Read Like A Writer

There are two ways to learn how to write fiction: by reading it and by writing it. Yes, you can learn lots about writing stories in workshops, in writing classes and writing groups, at writers' conferences. You can learn technique and process by reading the dozens of books like this one on fiction writing and by reading articles in writers' magazines. But the best teachers of fiction are the great works of fiction themselves. You can learn more about the structure of a short story by reading Anton Chekhov's 'Heartache' than you can in a semester of Creative Writing 101. If you read like a writer, that is, which means you have to read everything twice, at least. When you read a story or novel the first time, just let it happen. Enjoy the journey. When you've finished, you know where the story took you, and now you can go back and reread, and this time notice how the writer reached that destination. Notice the choices he made at each chapter, each sentence, each word. (Every word is a choice.) You see now how the transitions work, how a character gets across a room. All this time you're learning. You loved the central character in the story, and now you can see how the writer presented the character and rendered her worthy of your love and attention. The first reading is creative—you collaborate with the writer in making the story. The second reading is critical.


John Dufresne, from his book, The Lie That Tells A Truth: A Guide to Writing Fiction

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Showing posts with label Alexander Blade. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alexander Blade. Show all posts

Sunday, April 12, 2026

The Plotters by Alexander Blade

 


THE PLOTTERS

By ALEXANDER BLADE



He came from a far planet to find some of the Earth's secrets. But Marko found other things, too—like his love for beautiful Beth

It seemed to be the same tree that kept getting in my way. I tried to go around it but it moved with me and I ran right into it. I found myself sprawled on my back and my nose was bleeding where I had hit it against the tree. Then I got up and ran again.

I had to keep running. I didn't know why; I just had to. There was a puddle of water and I splashed through it and then slipped and fell into a thorny bush. When I got up there were scratches on my hands and face and chest.

As yet I felt no pain. That wouldn't come for a while, after I had done a lot more running. But at the moment I couldn't feel a thing.

In my conscious mind there was only a sort of grayness. I didn't know where I was, or who I was, or why I was running. I didn't know that if I ran long enough and bumped into enough trees and scratched myself often enough I would eventually feel pain. Or that out of the exertion and the pain would come awareness.

All that must have been there, but buried so deep it didn't come through. It was only instinct which kept me going.

The same tree was in my way again and this time I didn't even try to go around it. My breath was knocked out of me. After a few gasps it came back, and then I was off again.

I went up a rise and down into a hollow and tripped over roots. That time I didn't fall. I went up the other side of the hollow with the wind whistling in my ears. A few drops of rain fell. There were flashes of lightning in the sky.

Wet leaves whipped against my face and there was a crack of thunder so close that it shook me. I ran away from the thunder and up another rise and down into another hollow.

The wind was stronger now. It came in long blasts. Sometimes I ran with it and sometimes against it. When I ran against it I didn't make much headway, but my legs kept pumping. There was tall grass to slow me down and there were roots to trip me. There was the wind and the thunder and the lightning. And there were always trees.

And then there was a terrible flash and above me a crack that was not of thunder. Something came crashing down. It was the limb of a tree. It crashed against my chest and smashed me flat on my back and pinned me there.

One of my ribs felt broken. It jabbed into me as I fought to raise this weight from my chest, and this was a pain I could feel.

This was something that hurt as nothing had ever hurt me before. This was excruciating. But it was the pain that cut through the grayness of my mind, and because of that I welcomed it.

With the pain would come knowledge. I would know who I was and why I was running. Already there were figures racing across the blankness. There were faces and there were names: Ristal, Kresh, Marko, Copperd, Beth.

I was Marko. I knew that much already. Beth was the golden girl. Somehow I knew that too. But who were the others?

It wasn't coming fast enough. I couldn't find the connections. There was only one way to bring it back, to bridge the gaps. I had to start somewhere, with what I knew. I had to start with myself and then bridge the gap to Beth. That was the beginning.


I checked with the mirror for the last time and decided that I would pass muster. As far as I could see, I looked like almost any college student.

There wasn't anything I could do about my hair. It hadn't grown at all. It was a mass of short, black ringlets that fit my head like a tight cap. But there was no use worrying about that.

Mrs. Mara came down the hall just as I was locking the door. She looked hurt when she saw me turn the key.

"You don't have to do that in my house," she said. "There's nobody would think of going into your room."

