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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/78948-0.txt b/78948-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..776c5b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/78948-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,611 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78948 *** + + + + + KILLER + + by James E. Gunn + + Illustrated by Freas + +[Illustration] + + + + + =He came to me from the stars, spewed out from his own world by his + hates. I found him, I gave him all he could ask for, and I made him + mine. But in the end, there was still his hate, and the killer drive + within him....= + + + + +He was a killer. He came to me from a distance so great that it +was meaningless. He descended to me riding on a tail of flame. We +loved--how could we help it? But I knew him too well, and he did not +know me well enough. And that is the stuff of tragedy. + +_Green_, was his first thought, pleased and incredulous. _Beautiful, +beautiful green!_ + +It was implausibility and wonder. It was the impossible happy ending +to the long chase and the longer hopelessness. It was the haven after +the fleeing into space with metal bloodhounds hot on a trail of fading +ions in the empty vaults, after the hurried Jump and the fantastic +mechanical failure which turned an alien universe into a hungry mouth, +snapped shut, after the expectoration into sane space like a rejected +seed. It began with death and ended with life. + +For green is the color of life. Green is the color of growing things, +of energy becoming useful, of plants doing the countless things that +make life possible for animals. Green is the color of Earth. + +_Another chance_, he thought. _Unless this is dream or delusion or a +cosmic jest--another chance. I’m black-and-blue from pinching myself--I +don’t feel crazy--though after a week of Nowhere who can be sure? +Unless some vital little thing is out of balance down there--A jewel +like that? Twin sister to Earth. Surely fate would not go this far and +then leave out some little essential_.... + +The green world turned lazily in the yellow light of the Go-type sun. + +“What are you waiting for, Sam,” he said aloud, “an invitation? Kick +her down and find out!” + +There was only enough fuel for one landing. The Jumper had eaten up a +lot when it went crazy, and the yacht had only a quarter fuel load when +he took it. It was here or nothing. + +_I’d rather die with my feet on the ground. If I’m lucky--maybe +something alive I can communicate with in time. I thought I’d die in +there with no one to talk to. Just to be with something else alive_-- + +And that was rather strange, because it was murder that brought him +here. + +Sam Newman had been a commercial pilot. It was a good job, but contrary +to public opinion, pilots are not fabulously overpaid. What with +automatics and navigational tapes and such, the skill of the early +pilots is no longer essential. The computers do the work, and pilots +are mostly supernumeraries. But the glamor has not yet vanished, and +competition is keen. + +Yet, that Sam had got as far as he had was something of a triumph. His +appointment to the Academy had been due to a political concession which +established a quota for poor children. Sam had worked for it, and his +eventual position as pilot of a passenger liner was proof of how hard +he worked. + +Then had come Fran and love--the two together, inseparable. Sam had had +a long time to think about it. But still he couldn’t decide whether +they had really been in love or only in love with the feeling of being +in love. What had attracted him to Fran was obvious: her dark-haired +beauty, her slim, curved figure, and her casual acceptance of things he +had always coveted, like position, security, luxury. For Fran had been +wealthy. + +What had attracted her to him was, in a sense, the same things. He had +been called handsome; he was tall and well-built and blond. He was +everything that Fran was not--ambitious, imaginative, intense like the +keen, shining edge of a knife. + +Differences had attracted them, and differences split them apart when +marriage threw them into constant companionship. His pride rebelled at +the use of her money, and she could not understand. He was ill-at-ease +in her world, and she seemed condescending in his. What had seemed +entrancingly different under the silver light of romance became ugly +and irritating under the merciless, glaring sun of living together. And +finally came the quarrels and the arguments and the jealousy--on his +part, anyway. Fran was casual in other things--why not in morals? God +knows, she had opportunity enough when he was away. + +And whispers reached his ears and nasty rumors and Fran only shrugged +her slim shoulders and looked down at him from an unassailable pinnacle +of sophistication. Innocence of inherited position or excuse for +license? She was spoiled, he knew, spoiled with liberty that did not +understand “I shouldn’t.” + + * * * * * + +Then the blind, red day when the crewmen had snickered as he passed +on his way down the ramp, when he had learned what everyone seemed +to know--that she was divorcing him, when he had faced her with his +suspicions and accusations and she had laughed, laughed as his face +grew hot and red and heavy and his hands reached for her throat and +squeezed, squeezed until the laughter was all gone, and the beauty and +the life.... + +He took the yacht down by hand. He did not trust the automatics, +and besides, it was the last time, the last trip, and he wanted to +do it himself. The way the ship responded to the light pressure of +his fingers on the keys gave him an acute feeling of pleasure. He +brought it down only a mile or so from the ocean, where a broad river +emptied into it; rivers and seas are natural places of habitation. He +brought it down lightly, gently, on its tail absorbers so that the +ship hesitated for a moment and then sagged as the power cut off, and +everything was quiet. He sat there with his hands on the keys for a +moment, and he would have liked to have taken her up again and landed +it once more, but the needle of the fuel gauge flickered at empty. +There was only enough to provide light and heat for a few months. +Fran’s yacht had come to her last port. + +Sam sighed and lifted his hands from the keys and dropped them into his +lap. The hands clutched each other for a moment, and then relaxed. They +were good hands for piloting a ship and bad hands for loving. They were +killers, but now there was to be no use for either function any more. + +Sam got up and walked to the port. He hesitated and then punched the +button. There was no use testing the air. If it was poisonous he might +as well find it out now; the air regenerators in the ship would not +last long. + +The heavy disc swung outward, slowly, with a slight squeal. The air +came in. It was warm, fresh with the odor of green, growing things. Sam +breathed deeply once and again. It was good air, life-giving