The stranger nodded his head -briefly to the guards. - -Malloy was dragged, protesting, down the marble-floored hallway to the -entrance of the mental hospital. His anguished cries echoed across the -ornate ceiling of the old building. - -He was shoved out the front door with a parcel in brown paper under his -arms. - -Malloy made one desperate attempt to get back inside but the massive -door clanged in his face, and he could hear the reverberations dying -away inside and the steady retreat of footsteps. - -Malloy turned away in pain from the unaccustomed brilliance and warmth -of the sun and banged on the door with his fists and demanded to be -readmitted. - -He grew hoarser and hoarser and he slid further and further down until -he was squatting on the threshold, his cheek rested against the warm -varnished surface of the door. - -Malloy had never been an overly proud or vain man before the Riders had -come. After all, he'd had one of the most menial jobs on Earth; he had -been a magazine editor. But now he felt squashed under the thumb of -humiliation. - -The monstrous indignity of it all! - -To be thrown out of an asylum! - -After a time, Malloy felt a coolness, a wetness on his head. - -He dreamed a little dream to himself that he knew was a dream: they -were coming to wrap him in warm sheets again. - -But it was only a dream. This wetness wasn't warm--it was chilly. He -finally identified it from his memories. This was rain. - -He stirred himself and gathered up the brown bundle that he knew must -contain his suit, papers and a little money. - -Malloy trudged down the road toward the town that lay below the -sanitarium, his collar turned up. - -He found he didn't mind the rain so much. It tended to settle the dust, -and the walk would be a long one. - - * * * * * - -Grayson Amery, the iron-haired publisher, greeted Malloy with a firm, -warm, dry handshake. - -"Michael, it's certainly good to see you again. You are looking well." - -"Yes, the bruises left by the strait jacket straps don't show," said -Malloy. - -"A unique miscarriage of justice," Amery said. - -"I certainly hope it's unique. I hope there aren't any more poor devils -like me locked away." - -Amery offered Malloy a chair with a broad, well-manicured hand. "I'm -confident that there aren't. And you are out now, fortunately." - -"You can call it fortune if you like," Malloy said uneasily. - -"But you _are_ glad to be out?" - -Malloy hesitated. "I'm resigned to it. The flow of time washed some -of the salt out of the wound. Being born is definitely a traumatic -experience." - -"How well I remember!" Amery said. - -Malloy glanced at him sharply, then eased back in his chair. Of course, -like everybody else, thanks to his Rider, Amery had total recall. -Malloy couldn't even remember his first birthday party. - -"Is there any way I can be of help to you, Michael?" Amery went on. - -"Sure. I want my job back." - -Amery's forehead squeezed into lines of distress. "Yes, I was made -aware of that. But, Michael, there have been a lot of changes in the -publishing business since you were with us. For instance, it would be -difficult for you to proofread a manuscript today." - -"I'm hardly the type who can't spell. I haven't forgotten that." - -"I know, Michael, but here--have a look at this." - -Amery handed over a sheet of paper. - -Malloy glanced at it. It seemed a typical sheet of a writer's -manuscript, though a horrible yellowish gray that made the typescript -from the tatters of a ribbon almost illegible. It was also smudged with -jelly-doughnut fingerprints and there were several holes burned in it -by droppings of cigarette ash. Pretty sloppy, but things didn't seem -to have changed much. Not until he read the paper. - - --/Cynthia/--/ (walked) toward --/#((him))#/-- jauntily (/). - - "'Hi,'" --/she/--# called (out) to ((him)). - - "'/Hello/'", 'Sweetstuff', he / said /, ((trying)) to # sound # - (gay) /.... - -Malloy looked up blankly. "What are all the cockeyed punctuation marks -doing in there?" he asked. - -Amery exhaled Havana smoke expansively. "That's the way things are now, -Michael. Those punctuation marks indicate whether the protagonist's -thoughts are self-directed or Rider-directed, or a combination of -both, and which is dominant at the time, human or Rider. They became -absolutely essential with the coming of the Riders." - -Malloy covered his lips with his fingers. "Of course, I don't -understand this punctuation now. But I could learn it quickly enough." - -The publisher shook his massive head. "No, you couldn't learn it. -You don't have a Rider. You could never understand all the little -subtleties." - -"I could fake it." - -"Never. It might get past the average reader, but the author and -critics would know right away. All an editor can do is watch for -typographical errors and change them the way the author wanted them -if his fingers hadn't tripped over the wrong keys. As it was, we used -to get