Chapter V

For Stone, that moment lasted a thousand years.

Then it was over, Glines’ shriek dying.

The horrid spell broke. He lunged for the door, Bjornberg on his heels.

But something smooth and slippery brushed his face as he crossed the threshold. Instinctive panic flaring in him, he threw himself sidewise.

Before he could hit the ground, rubbery tentacles swept about him. In a black delirium of movement, he found himself caught up and lifted; crushed close to a gelid, barrel-like body.

Desperately, he tried to twist free, fight clear. But a dozen discs clung to him with vicious suction. Every move he made seemed to draw the tentacles tighter--crushing him; squeezing the very breath from his body.

Now one had looped about his throat, a living rope to cut the blood off from his brain. Glines’ screams seemed dim and far away. The sky held too many stars.

Then thunder rocked the night--the thunder of a heavy Colt, fired at close range. For the fraction of a second, the tentacles’ hold relaxed. Stone’s feet touched the ground. Tearing his throat free, he gulped in a tremendous, sobbing breath.

“Joe!” he shouted. “Joe, shoot for the band, the belt--”

Nightmare-like, in the same instant the tentacles once again constricted. He had no more breath--not for shouting, nor for breathing either.

But the Colt roared like an echo, so close now that the powder-fumes stung Stone’s nostrils. The monster’s barrel-body rocked under hammer-blows of impact. Fluid spilled across Stone’s legs in a chilling gush.

Then he was free, falling, slammed to the gravel. Tentacles writhed across him in a rush.

Rolling, Stone lurched up.

The monster that had held him now clutched Bjornberg. In a raging frenzy, its tentacles swung the sergeant high into the air wrenching at his body. His head lolled--loose, horribly disjointed.

Then, with cataclysmic violence, the thing hurled him from it. He crashed against the brick wall of the building; spilled down in a crumpled heap beside a sodden form that could only be Glines’ body.

Stone turned and ran.

Ahead of him, a second monster swept out from behind the building. Stone kept to his course, straight at the thing. If asked, he could not have told why. Perhaps it was bravado, perhaps desperation.

Or perhaps pure madness.

The creature hesitated, its tentacles flickering in a way that was almost startled. Then, abruptly, it drew back, as if suddenly wary--not quite certain of Stone’s potential.

Beyond it, the jeep loomed. Stone made it in a final rush; vaulted into the driver’s seat. Kicking the motor to life, he wheeled the vehicle around in a screaming curve, jammed the accelerator to the floor, and raced for the main gate.

In seconds, the entrance came into view. Stone started to apply the brakes.

But the gate stood open. No guards appeared to challenge his exit.

Beyond the fence, the street stretched bare and empty, with no sign of blockading troops.

Stone bore down on the gas once more. He still didn’t dare to pause to think; not yet. The horror still clung too close. Too many things hung unexplained.

Things like why the firing back at Reva’s project building hadn’t drawn a half-track full of guards. Why the gate stood open. Why the streets were empty, the housing units dark.

But such were trivia; they could wait. He only knew his friends were dead, and what he had to do.

Number Ten Q Street, Northeast. Reva’s prefab.

But no light in the windows.

* * * * *

Stone spun the jeep right at the next corner; headed back west towards the Central Project Building, with its bright lights and strange new tower.

Then, ahead, a white-striped barrier caught his lights. It blocked the street.

Stone braked the jeep.

Half-a-dozen soldiers stood grouped to one side of the crossbar. Before Stone could even speak, two of them hurriedly slung their rifles, moved the barrier out of the way, and waved him on. They made no move to halt or check him.

The area beyond looked like a full-scale military operation--barricades, barbed wire, sandbagged strong points, machine guns.

Hands slick on the jeep’s wheel, still not daring to ask questions, Stone maneuvered his vehicle through the narrow corridor left open.

He reached the fence that circled the Central Project Area ... passed through the gate.

On the other side, thronging civilians milled and muttered. A single word, rising from a thousand throats, pulsed at him wave-like:

“Monsters ... monsters ... monsters ... monsters ....”

Of a sudden, Stone understood it all--the barricades, the darkened houses; the open gates, the lack of questions.

New chills ran through him. He cursed the icy sweat that drenched his body.

Slowed by the crowd, the jeep was more hindrance now than help. Abandoning it, Stone pushed his way towards the square, squat block of the Central Project Building.

A private with rifle and fixed bayonet barred the entrance. A corporal sang out. “Hold it, Mister!”