"Of course not," I said. "It's just force of habit, you know."

I smiled and hoped she would pass it off as lightly as I seemed to. The last thing in the world I wanted was to have her get suspicious and go prowling about my room. I felt easier when she smiled back at me.

"Sure. And where are you off to, now?"

"Swimming," I said. "That is, if I can get into the college pool."

"Just act like you own the place and nobody will ask you any questions," she said, and winked at me.

That was exactly the way I had figured it, but it was good to have reassurance. Theoretically, no one was supposed to use the pool who was not a member of the faculty or student body. Enforcement, however, was lax, and the chances were that nobody would ask to see my card.

Mrs. Mara and I were right. The day was hot, and the men who were supposed to be watching the entrance were sitting in the shade of the stands and quenching their thirst with soft drinks. I walked right in, looking straight ahead.

It was a large pool, used for skating in winter, and there were stands built on three sides. Instead of going down to the locker rooms, I merely slipped out of my shirt and trousers, rolled them into a ball and dropped them beside the pool. A good many others had also worn their swim suits underneath.

Then I looked around for the girl.


She was down near the other end of the pool, talking to some people. As I came toward them she left the group and climbed up on the diving board.

Against her white bathing suit, her small trim figure showed golden. Her hair was almost the same color. She looked like the bathing suit models I had seen in store windows. The golden model came to life as she left the board in a high, arching dive. She hit the water with hardly a splash.

"Nice stuff, Beth," one of the men said as she swam toward them.

"Was it really, Ken?" the girl asked.

He nodded as he said it was. They began to talk about diving and swimming. The man called Ken did most of the talking. He said he wanted to show her a few things about her swimming stroke.

He jumped off the edge of the pool and swam across and then turned around and swam back. Everybody stopped what they were doing and watched him. When he clambered out he smiled in a very superior way.

"See what I mean? You've got to use your legs more."

"You splash too much," I said.

It was the only way I could think of at the moment to get into the conversation. But it got me in. Everybody was looking at me as though I were out of my mind. Ken sneered.

"Oh, I do?"

"Don't take it offensively," I said. "But you really do. Also your arm motion is not good."


He was so angry that it was almost funny. Now I was sorry I had spoken, because the girl might be a close friend of his and she might take offense.

"Maybe you would like to show me how it's done," Ken said hotly. "I could make it worth your while. Suppose we race two lengths. For ten dollars."

"That's not fair, Ken," the girl said.

I could see that she didn't like the way he was taking it, so that was all right. But I hesitated. I didn't have ten dollars. On the other hand, I had been watching these people swim.

It was an easy way to make ten dollars, since I had no other means of getting money. There was the hundred dollars which I had taken from a man on the road the day I came into town, but that money was gone.

"Come on," I said, and started walking to the end of the pool.

When I got there I bent and dipped one foot into the water. It was colder than the water I had been used to, and not quite as heavy, somehow. I pulled my foot out quickly and everybody laughed, except the girl.

"This isn't right," she said. She turned to me. "You don't know who Ken is, apparently."

"You are very kind," I said. I smiled at her and she smiled back. She had blue eyes.

By that time the pool had been cleared. Everybody was out of the water and standing at the edge. Ken said, "Whenever you're ready."

"I am ready now," I said. And immediately one of his friends gave the signal, "Go!"

Ken jumped in first. Then I dived in. Once in the water it did not feel so cold nor so light. I swam down to the other end and turned around and swam back. When I climbed out, Ken was just making his turn at the far end. Everyone was looking at me very strangely. Ken came out rubbing his shoulder.

"Must have pulled a muscle," he muttered.

"In that case I wouldn't think of taking your money," I told him.

"I don't believe I've seen you around before," he said. "You've got to have a card to swim here, you know.'

"Well, I don't have one. So I suppose I had better go."

"Of all the cheap tricks," the girl said. "I think I'll go too. Wait for me."

I waited for her while she went to get dressed. I put on my trousers over my swimming trunks, put on my shirt and shoes and sat on a bench and waited. When she came out we started for the exit. Ken came hurrying toward us.

"I thought I was taking you home," he said, his face red with anger.

She didn't bother to reply and he put his hand on her arm. I told him to let go and he let go. Then he swung around and hit me on the jaw with all his might. I grabbed his arm with one hand and his throat with the other and threw him into the middle of the pool.