a good many complaints from writers about you making changes in -their work." - -"Grammar," Malloy explained. "I got kind of a bug about grammar. I used -to fix up manuscripts some." - - * * * * * - -Rubbing out his fat cigar, Amery leaned across his desk. "This isn't -like the good old days when I started out, Mike. If I had my way today, -I'd get the National Guard ordered out and have those miserable slobs -grind out stories with a bayonet at their backs!" The red gleam dimmed -in Amery's eyes. "Those were the days, by God! Back then you didn't -edit manuscripts with any dinky little blue pencil--you used a razor -blade and a grease stick!" - -Amery slumped down in his swivel, his eyes now only embers. "But that -day is over, Mike. Writers have their rights, damn them. You get the -wrong punctuation in one of their private-eye epics, Mike, and one of -them will slap a suit against the company for defacing a Work of Art, -and both of us could land in jail." - -"Westerns," Malloy suggested in desperation. "Historical fiction. They -can't employ the new punctuation. I could edit them." - -The veteran publisher shook his head again. "No. Cowboys in westerns -today turn your stomach more than ever with their damned nobility and -purity. Heroines in historical novels act just as if deodorants and -Living Bras had been in use back then. And these stories are written as -if the characters _did_ have Riders, with only a few minor concessions." - -"Okay." Malloy stood up. "I'll go quietly." - -"Maybe you're lucky, Mike," Amery said up at him. "I remember -old-fashioned ideals like privacy and free will and free enterprise. -They don't exist any more. You can't tell me that my free will hasn't -been affected. Why, every business deal I've had since the Coming has -been strictly ethical. You know that isn't like me!" - -"No," Malloy admitted thoughtfully. - -"I'm even so ethical now that I recognize I owe you something. I know -money can't repay--" - -"Hell it can't," Malloy said quickly. - -The publisher stripped off a sheaf of bills with deliberation. - -Malloy pocketed them. Enough to keep him eating for a couple of months. -After that, there was always the Salvation Army. He didn't have -anything to worry about, really. - -"Amery, what would _you_ do if you were in my place?" he heard himself -ask suddenly. - - * * * * * - -Amery steepled his fingers. "I hesitate to suggest a deception to -anyone, but since you ask me what I would do if I didn't have a Rider, -I will tell you the truth: I would pretend that I did not have a Rider." - -"What are you talking about? I _don't_ have a Rider. So far as I myself -personally know, I'm the only person in the whole damned world that -doesn't have one. I'd like to find out why, but I'm no scientist. So I -just have to live with it. Or without it." - -"There's a very, very fine difference," Amery pointed out with one -finger. "Semantics is no longer a living science since the Coming, but -I'll try to make myself clear. You must pretend to have to pretend that -you don't have a Rider. Join the Jockey Set." - -"Jockey Set," Malloy mumbled, massaging the back of his neck. "I've -been put away for three and a half years. What's the Jockey Set?" - -"Jockeys are characters who pretend that they don't have Riders, that -they are self-sufficient human beings. Sometimes they use their Riders' -powers and claim to be natural supermen. Sometimes they leave Rider -power untapped and pretend to be natural, old-type human beings. But -they are all fakes. The Rider in them comes out sooner or later." - -"But if they have Riders, will I be able to fool them into thinking I'm -only pretending to be without one?" - -Amery lifted his shoulders and drew down the corners of his mouth. "Who -knows? I will tell you this, though--you must be pretty much of a blank -to a Rider. If they won't touch you, it must mean they can't." - -Malloy started to ask him how he knew what Riders felt about him, then -thought better of it. - -"How would I fake trying to hide the fact that I didn't have a Rider? I -suppose, maybe, by slipping up and letting myself predict the future or -something...." - -"That's it!" Amery beamed. "You see? It will be easy!" - -"Of course," Malloy said dully. - -"I mean, that is to say, any time you don't do something and don't do -it particularly well, the Jockeys will only admire your splendid act." - -Malloy nodded thoughtfully. He turned and shook hands with the -publisher. "Well, Amery, thanks for the money--and the advice. You -always were the most devious master of deceit I ever knew." - -"Thank you," Amery said with great sincerity. - -"There's one more thing. This may sound silly, but they found me out -pretty quick after it happened. What does a Rider look like? Where do -they come from? Where do they fasten onto the brain or body of human -beings?" - -Amery leaned across the desk and backhanded Malloy in the mouth. - -"Get out!" Amery said. - -Malloy