air. He +let down the ladder and climbed down its tubular metal rungs. He stood +on the soil of this alien planet and filled his lungs once more as he +looked around. + +The grass beneath his feet was short and springy, more like +well-cared-for lawn than wild meadow. Here and there flowers sprang up. +They seemed familiar, but he was no botanist. The trees nearby--weren’t +they elms? Overhead the sky was blue, the soft, mild blue of summer, +with small, drifting white clouds. + +Sam felt strangely uneasy, as if he had walked into a room expecting +it to be unfamiliar and found he knew it almost by heart. Parallel +evolution? Nowhere had the explorations found anything so much like +Earth--or, rather, like Earth should look like. If so, then perhaps +there were--men. Sam longed for someone to talk to. Anyone. He +shrugged. He had been lucky so far; he should not press it. + +He took out a pocket compass. The needle trembled and then swung into a +fixed position. There was his north, and the ocean lay to the east of +him, the river to the northeast and farther away. Sam struck out toward +the ocean. + +There was something wrong. Sam sensed it and then knew it without +being able to pin it down. A moment later it came to him. It was so +quiet; there was no life, no sound except the lazy rustle of leaves +in the light breeze. _There should be birds_, he thought, _and bees_. +A few steps farther on he caught sight of both. _They must have been +frightened by the landing of the ship._ + +He had been walking among the trees for several minutes. It was easy +to keep moving steadily in the direction he had set for himself; the +trees were well spaced, and there was no brush or debris of dead leaves +and branches--only the crisp green turf beneath his feet. Fragmentary +thoughts skipped through his mind. + +_No signs of inhabitants ... nothing artificial ... unless this +impossibly perfect turf ... or the trees_ ... Sam had the uneasy +feeling that something was watching him--perhaps with an emotion +stronger than curiosity. He walked on a few steps and spun around. +There was nothing but the trees and the turf and the birds and the +bees. Slowly his hand let the gun slide back into the holster at his +hip. _Nerves? But surely there should be some animal life._ + +Sam started. He had turned back toward the ocean, and scarcely +twenty-five feet away a half-grown fawn, spotted white and brown, +lifted its head from the turf it had been cropping daintily. He walked +toward it, and the fawn held its ground, looking at him without fear. +He put his hand on the fawn’s neck, and the fawn nestled toward him and +its coat was silky. + +Wonderingly, Sam rubbed its neck and shoulders gently, and the fawn +looked at him with brown eyes, big and trustful. Sam gave it a final +pat and walked on. Behind him the fawn hesitated for a moment and then +started to trot along behind. + +After a few minutes Sam reached the coast. It was as peaceful and +beautiful as a South Sea island. The trees stopped and a little farther +on the grass stopped and white sand stretched down to a gently foaming +surf and blue water. Sam stood looking at it for a long time, his hand +resting on the fawn’s head. + +He sat down and took off his shoes. He walked through the warm sand to +the edge of the water. He knelt and put his hand into the surf. It was +just cool enough to be invigorating. Sam stood up abruptly and sprinted +through the surf down the gently shelving beach until the water was +deep enough to swim in. It was foolhardy. Even around South Sea islands +there are sharks. But somehow Sam couldn’t distrust this world. He swam +and floated in the water for half an hour. Finally he waded toward the +shore again. The fawn was curled up on the sand, sleeping peacefully in +the sun beside his pile of discarded clothing. + + * * * * * + +When Sam came out of the surf, dripping, the fawn awakened and slowly +got to its feet. The sun and breeze dried Sam’s body quickly, and he +began to put his clothing back on. + +“Well, boy,” Sam said softly, “this is something, eh? All we need now +is another castaway. Maybe a beautiful blonde, huh?” + +The fawn lifted its head and snuffled through velvet nostrils. Then it +turned its head toward the line of trees. Sam looked too. Out from the +trees came the beautiful blonde. And she was perfect. The light breeze +lifted her long ashen hair and pulled it back from the clean-cut lines +of her face. Her blue eyes were clear and friendly, and the corners of +her generous mouth were quirked up a little. The thin summer dress she +wore clung to the planes and curves of her body. + +Sam stared and swallowed. + +“Hello,” I said, as if we had met on an Earth beach which was countless +millions of parsecs away. + + * * * * * + +“He--hello,” Sam said, and swallowed again. “You speak English!” + +I smiled. “I should. I came from Earth.” + +“But how--” he stammered. “I can’t believe--it’s--” + +“I started my Jump just outside the orbit of Mars exactly ten days +ago,” I said. “But the Jumper failed or something. I came out here and +landed. I’ve been here three days.” + +“The same thing happened to me,” Sam said. “Then it couldn’t have been +mechanical failure--I’ve heard theorists talk about space warps....” + +“We might as well introduce ourselves. My name is Louise.” I held out a +hand to him. + +He took it. His hand was hot and strong. “Sam--Sam Newman. That was my +mother’s name.” + +“Sam?” I asked. “Or Newman.” + +“Newman--I mean Louise.” + +I laughed. “I’m glad we’ve got that straightened out.” + +“Last name?” + +I shrugged. “What does it matter?” + +“But your ship,” Sam said. “Where is it?” + +“Back there.” I waved a hand toward the trees. “Miles. I thought of the +advantages of the ocean too late.” + +“Any fuel?” + +I shook my head. “That’s why I left. I thought I might find some +inhabitants here, if anywhere, so I started out. Then, today, I saw +your ship land.” + +Sam’s jaw dropped. “You saw me land? But why--?” + +“I wanted a little time to think, to make up my mind,” I said. “I’ve +been watching, trying to decide. If you had been some men I’ve seen--or +even some I’ve known--well, a planet is a pretty big place. And +loneliness is preferable to a lot of things.” + +Sam shuddered. “God!” he said. “You might have--” The thought that he +had been on trial struck him with a sudden sickness. “You might have +decided to go away....” + +“Would that have been a tragedy?” I made it light. + +“Louise”--Sam’s voice was husky and low--“trite as it seems, you were +the answer to a prayer. Just before you stepped out from the trees, I +thought that just one thing was needed to make this paradise complete. +You.” + +“But you didn’t know me,” I objected. + +Sam’s voice was so soft I could scarcely hear it. “I’ve known you all +my life.” + +I knew how he felt. I felt the same way. I knew what it was to +be alone, completely alone, waiting throughout eternity for one +personality to shatter your loneliness and bring life into an aching +void. + +“You said you’d been