Chapter I: Front Matter

Terror Station

by Dwight V. Swain

It was sheer madness--monstrous creatures appearing out of nowhere at
a top-secret desert Base. Yet Stone knew it was not madness he was
fighting but a vicious enemy. The Stake: Earth!

He saw the woman first.

Blindly, she stumbled out of the moonless desert night a hundred yards ahead, into the dim right edge of the path slashed by his headlights. Lurching, staggering, she scuffed through the gravel of the highway’s shoulder; reached the asphalt and took two short, uncertain steps out on it, swaying as if the sudden change to smoother footing had almost made her lose her balance.

Stone jammed on his brakes.

Only then, before the car could even start to stop, movement flickered in the murk from which the woman had emerged. Stone glimpsed a shifting scarlet glow, a dipping, twisting streak of color. Oozing through the backdrop of the night, it drew swiftly closer to the roadway and the woman ... then faded, swallowed up in the glare of the approaching headlights.

But as it vanished, a spot of strange translucence materialized to replace it.

Formless, almost without perceptible substance, the splotch moved faster now, gliding across the shoulder and out onto the highway.

Beyond it, the woman half-turned; threw a frantic glance back along the way from which she’d come even as she took another stumbling step.

In the same instant, the translucence swept down upon her.

The woman’s face contorted. Sheer terror etched her features, so deep that even Stone could see it. She tried to lunge away.

But now gleaming tendrils lanced forth from the translucence, curled about her, held her helpless.

The woman screamed.

That scream: It echoed even through the shriek of Stone’s scorching tires, seared itself into his brain so deep that he never would, never could, forget it.

Then, abruptly, the scream cut off. The translucence swirled back towards the roadside and the shadows, dragging the woman with it.

Savagely, Stone jerked the steering wheel right with all his might, trying to follow the horror with his headlights. Skidding, the car rocked round on two wheels. For a spine-chilling split second Stone thought it was going to go over. But at the last moment it righted itself and shuddered to a halt in a choking cloud of dust beyond the shoulder.

Straight ahead, woman and translucence hung spotlighted less than fifty feet away.

Stone snatched his Colt from its holster on the steering post. Leaping from the car, he raced forward.

It was as if the sight of him gave the woman new strength. Her whole body convulsed. Tearing free from the monstrous thing that held her, she lurched towards Stone, blood streaming from a dozen wounds.

The translucence seemed to swell and darken. Then, in a rush, it hurtled towards the woman.

But now Stone was abreast of her. Cat-footed, he leaped between her and the monster; he blazed three fast shots into its center.

The shining surface quivered. For the fraction of a second it drew back.

Stone could see the creature more clearly now. Murkily transparent as oily water, it stood nearly a head taller than his own six feet.

Except that it didn’t have any head.

Instead, a barrel body splayed out into many thin, cable-like tentacles at top and bottom, each terminating in a round disc the size of a quarter. Its only truly opaque matter appeared to be concentrated in a narrow, dully scarlet band perhaps three inches wide that girded the center of its body.

Staring at it, Stone wondered if he were somehow going mad.

Then, abruptly, there was no more time for thinking, observation. With a rush, the monster lunged towards him, moving on its lower tentacles as if they were so many skillfully-coordinated feet.

Behind Stone, the woman cried out: “The light--! Watch out for the light!”

* * * * *

Stone glimpsed it as she spoke:

A small, lensed cube or box that suddenly shot out at the end of one of the creature’s upper tentacles.

He leaped sidewise.

Almost in the same instant, a vivid purple streak blazed from the box.

It missed Stone by inches. Desperately, he snapped a wild shot at the lens, then fired twice more in the onrushing monster’s midriff.

This time, the thing didn’t even hesitate.

Stone jerked the trigger again. A hollow click. The gun was empty.

With a curse, Stone hurled it at the nightmare thing before him. Then, whirling, he raced headlong back towards his car.

Like an evil, gleaming shadow, the monster sped after him. It moved fast--horribly, incredibly fast.

Panting, Stone veered left, not even daring to look back. The headlights blazed blindingly into his eyes.

Something brushed his shoulder. He felt his shirt rip.

Then he was past the lights. Twisting, he dived headlong beneath the car, heedless of the gravel that slashed his face and chest and knees and shins and belly. Driving his elbows into the dirt, he whipped himself out on the far side of the vehicle.

A tentacle groped for his heel.

Savagely, he stamped the disc against a rock.

The tentacle jerked back. Sobbing for breath, Stone scrambled to his knees and clutched the doorhandle.

He got the door open just as another tentacle came through the window on the far side of the car, reaching for him.

Cursing, he jerked back barely in time, slammed the door shut on the tentacle with all his strength.

The latch caught. The car shook as the monster tried to writhe away.

Stone spun about. In three steps he was at the trunk--clawing aside his luggage, breaking his nails on the jack.

His hand closed around the axehandle in the same instant that the car gave a sudden lurch. There was a sound like that of a gigantic rubber band snapping. Then, like an echo, a tentacle-disc slapped against his right ribs just below the armpit.

Clutching the axe, Stone leaped back.

But the disc clung as if it were part of him. Agony exploded around it, tearing at his flesh. Before he could shake the red haze of pain from his eyes, the monster--free of the car now--was upon him.

Convulsively, Stone swung the axe.

It bounced off the barrel body as if it had struck solid rubber. More discs slapped at him.

Stone staggered, axe sagging. The tentacles had him now--constricting, engulfing. He lurched against the monster; felt the discs’ pressure growing, seeking to rend his very body.