left the office, holding a handkerchief to his cut lip. - - * * * * * - -It was a dump. The name had changed a half dozen times over the last -half century, but the spots in the tablecloths remained the same. The -dump had seen the Lost Generation, the Beat Generation, and now the -Ridden Generation. - -Only, Malloy supposed, they called themselves the Riderless Generation. -Well, maybe they were. Maybe they were like him. - -He walked in, hanging onto that thought, his stride long. He cut down -his stride. At that rate he would be out in the alley soon. - -Self-consciously, Malloy slid into a chair at a vacant table so he -wouldn't draw undue attention. - -As he began idly tracing the grease spots on the tablecloths that -looked like the wrappers from a line of cereal boxes, all red -and white checks, he discovered every shaved head in the room was -triangulating him. - -He shifted uncomfortably. He was playing it middle-of-the-road. He -had a close crew-cut and wore a plaid flannel shirt and purple velvet -ballet leotards. Maybe he was too far on the conservative side for here. - -"Spell it, saddle," the counterman called to him without coming front. - -"Cola," he ordered. "With chickory, pecans and honey." - -"One sou'easter on the path," the counterman called out tiredly. - -"With you're going to sit there, He?" a liquid female voice flowed into -his ear. - -"With I'm doing it, She," Malloy said, not turning. - -She eased around in front of the table. She was red-haired and built, -wearing black leotards and a coat of black enamel. - -"Your pupils are going to wear me away," the redhead said. - -"I've only got eyes. How else can I read you?" - -"That is Truth. Tru-u-th." - -The counterman set out Malloy's drink. "It's waiting for you, saddle. -Don't tease it or it'll bite." - -He went for the cola and brought it to the table. - -"You came back?" she said. - -He pulled up his chair. "I always come back. You can risk money on it. -Saddle up?" - -"Saddle before the post, my touchstone." - - * * * * * - -The girl sat down. Her green eyes were moving, always moving, but -mostly over Malloy, his chair, the table. "You going to keep possession -here long?" - -"I don't know any reason why not," said Malloy. - -"Of course you don't!" she snapped. "Only--they close at five." - -"The billboard gives it two dozen hours a day." - -"They trim a little off at five. To sweep the floors and change the -tableshrouds." - -"Change 'em from one table to another," Malloy jibed. - -"You formed it. Clean ones in front, dirty ones in the shadows. Let's -try breathing air," she suggested. - -"Wait'll we gate up. I've got pecans to drink." - -The counterman's hawking laugh filled the room. "Let him wait, Mandy. I -might as well wait to later to sweep it in." - -Her face caught fire for an instant. "The Board of Health don't go away -just because you can read their dirty minds." - -"So take him out," the counterman snarled. - -Malloy suddenly decided he had played hard to get long enough. This was -his first chance to get in with the Jockeys. From what he had heard, -they had some kind of underground set-up to help their own in business -and the arts. He needed that help. - -"Let's lope," he said, pushing his chair back and leaving silver on the -table for the drink and a tip. - -He touched the girl's lacquered arm and steered her toward the door. - -Behind him, the floor fell in. - -Ripping, tearing, rendering, splintering, crashing, crushing, -reverberating bedlam! - -Of course, it couldn't have been the floor caving in, Malloy thought as -he turned to see a great hole where the floor had disappeared. - -The hole was where the table and chair he had been using had stood a -moment before. - -Flapping at the sides of the cave-in were innumerable thicknesses of -linoleum, and between each one an incredible accumulation of filth and -debris--O. Henry candy bar wrappers, a cover from a _Collier's_, a -booklet on the new Packard ("Ask the Man Who Owns One"), a newspaper -article on Flo Ziegfield's girls (stop thinking in slogans), but mostly -just dirt--dust, webs, lint, filth. There had been no boards under -the table; the ends of the exposed boards weren't freshly broken but -old and rotted porously smooth. Only the linoleum and the dirt had -supported the table for years. - -Malloy edged closer and saw some broken sticks lying on a jagged pile -of coke standing out black in the darkness far below. - -The redhead pulled him back from the edge, her fingers digging into his -biceps, writhing with a strange passionate intensity, as if she were -trying to knead him into a layer for a pie. - -"With you're a REAL Jockey, He, a REAL Jockey, a REAL ONE. _Truth!