watching me,” Sam said. “I thought I felt eyes on +me back there in the trees.” + +I nodded, smiling. “I know. I thought you were going to shoot me.” + +Sam’s jaw tightened and the muscles rippled. “The second shot would +have been for me.” He looked down at his feet. He noticed that his +feet were bare and his shirt was open. He closed the shirt hastily and +looked up at me. “You’ve been watching. Then you saw--” He turned red. + +“That’s when I made up my mind,” I said, laughing. “I decided that no +man who loved swimming and animals could be altogether bad.” + +Sam looked down. The fawn was rubbing against his leg, looking at +Louise. Sam knelt. “Louise,” he said, “this is Bambi. Bambi, this is +Louise.” + +“Hello, Bambi,” I said. + +Then, for a little while, we didn’t say anything. We stood there in +the silence and it wasn’t embarrassed but somehow thoughtful and +peaceful with the only sound the soft surf breaking against the silver +shore. For one person is all the loneliness there can ever be, but +two persons--a man and a woman--is loneliness shared, which isn’t +loneliness at all but a world, entire and complete. + +Sam looked up finally. “No inhabitants?” + +I shook my head. “Only us. We’re the inhabitants.” + +Sam got to his feet and held out his hand to me. I took it and we +turned and walked to where the grass met the sand. We sat down and Sam +put on his shoes and we looked at the sea and the surf and the sky. + +“We’re all alone,” I said. “Forever and ever.” + +We talked and fell silent, but we never said anything more important +than that and the things we said were unimportant because we were both +thinking the same thing and we were both hoping it would be tender and +sweet and wonderful and lasting. And it was. + +The sun went down and the stars came out and the night was just a +little cooler than the day but not uncomfortable. Neither of us thought +of food. When it got very dark we lay warm beside each other looking up +at the stars. Sam couldn’t recognize any of the constellations or any +of the stars. + +“No one will ever find us.” He said it with a kind of joy, trying to +hide it from me that he was glad, as if he could ever hide anything +from me. He rolled over on his side to look at me. “Louise--were +you--married or anything?” + +I shook my head. “Not married or anything.” + + * * * * * + +I put a finger over his lips. “It doesn’t matter,” I said softly. +“Nothing matters that happened before. I don’t want to know. We were +born again here, and all the past is gone--so far away that we could +never find it if we searched a million lifetimes. It never happened. +There’s just--us.” + +He kissed me and there was no passion in it--only wonder and happiness. +“Louise--” His voice was almost lost in his throat. “I love you, +Louise.” + +“I love you, Sam.” + +But when he slept, the name he muttered was “Fran.” + +In the morning life begins again. In the morning we walked back to his +ship. Food was no problem. Fruits and berries were plentiful--apples +and peaches and pears and plums and cherries--every day we discovered +something new but familiar. From the ship’s stores we got canned meats +and vegetables--we never saw any other animals than Bambi, although Sam +insisted that obviously there must be others. Bambi wandered in and out +of camp, but he was always there when Sam wanted him. Sam liked to play +with him, and Bambi enjoyed it. + +The first day Sam built a shelter--a bower was what he called it--at +the edge of the clearing where the ship was, under the trees. I didn’t +want to sleep in the ship or even go inside it. + +“That’s the past,” I told Sam. “It’s as dead and meaningless as a +monument. The sooner we forget what it is and what it stands for the +happier we’ll be.” + +Sam agreed with me. The next time he went to the ship for food he +returned without his gun. He built the bower, and he took a long time +at it, lacing limbs together and thatching it with leaves to keep off +the occasional showers. He was good with his hands, and he liked to +keep busy. + +That night he slept peacefully. + +The second day we explored a little and looked over our supplies. We +had the ship’s stores and fruit was plentiful, but there was nothing +growing that would keep. Sam worried about it. + +“If it gets colder we might be in for something,” he said. “We could +weather one winter in the ship, I suppose, but the next--” + +I shook my head. “I don’t think it will get any colder. I think it will +always be like this.” + +He talked about wobbles and ecliptics and temperate zones, but it +didn’t mean anything. The weather wasn’t changing, and it wasn’t going +to. I was sure of that. + +He stirred a little in his sleep that night. + + * * * * * + + +The morning of the third day we went to look for my ship. I tried to +talk Sam out of it, but I knew it wasn’t any use. There might be fuel +left, he said, maybe even enough to make an exploratory trip, and we +could use the supplies. Maybe we could even locate some inhabitants. + +All that day we walked away from the ocean, and we saw nothing +new--nothing at all. Trees identical with those that grew around our +camp, spaced out on soft green turf. No animals. We walked slowly but +steadily, eating fruit picked on our way. Sam began to get restless. +Sometimes he would peer far ahead or swing around and stare back the +way we had come. + +Toward evening we were walking up the side of a low hill. Suddenly Sam +stopped. He looked toward me, his eyes vague and thoughtful. + +“You know,” he said, his voice low and tense-sounding in the quietness, +“I have a strange feeling that maybe we’ll come to a place where all +this ends, where it stops being and there’s nothing. Like maybe we’ll +climb to the top of this hill and we’ll look down and there won’t be +any trees and turf or anything. Like it’s being created before us, +rolled out like a green carpet, and just beyond where we can see, it’s +something else entirely, something unimaginable.” + +“You and all the other horizon-chasing explorers.” + +I smiled and a moment later he smiled and shook his head and took my +hand and we climbed to the top of the hill. As far as we could see +there were the same trees and turf. + +We slept under the sky that night, and Sam muttered but it never turned +into words. + + * * * * * + +The next day we reached a point farther than the distance Sam estimated +I could have walked, and we searched in circles the rest of that day +and the next. In the middle of one I finally stopped and shook my head +bewilderedly. + +“They all look the same,” I said. “I don’t know where I put it down. +Let’s give it up, Sam. It isn’t important now. Later we can map this +area with landmarks and things and search for it, but I want to get +back to our--home. Funny, isn’t it? We’ve only been here a week, and +already there’s a place I think of as home.” + +Sam argued. He really wanted to search some more, but he finally gave +in. We started back. + + * * * * * + +At our camp, life fell into a regular pattern. We woke. We ate. We +swam in the impossibly blue sea by the silver sands. We fished. We +ate and talked. We made love. We slept. It should have been paradise, +and it was. But Sam was restless. He needed something to do, and here +there was nothing that needed doing. He began to talk about building a +sailboat, and he did work at it now and then, but he never seemed to +get very far with it. And in the night he had begun to moan and say one +name over and over again. + +One evening we were sitting together after our meal. The sun was still +shining through the trees and I knew it was building up in him and +there was nothing I could do but hope. + +“Fran,” he said, “I think we should search--” He stopped. _Fran_, he +thought. _What a stupid thing to say. What a horrible thing to say._ +He glanced at me to see if I had noticed, and I sat there with the sun +on me, not moving, not looking at him, feeling his eyes. _And yet_, he +thought, _there is a resemblance. The dark hair, the mouth_ ... _The +dark hair!