Things were going better than I expected. As we walked along, she seemed quite interested in me. I told her my name and she told me that she was Beth Copperd, the daughter of a professor at the university. I pretended that I had not known those things.

When we got to her home, which was on a tree lined street, we paused for a moment. Across the street there was a car with a man sitting in it, pretending to read a newspaper.

I knew all about that man. I knew there was another man who was watching the back of the house. If not for that I would not have had to go through this lengthy affair with Beth Copperd.

"I regret very much this trouble with your friend," I said.

"You needn't. He's had it coming for a long time." She stared at me thoughtfully. "You know, Marko, I'm a little afraid of you."

"Of me? But why?"

"Well," she hesitated, "it's hard to say. But when a man jumps into a pool and swims so much faster than one of our country's best swimmers, and then picks up that swimmer and throws him fifty feet without the slightest effort ... well, that man is slightly unusual, to say the least."

"Oh, the swimming...."

I hadn't thought that what was quite ordinary for me might seem exactly the opposite to these people. I had blundered. So I tried to shrug it off, as though such things were common among my people. Which they were. But that line only dragged me deeper. This girl was no fool.

"That's what I meant, Marko. You aren't being modest. You're acting as though you're used to such feats, and take them as a matter of course. And there's your accent. I can't quite place it."

"Some day I'll tell you all about it," I said lightly. "When we know each other better."

"That's going pretty fast, isn't it?"

"Some of us have found that we don't have all the time we should like. We must go fast, or not at all."

It was a platitude, slightly jumbled, but none the less true. Beth was looking up at me. There were things she might have noticed; that my skin was uncommonly smooth, and that I hadn't even the faintest trace of whiskers.

She didn't notice those things. She was looking into my eyes. I found myself enjoying this experience.

"Will you come in for a while?" she asked slowly.

I relaxed. Everything was all right, for the present. She was taking me at face value. She liked me and I liked her. The operation was proceeding smoothly.

We walked into a large room, pleasantly furnished. On a couch opposite the doorway three men sat talking. Two others stood before them. The moment we entered, the conversation stopped abruptly.

"Beth?" said a tall, graying man. He was already stuffing papers into a bag. "Back so soon?"

He wasn't really listening for a reply and Beth didn't make one. When he had the papers in the bag he locked it, then snapped it around his wrist and put the key in his pocket.

"We'll continue this at the lab," he said to the men. "I'll be along in just a few minutes." Then he came up to us.

"I see you've replaced your blond young man," he smiled.

I knew all about this man who stood before me, with his stooped shoulders and keen eyes. Eldeth Copperd would have been surprised at the extent of my knowledge. I even knew why his government considered it wise to have several of its security agents near him at all times.

"Can't you stay a minute and get acquainted with Marko?" Beth was saying. "He's really a remarkable fellow. He can swim faster than you or I could run."

"Literally? That would be quite fast."

"Literally."

He looked at me with sudden interest and I was sorry the conversation had taken that turn. I didn't want those keen eyes examining me too closely. They might note the absence of skin porosity.

Copperd didn't notice, but I made a mental note to watch my step. And another not to go swimming again. Beth would be watching me, and if she were close enough she might see the webbing pop out between my fingers and toes when I got into the water.

"That's my father," Beth said after he and I had shaken hands and he had left. "Demands exactness. He's a scientist, you know. A physicist."

"Oh?" I said. As if I hadn't known. "Is he always this busy?"

"Busier. If he isn't working at the lab till all hours, he's working at home in his study. Or having conferences. The only time I have him alone and to myself is Sunday evening."

That was the information I had been hoping for.


Beth and I sat on the couch her father had vacated. We talked. I watched my words carefully; there were a good many commonplace things I knew nothing about. And I didn't want any more questions about myself. Fortunately, conversation between a young man and a young woman is much the same everywhere. I didn't have to pretend I was interested in Beth. She was unusually attractive. And she seemed to find me so.

We talked a bit, laughed a good deal, and when I got up to leave I knew that I had done well in the initial stage. But there was still a good deal to be done.

"May I see you tonight?" I asked. "Just a 'coke date'."

That was an expression I'd heard and had taken the trouble to make certain I understood. It seemed to be just the thing in the present case.

"I'd like that," Beth said. "Pick me up about nine."

Her choice of time could not have been more suitable. I was out of money. There was Mrs. Mara to be paid, and now the cost of the evening's entertainment.