_ -I'm going to take you to the Commissioner, He, the Commissioner in his -saddle." - -Somehow, uncertain, yet surely, Malloy was dimly pleased at this. - - * * * * * - -"Don't say it," the fat man remarked, glancing up for an instant, then -lowering his eyes to the splay of papers on his desk. "No esoteric -jargon, please." - -"All right," Malloy said readily. "Shall I sit down?" - -"By all means, saddle up." A second chin trembled. "Damn it, there _I_ -go. Have a chair." - -Malloy took the only chair not piled down with books, or maps, or -correspondence, or manuscripts, or notes. It had a straight back and a -plastic seat, piously uncomfortable. - -The big man looked up a second time and folded rows of pink sausages -complacently. "So you want to be a Jockey, eh?" - -Malloy thinned his lips and licked the insides of them, making a snap -judgment. "Not really. I don't have a Rider, and I want what help -the Jockeys can give me. I'm not particularly anxious to acquire -introverted slang and a shaved head, but if that goes along with the -help...." He spread his hands eloquently. - -"So you don't think you have a Rider?" - -Malloy didn't know how to answer that. "I don't think I have a Rider," -he repeated without inflection. - -"I don't think I have a Rider, either--only I know I do," the fat man -said. - -Malloy stood up elaborately. "You dirty steed." - -"Oh, sit down, Malloy, sit down. I'm a Jockey like the rest of you. -There's only one difference. I _know_ I'm sick. I've got a Rider and -all its powers, but I could no more use them than an acrophobe could -climb a ladder up the Empire State to get at a naked princess sitting -on a bag of gold." - -Malloy eased back down onto the chair and shook his head slowly. "That -_would_ be a hell of a way to be." - -The big man slammed down two hams made out of fists. "You are exactly -the same way, sonny boy! Only you don't know any better." - -Malloy swallowed. The man known as the Commissioner might be right at -that. "Have it your way," Malloy said. "But I sure _think_ I don't have -a Rider." - -The Commissioner smirked. Malloy knew what that meant. He knew men -like the fat boy; he understood them. He had had Grayson Amery, Dr. -Heirson--he knew the breed. - -"What are you holding back on me?" Malloy demanded. - -"Malloy, do you even know what a Rider is?" - -Malloy paused. Then, "No, I don't." - -"I thought not. Shall I tell you?" - -"I imagine you were planning to." - -The Commissioner braced his fists on the work surface of the desk and -lifted his bulk halfway from the chair. "The Riders are a disease. Like -rabies." - -Malloy cleared his throat. "That's one way to look at them." - -"Don't be servilely civil to me. That is an accurate, clinical -description of the Riders--they are a cerebral infection." - -"You mean their powers of emergency telepathy and precognition, their -seeming secondary personality--all that's a hallucination?" - -Malloy was fevered as he asked it. It was at last some confirmation of -his own theory. The whole world was sick, except him. - -"That is exactly what I _don't_ mean," the Commissioner said -contemptuously. "The Riders are real entities, capable of real miracles -so far as we are concerned. But they aren't mammals, or insects, or -pure energy forms--they are viruses." - -"Viruses that can think?" Malloy asked, aghast. - -"No. No one unit of the strain can think, but _chains_ of them can. -Together they form different combinations and responses, like analog -components or brain synapses. Objectively, they are an infection that -can enter the body anywhere but that always spread to the prefrontal -lobes--like rabies. Only they don't destroy tissue; the Riders are -benign parasites." - -"That's one word for them," Malloy admitted. "But if they are a virus, -there must be antibodies--is that the word?--for them?" - -The fat man snorted unpleasantly. "You can't fight an infection that is -smart enough to consciously change its shape and fight back. Natural -adaptation and mutation are tough enough. Besides, nobody would stand -for being cured of his Rider, any more than you would let me 'cure' you -of having eyes." - -"Then what was your point in telling me the nature of the Riders? You -weren't merely conducting an adult education class." - -"True." The Commissioner burped delicately and settled back in his -chair. "As a matter of fact, there is one thing I left out: the Riders -aren't suited for Earth. They have difficulty in adapting themselves to -live on this planet. Once they get into a human being, they are okay. -But before that they are weak and have to get hothouse care. Exactly -that--_hothouse care_." - -Malloy's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He pulled it loose and -said, "And you can break the windows of hothouses!" - -The Commissioner smiled. It was unpleasant to watch. - - * * * * * - -"Nothing personal, Malloy," the Commissioner whispered almost -subvocally as they lay together in the green ooze, "but we haven't -known you long enough to give you our trust. The first false step will -be a long one for you--exactly six feet." - -Malloy tried to squint through the foggy darkness, and almost instantly -gave it