Stone said tightly, “You hold it--if you want to take the responsibility. I’ve got information about this business.”

A lieutenant moved up. “Talk ahead, Mister. I’ll listen.”

“I’ll talk--to the base director. And he’s the only one.”

The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your name, Mister?”

“Carl Stone.”

“Carl Stone--!” Visibly, the officer stiffened. He shoved the private aside; elbowed back the corporal. “Come on, then! What are you waiting for?”

In seconds, they were at the door of MacDougal’s second-floor office.

The base director sat hunched over his desk, snapping hard, clipped words into a phone. His broad face looked drawn and haggard, and the hand with which he pushed back his stiff, greying hair seemed not too steady.

Stone’s gaze flicked to Reva Adams.

She occupied a chair in one corner. Only in the faint shadows beneath her eyes did she show any trace of the tension that radiated from the base director. For the rest, she was as always--sleek, lovely, all woman, her blonde hair swept smoothly back and falling to her shoulders, her firm body filling out the silken sheath of her dress.

Even the sight of her sent fury surging through Stone. Pushing past the lieutenant, he stalked into the room. “Hang up that phone, Mac. You’ve got company.”

Reva jerked in her chair. Her hand flew to her throat.

The base director’s massive head came around sharply. He started up from his seat. “Carl--!”

“Right. Alive and breathing.” There was no good humor in the words, the way Stone said them. He heeled shut the door, closing out the lieutenant.

“Carl, we thought you were dead.”

“I’m not blaming you, Mac. Not you.” Stone jerked his head towards Reva. “Her, I’m not so sure of.”

“Doctor Adams--?” MacDougal stared at him blankly. “What do you mean, Carl?”

“I mean I’ve found out the nature of her project.” Grimly, Stone pivoted to face the woman. “How about it, Reva? What’s the explanation for that electronic brain-trap I found out in your building?”

Her slim hands moved nervously in her lap. Her eyes dodged his. “I--I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t?” Stone made an elaborate business of surprise. And then, slashing out, hard and savage: “I’ll tell you, then. I’m talking about that transmitter you had locked in your storeroom--that humming, buzzing little devil-machine that kept this whole base half-crazy till I smashed it!”

MacDougal’s heavy fist hammered on the desk. “Damn it, Carl! Talk sense!”

“I am talking sense--the only sense anybody’s heard around here in the past two weeks!” Stone roared him down. “Has it occurred to you that you feel a little differently about me now than you did a couple of hours ago?”

* * * * *

The base director suddenly looked sheepish. “Oh, that--” He groped vaguely. “I--well, I don’t know what got into me, Carl. Nervous strain, maybe. The pressure of sweating out the big project, here; all the worry, the being afraid it wouldn’t work out right....”

“And then, awhile ago, all of a sudden you knew that it was foolish, didn’t you? That I wasn’t crazy, or a traitor, or a murderer, or anything else except what I’d always been?”

“Well--well, yes.” MacDougal brushed perspiration from his chin. “As soon as I got back here, and stopped to think it over--”

“You mean, as soon as I smashed that machine! Bjornberg, Glines--they both snapped out of the fog when I did it, right before my eyes.”

“Glines? Bjornberg?” MacDougal’s head came up. “I’ve had a call out for them. Where are they?”

Tight-lipped, Stone fought down the wave of sickness that rose in him. “They’re dead, Mac. Dead. Killed by the monsters that everybody claimed I didn’t see.”

“Dead....” Face sagging, the base director slumped into his chair.

“I’m as sorry as you are, Mac. But that’s not enough.” Stone pushed in, driving his words hard. “What’s important is now, the living. They’re the ones we’ve got to think about.”

“Yes. Of course.” MacDougal’s voice still echoed dull and empty.

“So the first point’s to get it across that I’m not crazy, that I’m telling the truth: Last night, that transmitter out at Reva’s building wouldn’t let you believe me. Then, when I smashed it, and everybody snapped back to normal, the monsters came--so many of them that you’ve had to clear the base, move all personnel into the Central Project Area for protection.”

“But how--?”

“How do the monsters tie in with the transmitter, you mean?” Stone shook his head curtly. “I wouldn’t know. But I’m going to find out. Our good friend Doctor Adams is going to tell us all about it.”

He turned towards her chair.

It was empty.

Stone went numb inside; spun about by reflex.

The office door stood an inch ajar. Reva was gone.