_ He cast his mind back and I saw myself in his mind as he +had seen me when I stepped forth from the trees with blue eyes and a +generous mouth and ash-blonde hair. And it was something I couldn’t +help because he wanted it so hard. + +He moved away from me a little. His thoughts churned. _Dark hair!_ He +looked around him slowly and suddenly scrambled to his feet and ran to +the ship and climbed up the ladder. I knew what he had gone for and I +waited for him to come back and I hoped. Because there was nothing left +but hope. + +When he came back he had his gun hanging at his hip again. + +“Stand up,” he said harshly. He towered above me, his feet spread +apart, his face dark and angry. + +I stood up. “What are you?” he said. + +“I--” + +“I’ll tell you what you aren’t. Human, for instance. You aren’t human!” +His mouth curled as if he had tasted something disgusting and horrible. +“No wonder we couldn’t find your ship. There wasn’t any ship. You +belong here. You’re a native. You can change. You can change the color +of your hair and the shape of your mouth. Maybe you can change more +than that. And I’ve been making love to you and I’ve been in love with +you and I didn’t know--What are you?” + +His voice had been rising steadily. Now it cracked and broke in a +thousand brittle pieces. + +“You,” he said. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And maybe you +aren’t even female. Maybe they don’t have male and female here.” + +“Oh, yes,” I said. “I’m female.” + +He didn’t hear me. + +“It’s all been a game--a horrible, deadly game. What’s real and what +isn’t? You aren’t. I know that. Where are the rest of your kind? What +kind of foul monster have I been making love to? _What are you?_” + +His voice ended in a shriek. He pulled out his gun and whirled, peering +into the woods, pointing it here and there, the fat barrel trembling. + +“Come out!” he sobbed. “Come out, damn you! Come out!” + +“There’s only me,” I said quietly. “I’m whatever you want me to be.” + +He didn’t hear me. He didn’t understand me. Nothing could penetrate +the thunder of blood pounding through his brain. But suddenly he swung +around to face me again, suddenly aware that his back had been exposed +to me. + +“God!” he said. “God! And I thought this was paradise!” + +He shook and the gun trembled and his finger tightened on the trigger. +I knew what was coming, and I shrank back with horror. The trees +trembled and the ground writhed. + +“It was, Sam,” I whispered. “It was.” + +“Change, damn you!” he shouted. “_Change! I want to see you as you +really are!_” + +His thoughts--mad, violent, powerful--wrenched at me, twisted me, +tortured me. I changed. Hatred, terror, and horror were in his eyes as +he stared at me and thought he saw me, and I could not tell him that +he saw only what he had willed to see. I could not tell him that I did +only what he willed me to do. + +“God.” He whispered. “God.” + +I came toward him, my clawed hands outstretched. His finger tightened +convulsively on the trigger. A wave of heat crisped my body, but it was +nothing to the pain in my mind. He could not stop me, of course. He +could not stop me with his gun, and it was too late for anything else. +I was close to him now, and my hands were reaching for his throat and +squeezing, squeezing.... + +The last thing he ever heard--I know he heard it--was a low whisper +that might only have been the wind sighing through the trees. + +“I love you, Sam.” + +He was dead. He was gone. And now that he was gone the reality that +had been created for him--that he had created out of his desires--went +back to another reality, no more real and perhaps not as much. With the +fulfillment of his desire the trees melted back into the ground and the +turf was no longer grass and I drew back into myself too the part of me +Sam had called Louise and there was nothing but unending stretches of +flat, featureless plain which from a great distance looked green. + +One thing remained. Not far from where the blue sea lapped the edges +of the plain stood a tall, slim spire, like a monument. Nearby was a +mound, at one end of it a small, flat slab of stone. On the stone were +three words: + + SAM NEWMAN + + _Killer_ + + + + +Transcriber’s note: + + + This etext was produced from Rocket Stories, September 1953 (Vol. 1, + No. 3). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but + minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed. + + The illustration has been moved to better fit the eBook format. + + New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the + public domain. +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78948 *** diff --git a/78948-h/78948-h.htm b/78948-h/78948-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad77607 --- /dev/null +++ b/78948-h/78948-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,728 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + <title> + Killer | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; +} + + + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.f15 {font-size: 1.5em;} +img.w20 {width: 20em;} + + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp50 {width: 50%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp50 {width: 100%;} + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78948 ***</div> + + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="01" style="max-width: 46.875em;"> + <img class="w20" src="images/01.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p>Transcribed from Rocket Stories, September 1953 (Vol. 1, No. 3).</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> +<h1> +KILLER +</h1> + + +<p class="f15 center">by <strong>James E. Gunn</strong></p> + +<p class="f15 center">Illustrated by <strong>Freas</strong></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> + + +<blockquote> +<p><b>He came to me from the stars, spewed out from his own world by his hates. +I found him, I gave him all he could ask for, and I made him mine. But +in the end, there was still his hate, and the killer drive within him....