Corridor of the Suns Read online

  Evers expected the destroying beams to stab toward them as the Worker entered. But they did not.

  Instead, the metal colossus came striding in toward them, raising its great arms.

  “Three beams together might burn through a leg and bring it down,” Evers whispered. “The left leg at the joint, full strength. Now!”

  Their weapons flashed and the three beams converged on the joint of the massive metal limb.

  They had no effect whatever on the tough metal. Next instant, with a ponderous agility, the thing sprang in with great pincer-like hands reaching.

  They darted back from it, scattering. It stood, as though contemplating them, immobile but infinitely threatening. It was impossible to remember that it was a machine actuated by the control of someone outside, impossible to think of it as other than alive.

  Evers, crouched ready to move and hoping for a shot at a vital part of the thing, heard a voice outside saying,

  “I can cut them down fast with the beams!”

  And he heard Schuyler’s flat voice answering commandingly, “No! No beams. It must look as though they crashed and were killed in their ship.”

  The Worker sprang again, this time at Straw.

  Straw fired, and his delaying to do so was fatal. His beam splashed harmlessly off the big cylinder. The great pincer-hand swung with blurring speed toward him. Unable to draw back in time, Straw tried to duck the metal hand, and it struck the side of his head and knocked him into a tumbled heap.

  Lindeman screeched in pure anger and ran in at the Worker, firing. The metal arm that had just felled Straw instantly darted and encircled Lindeman’s small figure, pressing him helpless against the cylinder. And, holding Lindeman, the Worker leaped toward Evers.

  Evers, possessed by a cold rage, had no intention of attacking the Worker. Such attack had been proved futile. It seemed to him that they were done for and his only wish now was to take Schuyler with them.

  He plunged past the Worker, heading for the doorway and the man outside whom he wanted to kill.

  He almost made it. He was at the door, his gun raised, when he heard the rush of clanking feet right behind him and the Worker’s metal arm flashed around him and gripped crushingly. He was drawn against the cold metal side, his arms pinioned, his bones cracking.

  “Got them!” said a voice outside, and then the men out there came in.

  Strangled in that iron embrace, Evers hung helpless and looked down at them.

  There was a man in the front of the group who was dressed in a rich, shimmering blue coverall. He was a tall man, who had run a little to fat. You didn’t notice that at first because his face held you. It was plump with good living, but there was nothing soft about it. It was the face of an emperor who has had power so long that people are no longer people to him, but creatures to be given their orders. His eyes had no pity in them as he surveyed Evers and Lindeman, only a certain resentment.

  “You’ve made a lot of trouble,” he said in that hard, flat voice. “Too bad for you you had to go where you weren’t wanted.”

  Lindeman said, “Schuyler.” He said other things, and his voice shook, and Schuyler paid no attention at all but turned impatiently to the bald, lean, hard-bitten man beside him.

  “Take them back out to their ship, Alden. You know what to do. Remember, it must absolutely look to GC as though they died in the crash.”

  Alden, the bald man, nodded curtly. “Yes, Mr. Schuyler. The Worker can take these two out — it’s safer.”

  One of the other men had gone and was bending over Straw. He said, “This one’s dead. Whole skull crushed in.”

  Lindeman, his face pale and tragic, looked at Evers. And Evers thought of how brief a man’s obituary could be. All the things that Straw had done, the dreams he had dreamed and the things he had laughed at, and all of a sudden it was all wrapped up and put away forever with the three words, “This one’s dead.”

  “All right, bring him along,” Alden said impatiently.

  There was another man with a small control-box slung on his chest. It had many buttons on it and he played upon them as expertly as an accordionist. In answer to his playing, the Worker turned ponderously.

  Evers did not struggle as the Worker started out through the door with them. You could not struggle against that iron grip, and anyway the sooner they all left the warehouse, the less likely was Sharr to be discovered.

