The Greatest SF Classics of Stanley G. Weinbaum. Stanley G. Weinbaum
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"Yes. The greater the velocity, the stronger the eddy currents. The bullet's speed helps to deflect it."
"Did you know of these deflectors before?" snapped Connor.
"Of course. But projectile weapons haven't been used for so long—how could I dream he'd know of our rifles and resurrect the deflectors?"
"You should have anticipated the possibility. Why, we could have used—" He broke off. Recriminations were useless now. "Never mind. Tell me about the ionic beam, Jan."
"It's just two parallel beams of highly actinic light, like gamma rays. They ionize the air they pass through. The ionized air is a conductor. There's an atomic generator in the handles of the beam–pistols, and it shoots an electric charge along the beams. And when your body closes the circuit between them—Lord! They didn't use a killing potential, or we'd have been burned to a crisp. I still ache from that agony!"
"Evanie stood up to it," Connor remarked.
"Just once," murmured the girl. "A second time—Oh, I'd have died!"
It struck Connor that this delicate, small–boned, nervous race must be more sensitive, less inured to pain, than himself. He had stood the shock with little difficulty.
"You're lucky you weren't touched," said Jan.
Connor snorted. "I was touched three times—the third time by ten beams! If you'd listened to me we could have won the dog–fight anyway. I blew a dozen Urbans down by firing from the side."
"You what?"
"I saw that," said Evanie. "Just before the second beam. But I—I couldn't stand any more."
"It makes our position worse, I suppose," muttered Jan. "The Master will be angry at injury to his men."
Connor gave it up. Jan's regret that the enemy had suffered damage simply capped a long overdue climax. He was loathe to blame Jan, or the whole Weed army, for flying from the searing touch of the ionic beams. He felt himself an unfair judge, since he couldn't feel with their nerves. More than likely what was merely painful to his more rugged body was unbearable agony to them.
What did trouble him was the realization that he failed to understand these people, failed to comprehend their viewpoint. This whole mess of a revolution seemed ill–planned, futile, unnecessary, even stupid.
This set him to wondering about Evanie. Was it fair to try to bring love into her life, to rouse her from the reserve she had cast about herself? Might that not threaten unhappiness to both of them—these two strangers from different ages?
Humanity had changed during his long sleep; the only personality in this world with whom he felt the slightest sympathy was—the Master!
A man he had never even seen, unless one of the two shining figures on the tower had been he. Like himself, the Master was a survival of an earlier time. Therein, perhaps, lay the bond.
His musings were interrupted by a flash of iridescence in the air ahead. There was a long, desolate silence as the car sped onward.
"Well," Jan Orm at last said gloomily, "it's come."
But Connor already knew, instinctively, that what he had seen was the rainbow glint of one of the Master's Messengers.
"For which of us, do you suppose?" he asked soberly. "For Evanie, I guess. But don't watch it—don't think of it. It might be for you."
Evanie was lying back in the seat, eyes shut, features blank. She had closed her mind to the unholy thing. But Connor was unable to keep either mind or eyes from the circling mystery as it swept silently about the speeding car.
"It's closing in," he whispered to Jan.
Jan reached a sudden decision. A rutted road branched ahead of them, and he swung the car into it, boring toward the hills.
"Weed village in here," he muttered. "Perhaps we can lose it there."
"How? It can pass through brick walls."
"I know, but the pneumatic freight tube goes through here. The tube's fast as a scared meteor. We can try it, and—" He paused grimly.
The sun was low in the west when they came to the village, a tiny place nestled among green hills. The ominous circling thing was glowing faintly in the dusk, now no more than twenty yards away. Evanie had kept to her resolute silence, never glancing at the threatening mystery.
In the village, Jan talked to an ancient, bearded individual, and returned to the car with a frown.
"He has only two cylinders," he announced. "You and Evanie are going."
Connor clambered out of the car.
"See here!" he whispered. "You're in more danger than I. Leave me with the car. I can find my way to Ormon."
Jan shook his head. "Listen a moment," he said firmly. "Understand what I'm saying. I love Evanie. I've always loved her, but it's you that's been given to waken her. You must go with her. And for God's sake—quickly!"
Reluctantly Connor and Evanie followed Jan into a stone building where the nervous old man stood above two seven–foot cylinders lying on a little track. Without a word the girl clambered into the first, lying flat on her face with her tiny sandals pressed against the rear.
The ancient snapped down the cover like a coffin lid. Connor's heart sank as the man shoved the metal cylinder into a round opening, closed down a door behind it, and twirled a hissing handle. Jan motioned Tom Connor to the other tube, and at that moment the flashing iridescence of the Messenger swept through the room and away. He climbed hastily in, lying as Evanie had done.
"To Ormon?" he asked.
"No. To the next Weed village, back in the mountains. Hurry!"
The Messenger
The old man slammed the cover. Connor lay in utter darkness, but as he felt the cylinder slide along the track, he thought he glimpsed for a bare instant the luminous Messenger in a flash through the metal sides. He heard the faint clang of the door, and there was a brief moment of quiet.
Then, with a force that bent his knees, he felt the thrust of terrific acceleration. Only a faint rumble came to his ears, but he realized that his speed must be enormous. Then the pressure shifted. He felt his hands driven against the front, and in a few more seconds, no pressure at all.
The cover was raised. He thrust himself out, to face Evanie, just clambering from her own cylinder, and a frightened nondescript man who muttered frantically:
"Don't tell on me! Don't tell!"
He turned to listen to a low–voiced inquiry from Evanie, and answered in an inaudible whisper and a gesture to the north.
Connor followed Evanie as she hurried out of the building into darkness. He caught a faint glimpse of the stone cottages of a village smaller than Ormon, then they were trudging over a dim trail toward the hills black against the stars.
"To the metamorphs of the hills," Evanie said mechanically. "They'll hide us until it's safe." She added wearily, "I'm so tired!"
That was not surprising, after such a day. She started to speak. "You've been—Oh!"
He saw it too. The luminous needlebeaked shape that was the Messenger, circling them twenty yards away.
"Lord!" he whispered. "How fast can that thing travel?"
"Disembodied electric force?" she asked wearily. "As fast as light, I suppose. Well—it doesn't matter. I can fight it off if I must. But hurry!"
"God!" Connor groaned. "That persistent demon!"
His voice rose in a yell of surprise and fear. The misty thing had stopped in mid–air, poised a moment, then launched