</b></p> +</blockquote> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> + + +<p>He was a killer. He came to me from a distance so great that it was +meaningless. He descended to me riding on a tail of flame. We loved—how +could we help it? But I knew him too well, and he did not know me well +enough. And that is the stuff of tragedy.</p> + +<p><i>Green</i>, was his first thought, pleased and incredulous. <i>Beautiful, +beautiful green!</i></p> + +<p>It was implausibility and wonder. It was the impossible happy ending +to the long chase and the longer hopelessness. It was the haven after +the fleeing into space with metal bloodhounds hot on a trail of fading +ions in the empty vaults, after the hurried Jump and the fantastic +mechanical failure which turned an alien universe into a hungry mouth, +snapped shut, after the expectoration into sane space like a rejected +seed. It began with death and ended with life.</p> + +<p>For green is the color of life. Green is the color of growing things, +of energy becoming useful, of plants doing the countless things that +make life possible for animals. Green is the color of Earth.</p> + +<p><i>Another chance</i>, he thought. <i>Unless this is dream or delusion or a +cosmic jest—another chance. I’m black-and-blue from pinching myself—I +don’t feel crazy—though after a week of Nowhere who can be sure? Unless +some vital little thing is out of balance down there—A jewel like +that? Twin sister to Earth. Surely fate would not go this far and then +leave out some little essential</i>....</p> + +<p>The green world turned lazily in the yellow light of the Go-type sun.</p> + +<p>“What are you waiting for, Sam,” he said aloud, “an invitation? Kick +her down and find out!”</p> + +<p>There was only enough fuel for one landing. The Jumper had eaten up a +lot when it went crazy, and the yacht had only a quarter fuel load when +he took it. It was here or nothing.</p> + +<p><i>I’d rather die with my feet on the ground. If I’m lucky—maybe something +alive I can communicate with in time. I thought I’d die in there with +no one to talk to. Just to be with something else alive</i>—</p> + +<p>And that was rather strange, because it was murder that brought him +here.</p> + +<p>Sam Newman had been a commercial pilot. It was a good job, but contrary +to public opinion, pilots are not fabulously overpaid. What with +automatics and navigational tapes and such, the skill of the early +pilots is no longer essential. The computers do the work, and pilots +are mostly supernumeraries. But the glamor has not yet vanished, and +competition is keen.</p> + +<p>Yet, that Sam had got as far as he had was something of a triumph. His +appointment to the Academy had been due to a political concession which +established a quota for poor children. Sam had worked for it, and his +eventual position as pilot of a passenger liner was proof of how hard +he worked.</p> + +<p>Then had come Fran and love—the two together, inseparable. Sam had had +a long time to think about it. But still he couldn’t decide whether +they had really been in love or only in love with the feeling of being +in love. What had attracted him to Fran was obvious: her dark-haired +beauty, her slim, curved figure, and her casual acceptance of things he +had always coveted, like position, security, luxury. For Fran had been +wealthy.</p> + +<p>What had attracted her to him was, in a sense, the same things. He had +been called handsome; he was tall and well-built and blond. He was +everything that Fran was not—ambitious, imaginative, intense like the +keen, shining edge of a knife.</p> + +<p>Differences had attracted them, and differences split them apart when +marriage threw them into constant companionship. His pride rebelled at +the use of her money, and she could not understand. He was ill-at-ease +in her world, and she seemed condescending in his. What had seemed +entrancingly different under the silver light of romance became ugly +and irritating under the merciless, glaring sun of living together. And +finally came the quarrels and the arguments and the jealousy—on his +part, anyway. Fran was casual in other things—why not in morals? God +knows, she had opportunity enough when he was away.</p> + +<p>And whispers reached his ears and nasty rumors and Fran only shrugged +her slim shoulders and looked down at him from an unassailable pinnacle +of sophistication. Innocence of inherited position or excuse for +license? She was spoiled, he knew, spoiled with liberty that did not +understand “I shouldn’t.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Then the blind, red day when the crewmen had snickered as he passed +on his way down the ramp, when he had learned what everyone seemed +to know—that she was divorcing him, when he had faced her with his +suspicions and accusations and she had laughed, laughed as his face +grew hot and red and heavy and his hands reached for her throat and +squeezed, squeezed until the laughter was all gone, and the beauty and +the life....</p> + +<p>He took the yacht down by hand. He did not trust the automatics, +and besides, it was the last time, the last trip, and he wanted to +do it himself. The way the ship responded to the light pressure of +his fingers on the keys gave him an acute feeling of pleasure. He +brought it down only a mile or so from the ocean, where a broad river +emptied into it; rivers and seas are natural places of habitation. He +brought it down lightly, gently, on its tail absorbers so that the +ship hesitated for a moment and then sagged as the power cut off, and +everything was quiet. He sat there with his hands on the keys for a +moment, and he would have liked to have taken her up again and landed +it once more, but the needle of the fuel gauge flickered at empty. +There was only enough to provide light and heat for a few months. +Fran’s yacht had come to her last port.</p> + +<p>Sam sighed and lifted his hands from the keys and dropped them into his +lap. The hands clutched each other for a moment, and then relaxed. They +were good hands for piloting a ship and bad hands for loving. They were +killers, but now there was to be no use for either function any more.</p> + +<p>Sam got up and walked to the port. He hesitated and then punched the +button. There was no use testing the air. If it was poisonous he might +as well find it out now; the air regenerators in the ship would not +last long.</p> + +<p>The heavy disc swung outward, slowly, with a slight squeal. The air +came in. It was warm, fresh with the odor of green, growing things. Sam +breathed deeply once and again. It was good air, life-giving air. He +let down the ladder and climbed down its tubular metal rungs. He stood +on the soil of this alien planet and filled his lungs once more as he +looked around.</p> + +<p>The grass beneath his feet was short and springy, more like +well-cared-for lawn than wild meadow. Here and there flowers sprang up. +They seemed familiar, but he was no botanist. The trees nearby—weren’t +they elms? Overhead the sky was blue, the soft, mild blue of summer, +with small, drifting white clouds.