Until darkness fell I could do nothing about that. So I went back to my room and read old newspapers I had collected. I had discovered on my first day that those were the best sources of information. Those and the moving pictures.

For one who must learn a great deal about a people in a short time there is one infallible way: watch them in their favorite sports and relaxations. The moving pictures and the comic strips had been invaluable. In another few weeks I could have passed anywhere.

At eight o'clock it was growing dark. I changed my shirt, put on a sport coat and left the room. Five minutes later I was walking down a quiet street that was lined with fashionable homes.

After that it was merely a question of time. I went around the block, found that it was still too light, and went around again, this time slowly.

There was only one man on the street on my next time around. I sized him up quickly and decided that he was prosperous. He came on toward me. I managed to be looking the other way.

We bumped into each other and he fell. I said, "Sorry" and bent to help him up. My fingers touched his throat in the proper places and he went limp.

Within a matter of seconds I had his wallet out of his pocket and extracted several bills. When his eyes flickered again I was just raising him to his feet.

"All my fault," I said contritely. "Are you all right?"

"Seem to be." He was gruff, but that was all. He didn't know that for a matter of seconds he had been unconscious.

At nine o'clock I came up the walk to the Copperd home. This time the security agent was leaning against a tree, lighting a cigarette. I made certain that he saw my face clearly.

One upstairs window showed a light, and the faint murmur of voices drifted down. That had to be Copperd's room. Then a porch light flashed on and Beth came out of the door. She was wearing a white dress and the overhead light seemed to create a golden halo above her head.

I momentarily forgot about her father.


How much can a man learn in a few weeks? I had to be so very careful. Historical matters had to be avoided at all costs. Contemporary affairs were fine. Philosophy was best.

Philosophy is always the best. Good and evil are present everywhere. They can be discussed in the vaguest terms. We discussed many things in vague terms.

And yet there was a sense of intimacy which grew between us. It was hard for me to define, and after a while I gave up trying to discover what it was. I merely enjoyed it.

When I took her home I knew that it was not fear of the dark that made her walk so close to me. The movies had taught me a great deal about this matter of love play. Although some of it was highly exaggerated, it showed clearly enough the drives of these people, and some of their methods of acting them out.

We were standing on the porch when I kissed Beth. It was the first time I had ever pressed my lips to those of anyone else. My technique was good. I felt Beth respond, pressing harder against me.

My mission was on its way to completion. I felt a moment of triumph. And then suddenly, crazily, my mission was gone from my mind. I felt only a strange exhilaration that swept over me and made my heart pound and my head grow hot.

"What's the matter, Marko?" Beth asked as I pulled away.

I didn't know what was wrong. I didn't try to figure it out. I had to get out of there and try to regain my equilibrium. On a mission like mine I had to keep my head.

"Shall I see you tomorrow?" I said.

"All the tomorrow's you want," Beth answered.

There was eagerness, and yet a note of regret. It was as though she instinctively knew that something was wrong. But my work had been well done; she was in too far, and I had cut her emotional line of retreat.

I saw Beth the next afternoon, and the next evening. My presence on the porch and in her home became such a common thing that the security agent hardly gave me a glance now.

Those few days passed by swiftly, and yet each hour in those days was long. I was very cautious; Beth and I kissed many times but I never allowed myself to be moved as on that first time.

Sunday loomed larger and larger, closer and closer. I was a constant and ever present guest. It was an elementary matter to get Beth to invite me for Sunday dinner. The invitation came on Saturday night, and that night when I came back to my room I called Ristal for the first time since we had arrived.

"Tomorrow," I said into the besnal. "Early evening."

"Good."

That was all we said, but it was enough. Our frequency was too high to be picked up. Still, we were taking no chances. Ristal knew precisely what I meant and he would be ready.

I had the feeling that comes when a mission is about to be completed. There was a feeling of tension, and yet for the first time in my career I had a lowering of spirits that I could not explain.

The feeling persisted until late Sunday afternoon. Then I pushed it from my mind. I dressed carefully, slipped the besnal into my inner pocket, and put my del gun in my coat pocket.

"Take your coat off," Beth said when I came in. "You ought to know there's no formality here."

"I'm really quite comfortable," I told her. "Am I late?"

"No. Just on time. Dad will be down in a moment."