up. "You can't blame me for everything, Commissioner. I told -you I wasn't convinced that some of the Riders in there won't precog -our plans to save themselves." - -"All the ones we are going to destroy are the unhooked-up ones. They -can't send anything any more than one unattached telephone could. -They aren't really very good with their psi powers. It's strictly an -emergency talent, like our sudden spurts of adrenalin." - -He gave an unsatisfied grunt and bellied forward. - -Up ahead of Malloy, the Commissioner and an unstable stable of Jockeys -who had been coming into town for weeks lay the secret hatchery of -unhosted Rider viruses. They could only multiply beyond a certain -self-maintaining balance inside the human body, and had to be grown -in cultures on Earth, outside the healthy climate of a null-gravity, -radiated vacuum in space. - -It was the Commissioner's plan to destroy all the virus cultures, -so that in eighteen years or so there would come along a Rider-free -generation to outnumber the minor supermen still infected by the Riders. - -Malloy had a lot of doubts about the plan, but he was willing to go -along for his own reasons. - -During the past few weeks of indoctrination and commando training, -Malloy had had time to think. It hadn't taken nearly that long to -figure out the Commissioner. - -The Commissioner was simply a man who had to have power, and he -couldn't stand for a whole human race to be more powerful than he was, -just because of a lack within himself. He was out to pull everybody -down to his level, so he could stand out again and take over. - -Still, Malloy thought, I may have something to say about that. - -The men and a few women crawled through the semi-tropical Florida mud -toward the low buildings glimmering in the light from the thin crescent -of moon. - -Malloy elbowed a foot closer to the hothouse breeding factory up to -here in stinking muck. Any second now, he thought, somebody is going to -roll over on a cottonmouth. - -"Ready with your cloths," a man next to him relayed, first catching his -attention and mostly lip-synching it. - -Malloy dug out his Asphixion pad, and readied the tab to pull off the -plastic coating. Clamped over the guards' faces, the catalytic agent -would rapidly absorb the men's oxygen. With a partial vacuum in the -mouth and larynx, no cries could carry and the victim would rapidly -black out. - -The pad would be removed and the guards would be allowed to catch up on -their air intake. They wouldn't be harmed in any way final, so their -emergency psi warning system wasn't supposed to cut in. - -Malloy shrugged. - -The plan would never work. - -It was based on equal parts of megalomania and wishful thinking. - -Malloy's only problem was when and how to best expose the plot before -it was found out without his help. - -He couldn't stand up and shout a warning. If he tried that, one of the -fanatic Jockeys was sure to clamp an Asphixion pad over his face, and, -with him, they might not be considerate enough to remove it. - -Only a treacherous, self-seeking rat would even think of exposing -these poor misguided people and betraying his own race to some -extra-terrestrial viruses. - -Malloy's elbows slipped out from under him and he went face first into -the mud. - -He forced himself to keep from spluttering and lifted his head. _Where -had that idea come from?_ - - * * * * * - -For one adrenalin-charged moment, he thought he had finally acquired a -Rider. - -But no. A Rider would hardly urge him to carry out an attack against -the citadel of existence to its own kind. It had to be something -simpler, more elemental than that. - -The voice had been his own conscience crying out against treason. - -He followed the probable train of circumstances if he heeded his -conscience. - -He would most probably be killed in this useless attack. He doubted -that this was the _only_ breeding chamber for Riders, or, that if it -were, the Riders safely in human bodies couldn't transplant part of -themselves and start new cultures. - -If he wasn't killed, he would probably be returned to his cell, his -padded cell, by Rider-ridden people. - -If he were somehow let off, he would be left to wander the streets, a -public ward. - -The trouble with his conscience was that it wasn't logical--and it had -a poor memory. - -It didn't recall those three and a half years mislaid in an asylum. - -_Only an unprincipled_-- - -Malloy shut it off and felt a drop of sweat running down the deep -crevices between his eyebrows. My only problem, he reminded himself -again and again, is how and when to expose this raid before they -discover it without my help. - -The solution bloomed in his mind. - -It was remarkable how well the human mind could operate under stress. - -He half-rose from the mud so he would be silhouetted to anybody -watching, and fell back. - -The guards hadn't spotted him, but he heard the Jockeys scurrying -toward him through the mud. - -The squishing halted near him. - -He waited. - -The commandos moved ahead, leaving him behind. - -When he felt it was safe, Malloy took the Asphixion pad off his face--a -pad without the transparent plastic coat being pulled off. - -He made out a buddy team of Jockeys almost on top of the first -Rider-ridden manned post. All the others had to be far ahead.... - -Malloy leaped to his feet--or tried to. He managed to slosh to his -knees. - -"_Raid!