</p> + +<p>Sam felt strangely uneasy, as if he had walked into a room expecting +it to be unfamiliar and found he knew it almost by heart. Parallel +evolution? Nowhere had the explorations found anything so much like +Earth—or, rather, like Earth should look like. If so, then perhaps +there were—men. Sam longed for someone to talk to. Anyone. He shrugged. +He had been lucky so far; he should not press it.</p> + +<p>He took out a pocket compass. The needle trembled and then swung into a +fixed position. There was his north, and the ocean lay to the east of +him, the river to the northeast and farther away. Sam struck out toward +the ocean.</p> + +<p>There was something wrong. Sam sensed it and then knew it +without being able to pin it down. A moment later it came to him. It +was so quiet; there was no life, no sound except the lazy rustle of +leaves in the light breeze. <i>There should be birds</i>, he thought, <i>and +bees</i>. A few steps farther on he caught sight of both. <i>They must have +been frightened by the landing of the ship.</i></p> + +<p>He had been walking among the trees for several minutes. It was easy +to keep moving steadily in the direction he had set for himself; the +trees were well spaced, and there was no brush or debris of dead leaves +and branches—only the crisp green turf beneath his feet. Fragmentary +thoughts skipped through his mind.</p> + +<p><i>No signs of inhabitants ... nothing artificial ... unless this +impossibly perfect turf ... or the trees</i> ... Sam had the uneasy +feeling that something was watching him—perhaps with +an emotion stronger than curiosity. He walked on a few steps and spun +around. There was nothing but the trees and the turf and the birds and +the bees. Slowly his hand let the gun slide back into the holster at +his hip. <i>Nerves? But surely there should be some animal life.</i></p> + +<p>Sam started. He had turned back toward the ocean, and scarcely +twenty-five feet away a half-grown fawn, spotted white and brown, +lifted its head from the turf it had been cropping daintily. He walked +toward it, and the fawn held its ground, looking at him without fear. +He put his hand on the fawn’s neck, and the fawn nestled toward him and +its coat was silky.</p> + +<p>Wonderingly, Sam rubbed its neck and shoulders gently, and the fawn +looked at him with brown eyes, big and trustful. Sam gave it a final +pat and walked on. Behind him the fawn hesitated for a moment and then +started to trot along behind.</p> + +<p>After a few minutes Sam reached the coast. It was as peaceful and +beautiful as a South Sea island. The trees stopped and a little farther +on the grass stopped and white sand stretched down to a gently foaming +surf and blue water. Sam stood looking at it for a long time, his hand +resting on the fawn’s head.</p> + +<p>He sat down and took off his shoes. He walked through the warm sand to +the edge of the water. He knelt and put his hand into the surf. It was +just cool enough to be invigorating. Sam stood up abruptly and sprinted +through the surf down the gently shelving beach until the water was +deep enough to swim in. It was foolhardy. Even around South Sea islands +there are sharks. But somehow Sam couldn’t distrust this world. He swam +and floated in the water for half an hour. Finally he waded toward the +shore again. The fawn was curled up on the sand, sleeping peacefully in +the sun beside his pile of discarded clothing.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>When Sam came out of the surf, dripping, the fawn awakened and slowly +got to its feet. The sun and breeze dried Sam’s body quickly, and +he began to put his clothing back on.</p> + +<p>“Well, boy,” Sam said softly, +“this is something, eh? All we need now is another castaway. Maybe a +beautiful blonde, huh?”</p> + +<p>The fawn lifted its head and snuffled through velvet nostrils. Then it +turned its head toward the line of trees. Sam looked too. Out from the +trees came the beautiful blonde. And she was perfect. The +light breeze lifted her long ashen hair and pulled it back from the +clean-cut lines of her face. Her blue eyes were clear and friendly, and +the corners of her generous mouth were quirked up a little. The thin +summer dress she wore clung to the planes and curves of her body.</p> + +<p>Sam stared and swallowed.</p> + +<p>“Hello,” I said, as if we had met on an Earth beach which was countless +millions of parsecs away.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“He—hello,” Sam said, and swallowed again. “You speak English!”</p> + +<p>I smiled. “I should. I came from Earth.”</p> + +<p>“But how—” he stammered. “I can’t believe—it’s—”</p> + +<p>“I started my Jump just outside the orbit of Mars exactly ten days +ago,” I said. “But the Jumper failed or something. I came out here and +landed. I’ve been here three days.”</p> + +<p>“The same thing happened to me,” Sam said. “Then it couldn’t have been +mechanical failure—I’ve heard theorists talk about space warps....”</p> + +<p>“We might as well introduce ourselves. My name is Louise.” I held out a +hand to him.</p> + +<p>He took it. His hand was hot and strong. “Sam—Sam Newman. That was my mother’s name.”</p> + +<p>“Sam?” I asked. “Or Newman.”</p> + +<p>“Newman—I mean Louise.”</p> + +<p>I laughed. “I’m glad we’ve got that straightened out.”</p> + +<p>“Last name?”</p> + +<p>I shrugged. “What does it matter?”</p> + +<p>“But your ship,” Sam said. “Where is it?”</p> + +<p>“Back there.” I waved a hand toward the trees. “Miles. I thought of the +advantages of the ocean too late.”</p> + +<p>“Any fuel?”</p> + +<p>I shook my head. “That’s why I left. I thought I might find some +inhabitants here, if anywhere, so I started out. Then, today, I saw +your ship land.”</p> + +<p>Sam’s jaw dropped. “You saw me land? But why—?”</p> + +<p>“I wanted a little time to think, to make up my mind,” I said. “I’ve +been watching, trying to decide. If you had been some men I’ve seen—or +even some I’ve known—well, a planet is a pretty big place. And +loneliness is preferable to a lot of things.”</p> + +<p>Sam shuddered. “God!” he said. “You might have—” The thought that he +had been on trial struck him with a sudden sickness. “You might have +decided to go away....”</p> + +<p>“Would that have been a tragedy?” I made it light.</p> + +<p>“Louise”—Sam’s voice was husky and low—“trite as it seems, you were +the answer to a prayer. Just before you stepped out from the trees, I +thought that just one thing was needed to make this paradise complete. +You.”</p> + +<p>“But you didn’t know me,” I objected.</p> + +<p>Sam’s voice was so soft I could scarcely hear it. “I’ve known you all +my life.”</p> + +<p>I knew how he felt. I felt the same way. I knew what it was to +be alone, completely alone, waiting throughout eternity for one +personality to shatter your loneliness and bring life into an aching +void.</p> + +<p>“You said you’d been watching me,” Sam said. “I thought I felt eyes on +me back there in the trees.”