Pain-knotted, barely conscious, he twisted the axe-blade against the opaque scarlet band that girded the creature’s midriff.

Reflex-like, a disc low on his spine jerked him back, away.

Stone forgot the agony, the pain-haze. Fiercely, he slashed out with the axe.

A surge of triumph raced through him as its blade bit deep into the unshielded scarlet band.

Now the tentacles tore at him in frenzy, clutched at the axe.

Before they could seize it, Stone swung again--horizontally, this time, so that the rubbery body might have no chance to deflect the cutting edge from the nerve-band.

The blade struck home with a sound like that of a melon shattering on pavement. Clear to the eye it sank--

The tentacles hurled Stone backward, slamming him hard against the side of his car as they let go their hold. He sagged there, raw-nerved and sick and bleeding.

Shambling, uncertain, the monster moved away--and towards the spot where the woman still lay prone and silent.

With an effort, Stone dragged himself erect. Then, axe still in hand, he stumbled after the nightmare creature.

The thing speeded its pace.

Stone forced himself to a run, cutting wide around his adversary.

Ten seconds later, he stood between it and the woman.

The creature hesitated.

* * * * *

Stone bared his teeth in a savage grimace. The fact that he had outdistanced the hideous thing; that it paused now, grasping and indecisive--such were more than enough to strip away his own pain and weariness.

“Damn you!” he grated harshly. “We’ll see who gets her!”

He lifted the axe; took a quick step forward.

The monster fell back before him.

Then, of a sudden, a tentacle speared out.

--The tentacle with the lightbox.

Stone charged in, swinging, as the purple streak blazed forth.

The creature shifted, undulating away from the axe. The streak of purple fire missed Stone.

Missed, by far too wide a margin to be coincidence.

Like an echo, a choked cry of agony rose behind him.

Stone spun about, numb panic flaring in him.

The woman no longer lay limp and prostrate. Now, instead, her whole body jerked in a continuing spasm. Her hands clutched her side, and her lips spilled blood.

Stone whirled again, back to the monster.

But the creature was already fleeing--gliding out of the arc of the headlights’ beam, into the empty blackness of the desert. Even as Stone glimpsed it, the night swallowed it up.

Only a lunatic would have followed.

With a snarl of frustration, Stone ran to the woman; dropped on his knees beside her.

Her whole side was burned black where the purple beam had struck. She clutched his hand, her nails biting deep. “Kill me, quick! Please! I can’t stand it--”

Sweat stood out on Stone’s forehead. Desperately, he forced his voice gentle, level: “Easy, now. You’ll be all right. I’ll get you to my car. It’s only a couple of miles to the proving ground--”

“No, no. I can’t stand it. I’m dying--” The woman’s voice trailed off in a bubbling scream. Her body twisted. Then: “Maybe--my husband--the robots--back there beyond the mesa--”

“Easy....” Stone whispered. But his lips were dry.

“My ... my husband....”

A shudder ran through the woman’s body. Then, suddenly, she sagged limp.

Dead.

Sickness twisted at Stone’s belly. Gently, he crossed the woman’s arms across her breasts ... straightened the tormented twisted body ... wiped away the blood and smoothed the dark hair back from the small, plain face.

She was young, he saw now; far younger than he’d thought--not more than twenty-five at most.

So young ... and so dead.

And somewhere, out there in the desert night, lurked the creature that had killed her.

And what was it the dying woman had said, about robots on a mesa--?

Stone’s spine prickled. Stiffly, he started to get up.

Only then, out of the night, a voice clipped, “Hold it!”

A chill, somehow familiar voice.

Stone froze.

“That’s it. And get your hands out where we can see ’em.”

Wordless, Stone obeyed.

“Now turn so the light shines on your face.”

Again, obedience. “Well! If it isn’t our Mister Stone!” The words carried an ugly inflection. And then: “Come on, you guys....”

Figures converged from the blackness--erect, helmeted, uniformed figures, armed with rifles and carbines.

Soldiers.

The tension drained out of Stone. Of a sudden he felt weak, wobbly, half-hysterical.

And that voice--of course it was familiar!

“Sergeant Bjornberg,” he announced, “I’ve never been so glad to see anybody in my life!”

He dropped his hands.

Instantly, a gun-barrel gouged his back. “Keep those hands out!”

“What--?” Stone stared. “Sergeant, you know me....”

“Do I? Don’t try to pull any fast ones on me, mister!” The sergeant moved into view as he spoke. His usually good-humored features showed heavy now, set in sullen lines. Striding over to the woman, he flashed a light onto her dead face. “Well, now! Ain’t this pretty!”

With an effort, Stone held his temper. “The way she was killed was anything but pretty, sergeant. And the thing that did the job is still running loose. I’d suggest you post a heavy guard, then get me to headquarters as soon as possible.”

The sergeant sneered openly. “_You’re_ telling _me_ what to do?”

“I’m merely suggesting.” In spite of himself, Stone’s voice took on a brittle edge. “However, I do happen to have charge of certain aspects of security for this area, and I doubt that Captain Hayes would think I was out of line.”

“Oh?” Sergeant Bjornberg grinned--an ugly grin, utterly without mirth. “Well, I think I got a better idea, _Mister_ Stone.”

“Well?”

“I’ll post a guard, all right; and I’ll take you to headquarters.”

“Fair enough.”

“But I’ll do it my own way, you lousy civilian phony--and that’s under arrest, as a prisoner and a murder suspect!”