  It wasn’t only that he felt sorry for the Valloan girl who had unwisely stepped into a game too big and deadly for her. He still had a bitter hope — not for themselves, they were all through, but a hope that Sharr might keep hidden till the GC cruisers came. If she could, Schuyler might still be exposed, even though he and Lindeman were dead.

  But Lindeman struggled. Straw’s death had stunned him to silence for a moment but now as they were carried out, the little scientist raged back at Schuyler.

  “You won’t get away with it forever, Schuyler! Sooner or later, someone else will go to Andromeda and the K’harn will tell them what they told us, and you’ll be all through.”

  Evers desperately wished that Lindeman would shut up. Talk would do no good now, and might only get Sharr discovered. But Lindeman had reached the end of all self-control.

  “All the dead out there, all the agony you’ve caused, you’ll pay for it, Schuyler, when—”

  Schuyler’s voice cut across Lindeman’s raging. “Hold it,” he said sharply.

  He spoke to the man controlling the Worker, for the Worker holding Evers and Lindeman suddenly stopped its clanking stride just outside the warehouse.

  Schuyler came and looked up at the two captives. It seemed to Evers that there was an alert new expression on Schuyler’s face.

  Schuyler said, “You say the K’harn told you what we’d done there? How could you understand their language?”

  “We understood them,” Lindeman shouted. “We learned their language well enough to understand everything they told us of what you’d done there, damn you!”

  Evers saw that Schuyler was paying no attention to the rest of Lindeman’s furious maledictions. The magnate seemed to be thinking fast and hard, looking up at the two of them.

  He said suddenly to Alden, “Plans are changed. Take these two to the house.”

  Alden hesitated. “But the warning we got about GC ships coming here after them! When they don’t find any bodies in that wreck, they’ll start searching here for these three.”

  An uneasy stir ran through the men grouped around them in the starlight. It was obvious that the last thing they wanted was for GC to start investigating on Arkar.

  “That’s easily taken care of,” snapped Schuyler. “Put the dead one in the wreck, fuse the fuel-bunkers, and blow it up. Make it look as though their ship blew when they crashed.”

  Alden’s face cleared in relief. “Yes. Yes, that should do it.”

  The man controlling the Worker touched his controls. The iron grip suddenly relaxed, dropping Evers and Lindeman to the ground.

  When Evers scrambled to his feet, it was to find that he faced the guns of two tough-faced men, who stood carefully covering him and Lindeman.

  Schuyler turned away, saying over his shoulder, “I don’t want these two hurt. Bring them along to the house.”

  He got into a car and was driven away. One of the tough-faced men motioned Evers and Lindeman toward another car.

  Evers looked back, as they went. Straw’s body had been carried out, and was being put in the back of a half-trac. The warehouse door was being locked again. He thought that Sharr was safe for the time being. She would surely be able to pick the lock again and get out when the GC ships arrived.

  Evers and Lindeman got into the back seat of the car, and the two tough-faced men got into the front. One of the men drove and the other sat turned around, his gun covering the two prisoners. The car darted away across the spaceport. Through the window, Evers saw the half-trac hurrying away toward the forest.

  Goodbye, Straw…

>   Their car went fast under the flaring krypton lights, past the docks. There was activity around the star-ships there — men hurrying, a couple of towering Workers clanking away with heavy loads, whistles and orders sounding from back in the dark. They raced past a Communic building with tall masts and radar-installations. Trees were ahead now — trees that were flowers of old Earth grown to incredible size on this chemically different planet. The car sped down a narrow road between daisies as tall as eucalyptus trees, scarlet poppies with blooms like great bowls, dandelion shrubbery that was ten feet high.

  Evers was trying to figure it all out, and couldn’t. Why had Schuyler suddenly countermanded the order for their killing? He wanted something from them, that went without saying, but what?

  The house loomed at the end of the road, bowered in gigantic peonies, roses, lilies, softly illuminated by concealed outside floodlights, as though Schuyler was proud of his house and wanted to see it by day and by night. Evers thought he had reason to be proud.