</p> + +<p>I nodded, smiling. “I know. I thought you were going to shoot me.”</p> + +<p>Sam’s jaw tightened and the muscles rippled. “The second shot would +have been for me.” He looked down at his feet. He noticed that his +feet were bare and his shirt was open. He closed the shirt hastily and +looked up at me. “You’ve been watching. Then you saw—” He turned red.</p> + +<p>“That’s when I made up my mind,” I said, laughing. “I decided that no +man who loved swimming and animals could be altogether bad.”</p> + +<p>Sam looked down. The fawn was rubbing against his leg, looking at +Louise. Sam knelt. “Louise,” he said, “this is Bambi. Bambi, this is +Louise.”</p> + +<p>“Hello, Bambi,” I said.</p> + +<p>Then, for a little while, we didn’t say anything. We stood there in +the silence and it wasn’t embarrassed but somehow thoughtful and +peaceful with the only sound the soft surf breaking against the silver +shore. For one person is all the loneliness there can ever be, but two +persons—a man and a woman—is loneliness shared, which isn’t loneliness +at all but a world, entire and complete.</p> + +<p>Sam looked up finally. “No inhabitants?”</p> + +<p>I shook my head. “Only us. We’re the inhabitants.”</p> + +<p>Sam got to his feet and held out his hand to me. I took it and we +turned and walked to where the grass met the sand. We sat down and Sam +put on his shoes and we looked at the sea and the surf and the sky.</p> + +<p>“We’re all alone,” I said. “Forever and ever.”</p> + +<p>We talked and fell silent, but we never said anything more important +than that and the things we said were unimportant because we were both +thinking the same thing and we were both hoping it would be tender and +sweet and wonderful and lasting. And it was.</p> + +<p>The sun went down and the stars came out and the night was just a +little cooler than the day but not uncomfortable. Neither of us thought +of food. When it got very dark we lay warm beside each other looking up +at the stars. Sam couldn’t recognize any of the constellations or any +of the stars.</p> + +<p>“No one will ever find us.” He said it with a kind of joy, trying to +hide it from me that he was glad, as if he could ever hide anything +from me. He rolled over on his side to look at me. “Louise—were +you—married or anything?”</p> + +<p>I shook my head. “Not married or anything.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>I put a finger over his lips. “It doesn’t matter,” I said softly. +“Nothing matters that happened before. I don’t want to know. We were +born again here, and all the past is gone—so far away that we could +never find it if we searched a million lifetimes. It never happened. +There’s just—us.”</p> + +<p>He kissed me and there was no passion in it—only wonder and happiness. +“Louise—” His voice was almost lost in his throat. “I love you, Louise.”</p> + +<p>“I love you, Sam.”</p> + +<p>But when he slept, the name he muttered was “Fran.”</p> + +<p>In the morning life begins again. In the morning we walked back to his +ship. Food was no problem. Fruits and berries were plentiful—apples +and peaches and pears and plums and cherries—every day we discovered +something new but familiar. From the ship’s stores we got canned meats +and vegetables—we never saw any other animals than Bambi, although Sam +insisted that obviously there must be others. Bambi wandered in and out +of camp, but he was always there when Sam wanted him. Sam liked to play +with him, and Bambi enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>The first day Sam built a shelter—a bower was what he called it—at the +edge of the clearing where the ship was, under the trees. I didn’t want +to sleep in the ship or even go inside it.</p> + +<p>“That’s the past,” I told Sam. “It’s as dead and meaningless as a +monument. The sooner we forget what it is and what it stands for the +happier we’ll be.”</p> + +<p>Sam agreed with me. The next time he went to the ship for food he +returned without his gun. He built the bower, and he took a long time +at it, lacing limbs together and thatching it with leaves to keep off +the occasional showers. He was good with his hands, and he liked to +keep busy.</p> + +<p>That night he slept peacefully.</p> + +<p>The second day we explored a little and looked over our supplies. We +had the ship’s stores and fruit was plentiful, but there was nothing +growing that would keep. Sam worried about it.</p> + +<p>“If it gets colder we might be in for something,” he said. “We could +weather one winter in the ship, I suppose, but the next—”</p> + +<p>I shook my head. “I don’t think it will get any colder. I think it will +always be like this.”</p> + +<p>He talked about wobbles and ecliptics and temperate zones, but it +didn’t mean anything. The weather wasn’t changing, and it wasn’t going +to. I was sure of that.</p> + +<p>He stirred a little in his sleep that night.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + + +<p>The morning of the third day we went to look for my ship. I tried to +talk Sam out of it, but I knew it wasn’t any use. There might be fuel +left, he said, maybe even enough to make an exploratory trip, and we +could use the supplies. Maybe we could even locate some inhabitants.</p> + +<p>All that day we walked away from the ocean, and we saw nothing +new—nothing at all. Trees identical with those that grew around our +camp, spaced out on soft green turf. No animals. We walked slowly but +steadily, eating fruit picked on our way. Sam began to get restless. +Sometimes he would peer far ahead or swing around and stare back the +way we had come.</p> + +<p>Toward evening we were walking up the side of a low +hill. Suddenly Sam stopped. He looked toward me, his eyes vague and thoughtful.</p> + +<p>“You know,” he +said, his voice low and tense-sounding in the quietness, “I have a +strange feeling that maybe we’ll come to a place where all this ends, +where it stops being and there’s nothing. Like maybe we’ll climb to the +top of this hill and we’ll look down and there won’t be any trees and +turf or anything. Like it’s being created before us, rolled out like +a green carpet, and just beyond where we can see, it’s something else +entirely, something unimaginable.”</p> + +<p>“You and all the other horizon-chasing explorers.”</p> + +<p>I smiled and a moment later he smiled and shook his head and took my +hand and we climbed to the top of the hill. As far as we could see +there were the same trees and turf.</p> + +<p>We slept under the sky that night, and Sam muttered but it never turned +into words.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The next day we reached a point farther than the distance Sam estimated +I could have walked, and we searched in circles the rest of that day +and the next. In the middle of one I finally stopped and shook my head +bewilderedly.</p> + +<p>“They all look the same,” I said. “I don’t know where I put it down. +Let’s give it up, Sam. It isn’t important now. Later we can map this +area with landmarks and things and search for it, but I want to get +back to our—home. Funny, isn’t it? We’ve only been here a week, and +already there’s a place I think of as home.”