_" he screamed. "_Jockeys are raiding the hothouse!_" - -The lights flared up, a magnesium, Fourth-of-July night glare. Guards -with guns sprang from everywhere. The guns went into action. Clouds of -crystalline Asphixion snowed down on the raiders. - -From far back, Malloy watched in satisfaction. - -The sound came from behind him. - -The Commissioner blobbed forward, a distorted ball of slimy mud. - -"I will crush you under my foot like a bloated white grub!" the fat man -announced with sincerity. - -Malloy's eyes narrowed in the darkness. - -"Stay away from me Commissioner, or I'll push you down--way, way down!" - -The blocky figure retreated a step, quivering impotently. - -Malloy nodded to himself. - -The Commissioner had spoken too knowingly of a terrible fear of falling. - - * * * * * - -The interrogator was the younger man who sat next to Dr. Heirson during -Malloy's release from the hospital. - -"I feel you'd like to know my identity, Mr. Malloy. My name is Pearson; -I work for the federal government. Now would you tell me just what you -hoped to gain by betraying the assault force of Jockeys?" - -It was the crux of the matter. - -Malloy took a deep breath and said it. - -"I want a Rider. I want to be like everybody else. If you people have -any sense of gratitude and justice--and you seem to--you'll set up some -kind of scientific project to find out why I haven't caught a case of -Riders and to see that I am properly infected." - -Pearson leaned back in the other straight chair inside the -rough-boarded outbuilding. - -"Mr. Malloy, we _know_ why none of the Riders who drifted in from outer -space infected you. You already _had_ a Rider--an entirely human, -not alien, one. You are schizoid--you have a split personality. You -adjusted to it to an incredible degree and submerged it, but it was -still there and no alien would touch a man who already had two minds." - -Malloy felt no emotion, only an inescapable acceptance. "My -conscience," he said. - -Pearson nodded. "Your second personality is becoming steadily less -recessive." - -"But telepathy--all the tricks of the Riders--I can't do them." - -"You will be able to. Two minds _are_ better than one. It would seem -that schizophrenia is the natural state of supermen, when properly -trained and integrated. In fact, you should be able to accomplish more -than a Rider-ridden man--you will have two human personalities, and the -Riders are little more than viruses conscious of their own existence." - -"You mean I'm a _superman_?" - -"Yes. But unfortunately you are a threat to the present order because -of your non-Rider attitude. You are being returned to your padded cell. -There are guards outside. I hope you will walk out quietly to meet -them." - -Malloy walked out quietly to meet the guards who would take him away. -On his way out, he met Grayson Amery coming in. - -Pearson shook hands warmly with the publisher. - -"Mr. Amery, the government owes you a vote of thanks for recommending -Malloy for this job of infiltrating the Jocks. Turning against one of -your own kind is never easy...." - -Amery laughed lightly. "Malloy was not 'one of my kind.' He was an -editor. Even worse than that, I think in his attitude he always -remained no more than a writer. I understand he is being returned to -confinement?" - -Pearson looked troubled. "Yes, sir. Personally, I would feel more -comfortable if he were eliminated. I am not at all sure that we can -keep Malloy under lock and key once he develops his potential of -schizophrenia." - -"I know. Unhappily, the primitive ethics of the Riders prevent our -taking care of Mike in the most efficient way. That's what I wanted to -talk to you about. May I sit down?" - -"Please do, sir," said Pearson. - -Amery took the vacant chair and leaned forward with boyish enthusiasm. - -"Mr. Pearson, I have faith in humanity. I believe we can keep the -benefits of any situation, including the Riders, and eliminate the -disadvantages and limitations. My boy, all of us must start to work to -find a way to override the Riders!" - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Last Trespasser, by Jim Harmon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST TRESPASSER *** - -***** This file should be named 60881.txt or 60881.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/8/8/60881/ - -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 public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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