  The greatest metals magnate in the galaxy had built of metal, boldly and imaginatively. The main mass of the house, curved and domed of roof, was of sheening chrome-steel, or a metal that looked like it. The heaviness of its mass was counterbalanced by dainty, fairy-like towers that rose smoothly from its sides, high enough to brush the giant flowers all around. The house could have been grotesque, but it was not. It was a dream of unreal beauty.

  They got out of the car and the Earthmen with guns walked well behind them as they went up the wide copper steps. They went into a gleaming hallway, and then into a big room whose walls were all of tawny bronze, warm and welcoming, its casual furniture giving it an air of graciousness and comfort that Evers found not at all reassuring at this moment.

  Schuyler was sitting down behind a desk. He motioned to chairs beside a little table. There was a bottle and glasses on the table.

  “Have a drink,” said Schuyler. “You look as though you could use it.”

  Lindeman paid no heed, but sat down and put his face in his hands. He said Straw’s name in a whisper.

  Evers reached for the bottle. He didn’t think that refusing would hurt Schuyler any, and he did need the drink. He poured and drank a big one. As he sat the glass down he saw, back against the bronze wall, the two tough-faced men with the guns standing and watching them.

  Schuyler said incisively, “It must be obvious to you that you’ve been spared because you can be useful to me.”

  They said nothing, but Lindeman raised his head and looked at Schuyler with a weary hate. Schuyler got the look, and his plump face hardened slightly.

  “Let’s understand each other,” he said. “You consider me a ruthless monster. I consider you fools. But we can deal. I can give you something you want — your lives.”

  “And what do you want from us in exchange?” Evers demanded.

  “Help,” said Schuyler promptly. “Help in dealing with a certain problem in our Andromeda operation.”

  Lindeman started to speak and Schuyler said boredly, “Spare me your moral indignation. To me, what you call moral laws are just rules that other men have laid down. I play it all by my own rules.”

  He went on, tapping with a gold pencil on the desk. “Two years ago, I first went to Andromeda. It was obvious that someone would go there soon, the inter-galactic drive was possible at any time. I decided to get there first without telling anyone, and see what I could pick up before the rush started. I was looking for rare metals. I found a lot more than that. I found the K’harn and their alien science. The value of that totally different science, its instruments and potentialities, was obvious.”

  Evers nodded. “So you robbed them and killed those of them who objected.”

  Schuyler shrugged. “Only when they tried resistance. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t developed any war-weapons. Since that first trip, I’ve had cruisers working the fringe worlds of Andromeda, bringing back instruments of K’harn science that could be invaluable. The trouble is that they’re so alien in concept, my own technicians don’t understand them. It may take years for them to puzzle out those gadgets.”

  He paused, then told Evers and Lindeman, “You say you learned the K’harn language. You must have spent a good bit of time with the K’harn, to do that.”

  Evers thought he understood now. “We did,” he said. “They accepted us as friends, when they found we weren’t part of your outfit. But we do not know how to operate or explain K’harn scientific instruments, so I think you’re wasting your time.”

  Schuyler smiled slightly. “I seldom waste my time. You’re under a misapprehension. It’s your ability to speak the K’harn language that interests me.”

  Evers stared, puzzled. “Why?”

  Schuyler said, “When I found my technicians weren’t getting anywhere on those gadgets, I gave orders for my men out there to bring back a couple of K’harn scientists who could explain all that stuff to us. Two scientists of the K’harn were captured and brought here, but one unwisely attempted an escape and was killed. The other is still here, but he’s uncooperative and refuses even to speak to us. We don’t know his language, yet it’s essential that we get him to cooperate.”

  Lindeman slowly began to rise to his feet, staring at Schuyler in absolute unbelief as the magnate went on.