</p> + +<p>Sam argued. He really wanted to search some more, but he finally gave +in. We started back.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>At our camp, life fell into a regular pattern. We woke. We ate. We +swam in the impossibly blue sea by the silver sands. We fished. We +ate and talked. We made love. We slept. It should have been paradise, +and it was. But Sam was restless. He needed something to do, and here +there was nothing that needed doing. He began to talk about building a +sailboat, and he did work at it now and then, but he never seemed to +get very far with it. And in the night he had begun to moan and say one +name over and over again.</p> + +<p>One evening we were sitting together after our meal. The sun was still +shining through the trees and I knew it was building up in him and +there was nothing I could do but hope.</p> + +<p>“Fran,” he said, “I think we should search—” He stopped. <i>Fran</i>, he +thought. <i>What a stupid thing to say. What a horrible thing to say.</i> He +glanced at me to see if I had noticed, and I sat there with the sun +on me, not moving, not looking at him, feeling his eyes. <i>And yet</i>, he +thought, <i>there is a resemblance. The dark hair, the mouth</i> ... <i>The dark +hair!</i> He cast his mind back and I saw myself in his mind as he had seen +me when I stepped forth from the trees with blue eyes and a generous +mouth and ash-blonde hair. And it was something I couldn’t help because +he wanted it so hard.</p> + +<p>He moved away from me a little. His thoughts churned. <i>Dark hair!</i> He +looked around him slowly and suddenly scrambled to his feet and ran to +the ship and climbed up the ladder. I knew what he had gone for and I +waited for him to come back and I hoped. Because there was nothing left +but hope.</p> + +<p>When he came back he had his gun hanging at his hip again.</p> + +<p>“Stand up,” he said harshly. He towered above me, his feet spread +apart, his face dark and angry.</p> + +<p>I stood up. “What are you?” he said.</p> + +<p>“I—”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what you aren’t. Human, for instance. You aren’t human!” +His mouth curled as if he had tasted something disgusting and horrible. +“No wonder we couldn’t find your ship. There wasn’t any ship. You +belong here. You’re a native. You can change. You can change the color +of your hair and the shape of your mouth. Maybe you can change more +than that. And I’ve been making love to you and I’ve been in love with +you and I didn’t know—What are you?”</p> + +<p>His voice had been rising steadily. Now it cracked and broke in a +thousand brittle pieces.</p> + +<p>“You,” he said. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And maybe you +aren’t even female. Maybe they don’t have male and female here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” I said. “I’m female.”</p> + +<p>He didn’t hear me.</p> + +<p>“It’s all been a game—a horrible, deadly game. What’s real and what +isn’t? You aren’t. I know that. Where are the rest of your kind? What +kind of foul monster have I been making love to? <i>What are you?</i>”</p> + +<p>His voice ended in a shriek. He pulled out his gun and whirled, peering +into the woods, pointing it here and there, the fat barrel trembling.</p> + +<p>“Come out!” he sobbed. “Come out, damn you! Come out!”</p> + +<p>“There’s only me,” I said quietly. “I’m whatever you want me to be.”</p> + +<p>He didn’t hear me. He didn’t understand me. Nothing could penetrate +the thunder of blood pounding through his brain. But suddenly he swung +around to face me again, suddenly aware that his back had been exposed +to me.</p> + +<p>“God!” he said. “God! And I thought this was paradise!”</p> + +<p>He shook and the gun trembled and his finger tightened on the trigger. +I knew what was coming, and I shrank back with horror. The trees +trembled and the ground writhed.</p> + +<p>“It was, Sam,” I whispered. “It was.”</p> + +<p>“Change, damn you!” he shouted. “<i>Change! I want to see you as you +really are!</i>”</p> + +<p>His thoughts—mad, violent, powerful—wrenched at me, twisted me, +tortured me. I changed. Hatred, terror, and horror were in his eyes as +he stared at me and thought he saw me, and I could not tell him that +he saw only what he had willed to see. I could not tell him that I did +only what he willed me to do.</p> + +<p>“God.” He whispered. “God.”</p> + +<p>I came toward him, my clawed hands outstretched. His finger tightened +convulsively on the trigger. A wave of heat crisped my body, but it was +nothing to the pain in my mind. He could not stop me, of course. He +could not stop me with his gun, and it was too late for anything else. +I was close to him now, and my hands were reaching for his throat and +squeezing, squeezing....</p> + +<p>The last thing he ever heard—I know he heard it—was a low whisper that +might only have been the wind sighing through the trees.</p> + +<p>“I love you, Sam.”</p> + +<p>He was dead. He was gone. And now that he was gone the reality that +had been created for him—that he had created out of his desires—went +back to another reality, no more real and perhaps not as much. With the +fulfillment of his desire the trees melted back into the ground and the +turf was no longer grass and I drew back into myself too the part of me +Sam had called Louise and there was nothing but unending stretches of +flat, featureless plain which from a great distance looked green.</p> + +<p>One thing remained. Not far from where the blue sea lapped the edges +of the plain stood a tall, slim spire, like a monument. Nearby was a +mound, at one end of it a small, flat slab of stone. On the stone were +three words:</p> + +<p class="center"> + SAM NEWMAN<br> + <br> + <i>Killer</i> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div><div class="transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_note"> + Transcriber’s note: + </h2> + + + +<blockquote> +<p>This etext was produced from Rocket Stories, September 1953 (Vol. 1, +No. 3). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + +<p>Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but +minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.</p> + +<p>The illustration has been moved to better fit the eBook format.</p> + +<p>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the +public domain.</p> +</blockquote> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78948 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78948-h/images/01.jpg b/78948-h/images/01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5680c49 --- /dev/null +++ b/78948-h/images/01.jpg diff --git a/78948-h/images/cover.jpg b/78948-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c528b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/78948-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, 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. 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