MacDougal cursed, surged up from his seat. “Come on!” Like a raging grizzly, he charged across the office and out into the hall.

Stone started to follow. Then, braking, he whirled and jumped to the window. Savagely, he jerked it open and thrust out his head.

Off to the right, below him, Reva was walking briskly out the building’s main entrance, a picture of calm, cool poise.

Stone clutched the sill; looked down.

A soldier wearing an MP brassard stood directly beneath him. Stone shouted, “You, soldier! MP! Get that woman!”

The man looked up, startled; then to the right, following Stone’s frantic gesture.

But the words had reached Reva, too. She swung round in mid-stride, her eyes wide with panic. The MP galloped towards her. Whirling, she fled right--away from her pursuer; off towards the corner of the building.

Stone ran for the hall, only to crash into MacDougal, returning.

The base director’s face was flushed. He was panting. “I couldn’t find her, Carl--”

“Forget it. She’s trapped. Just wait in your office.” Stone headed for the stairs at a dead run.

Outside at last, then, he spotted the MP. The man waved and gestured.

Stone went limp with relief. The soldier had Reva gripped firmly by the arm.

Stone started towards them.

Only then, suddenly, out in the open area in front of the building, a civilian gave a startled cry and pointed skyward.

Simultaneously, a high, shrill drone pulsed through the night, louder every second.

Stone looked up sharply.

* * * * *

Overhead, pinpoints of light were sweeping down in tight formation, converging on the Central Project Area. Lower they raced, and lower, wheeling in a spiral that would have been the envy of any jet.

Out in the crowd, a woman screamed hysterically. A man whirled, sprinting for cover.

In an instant, panic swept through the multitude like a living thing. Shrieking, bolting, clawing, civilians and soldiers alike fled in all directions.

Heart pounding, Stone pressed flat against the building.

Now one of the lights peeled off from the formation. Bullet-fast, it lanced towards the spot where Stone stood, so low that it almost seemed to skim the ground.

He drew a quick, shallow breath, with the feeling that it must surely be his last.

Only then the thing spun into an arc, bare yards away from him. For an instant it hovered almost motionless, barely three feet in the air, before riding a beam of purple flame from its base down to the ground.

Stone could see it better now. A tripod of tall, thin metal legs supported a blocky central unit that vaguely resembled a cake ice-cream cup with a broad lip flaring at the top. Light glinted from three eye-like protuberances set close against the brim.

While Stone watched, the purple beam that speared down from the center of the body unit turned scarlet, then dazzling pink. At the same time, two funnel-shaped appendages detached themselves from the base and darted out, cobra-like, in either direction along the building’s wall on slender tentacles of cable.

Off to Stone’s right, a shout rang out. Then a shot.

He turned just in time to glimpse the tentacle flick out like a whiplash at the MP who’d captured Reva. Its funnel-shaped end struck him in the chest--a blow so violent that even Stone could hear it hit.

The man staggered back; sank to the ground.

Paying him no heed, the cable flipped high into the air, coiling as it rose.

Then, writhing like a living thing, it was descending ... slapping down at Reva Adams. Her scream rang wild and ragged. Like one possessed, she darted out from the building, blonde hair streaming.

Deftly, the cable-coil shifted, pulling tight even as it dropped its loop around her.

Tripping, she plunged to the ground.

In spite of himself, without volition, Stone lunged towards her. Unreasoning panic roweled him with razor spurs.

Almost as if timing itself to his charge, the cable-tentacle threw another loop around the struggling woman, then swept her high into the air above Stone’s head just as he reached the spot where she had lain.

Desperately, he leaped straight up, clawing for the cable.

Snake-like, it writhed out of reach, leaving him to fall back cursing on the gravel.

Now he saw the other tentacle’s destination.

And its victim.

It was MacDougal.

The funnel-like cable-end had suckered onto his great chest and dragged him bodily out his office window. Now, still at second-story level, heedless of his struggles, the line itself twisted and looped about him half-a-dozen times, binding him tight.

Simultaneously, the flame-jet from the strange robot’s base deepened to its original purple.

As the color changed, the weird craft lifted, higher into the air, and higher. Already, it had begun to pick up its characteristic spiral motion.

In the same instant, the other robots swept down, still in their tight formation. The shrill drone of the sound they gave forth welled ear-splitting, deafening.

Smoothly, the unit that had landed resumed its place within the pattern, its sagging prisoners hugged against it.

As one, the robots soared away, out across the encircling desert till light and sound alike were swallowed in the night.