  “If you know the K’harn language, you can talk to him. Tell him my proposition — that as soon as he’s explained all the machines to my technicians, he’ll be returned to Andromeda. Emphasize to him that—”

  It was as far as Schuyler got. Lindeman’s hoarse voice interrupted him, saying,

  “So it wasn’t enough for your filthy greed to rob and kill out there, you had to bring two of them here prisoners. Why, you—”

  He plunged toward Schuyler’s desk. Evers jumped up but before he could take a step, one of the tough-faced men had fired. The pallid beam from his gun dropped Lindeman like a heap of old clothes.

  “You move and you get it too,” said the tough-faced man.

  Schuyler said bitingly to the man, “Couldn’t you have grabbed him? There was no need to stun him, you fool.”

  The man looked uncomfortable. “I thought—”

  “Blockheads trying to think make most of my troubles,” said Schuyler. “Take him down to one of the lower rooms and let him sleep it off.”

  The man hastily lifted Lindeman as though he were a mannikin and toted him out. The other tough-faced man remained, his gun in full evidence.

  Schuyler turned his gaze back to Evers, who stood with fists tightly clenched. He said, “Your friend will be all right in an hour or so. Now what about my proposition — will you talk to this K’harn?”

  “If I do — what?” asked Evers.

  “You stay living,” said Schuyler promptly. “I keep my promises. You won’t leave Arkar, but neither of you will be killed or harmed.”

  Evers thought about it, mastering his fury. He had no intention whatever of helping Schuyler but he thought himself justified in fighting the devil with fire. If he could stall till the GC ships reached Arkar…

  He said slowly, “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him what you say. But I won’t advise him to accept your proposition. That’s up to him.”

  “You have nice scruples,” said Schuyler ironically. “You can also tell him that there are many ways of making people — even not-human people — talk, if we have to use them.” He looked at the man with the gun. “All right, put him in with the K’harn.”

  The man who had taken Lindeman away returned. The two men shepherded Evers out of the bronze room, and along gleaming metal corridors to a stairway. They walked behind him, their guns out.

  The stairway went down two levels before it ended in another corridor. There were two doors on each side of the short corridor, and each of the doors had a heavy combination-lock.

  “Listen,” said Evers to the men, “you know that GC is on its way here right now, don’t you?”

  One of the men said simply, “Shut up.”

>   Evers shut up. He knew when a thing was no use, and it was no use now.

  He was halted in front of one of the doors. One of the men went to it and started turning the combination-lock. The other man stood behind Evers, his gun levelled.

  The door was suddenly swung open by the man who had unlocked it. The man behind Evers shoved him powerfully at the same moment. Evers plunged forward, into a narrow metal cell. The door slammed shut behind him.

  As Evers picked himself up he heard a movement in the corner of the cell. There, in the shadows, the K’harn stood watching him.

  Weird child of another universe, this crouching, spidery shape — yet familiar to Evers’ eyes. The semi-human torso, the four powerful limbs that were neither arms nor legs yet were both, the fourfingered hands or feet, the white, hairless face and great dark eyes…

  Evers started forward, and then as he opened his mouth to speak, the spidery figure rushed forward and he went down again, with alien hands upon his throat.

  CHAPTER VII

  Evers rolled on the floor of the cell, frantically trying to break the grip of his unhuman attacker. But two of the K’harn’s limbs pinioned his arms, and the other two hands were at his throat, strangling him. The big dark eyes blazed with a deadly rage, only inches from his own.

  He could not breathe and he could not speak and the edges of things were beginning to darken. Evers knew he would be dead in a minute unless he broke that grip. His legs were free, and he brought his knees up in a battering smash at the weird torso.

  The K’harn grunted, and the grip of his limbs on Evers relaxed for a brief second. Evers used his doubled-up legs as a lever, put all his strength into them, and thrust his spidery antagonist clear off him.

  Instantly, with incredible quickness, the K’harn flashed in toward him again.

  “Wait!” choked Evers in the K’harn language. “Friend — I—”