He came down the stairs from his study while we were talking. He greeted me warmly, and yet I felt that this time he was scrutinizing me. All during the dinner his eyes were on me, weighing me. I felt what was coming, and as we rose from the table it came.

"I hope you won't be offended, Marko," Copperd said. "But there are some strange things about you. Do you ever shave?"

"No," I said. I looked out the window and saw it was growing darker.

"That's odd. And about your hair ... have you ever realized that every strand of it grows in a different direction? You could never comb it. Your skin is of an unusually fine texture. And when you reached for something at the table I observed strange folds of skin between your fingers. You are somehow not like the rest of us."

"Naturally," I said. It didn't matter now. It was dark enough.

"Why naturally?"

"Because," I told him, "I am a Venusian."


My tone was matter of fact. Yet they knew that I was not joking. Beth was staring at me, a growing fear and horror in her eyes. Her father seemed dazed by the revelation. I took the del gun from my pocket and showed it to them.

"This is a weapon strange to you. But it is effective at this range. Please don't make me use it."

"But what do you want?" Copperd asked.

"I want you to take a ride with me. In your car."

I let them put on their coats and then we walked out onto the porch and down the stairs. Across the street the security agent barely glanced at us. Then we got into Copperd's car, Beth and he in the front seat and I in the back. I told him in which direction to go.

At the outskirts of town we lost the car that was following us. I had planned this part of it perfectly. We pulled into a side road and turned off our lights. The agent went right past us.

"What is it you want of me?" Copperd said as we started up again.

"We want to have a long discussion with you about some matters on which you are an authority."

"And that's what this whole affair with me was for? So that you could get to my father!" Beth said accusingly. I saw her shoulders shake.

"Yes. Now turn off here."

We turned off the main road and followed a rutted trail onto an old farm.

The farmhouse was a wreck, but the barn still good. Our ship was in there.

The door opened as we walked toward the barn. Ristal's tall figure was framed in the doorway, and behind him stood Kresh, broad and ungainly. The others crowded up behind them.

"Good work, Marko," Ristal said. We went into the ship, which filled the whole interior of the barn.

"This is Commander Ristal, of the Venusian Intelligence," I told Copperd and Beth.

"What's your official title?" Beth asked bitterly.

"I am a special agent and language expert," I told her. Then I explained why I had brought them here.

"Our civilization is in some way far in advance of yours. As you see, we have mastered interplanetary travel. But it is essentially a peaceful civilization. Our weapons, such as we have, are of limited range and power.

"When it became known that Earth was developing monstrous weapons of aggression we realized that we must be prepared for the worst. There was only one way to discover what you already had and what you were working on. Once we arrived here we found that a man named Copperd was the prime figure in his country's atomic weapons research. It became our duty to seek him out."

"I see," Copperd grunted. "And now you expect me to reveal secrets which I am bound by oath to protect with my very life?"

"You will reveal them," Ristal told him.

I didn't like the way Ristal said that. There was a tinge of cruelty in his tone and in the sudden tightening of his lips. I hadn't ever worked with him before, or with Kresh, who was Ristal's second in command, but I didn't like the methods their manner implied. Copperd looked worried.

"I told you we were a peaceful people," I put in.

"Let me handle this," Ristal said. He pointed to a machine which stood in a corner.

"That," he explained to Copperd, "is a device which we ordinarily use in surgery and diagnosis. It has the faculty of making the nerves infinitely more sensitive to stimuli. Also to pain. Do you understand?"

"You can't use that on him!" I said. Ristal looked at me strangely.

"Of course not. But on his daughter, yes. No father likes to see his daughter suffer."

"That's out," I said flatly. "You know what our orders are."

"I know what they were. This is my own idea, Marko. Please remember that I am commander here."

I was duty bound to obey him, and I thought that I was going to obey. But as Kresh stepped toward Beth I found myself between them.

"I think that those higher up may have something to say about this," I told Ristal.

"With the information this man can give me I shall be in a position to ignore those higher up," Ristal grinned.

Kresh reached for Beth and I hit him. I knew now what Ristal had in mind. With atomic weapons he could make himself master of Venus, and of Earth. But even more important than that was the thought that he must not harm Beth.


Kresh was coming back at me. I hit him again and he went down. Then the others came piling in. There were four of them, too many for me. I fought like a madman but they overwhelmed me and held me helpless.

"Give him a shot of bental," Ristal ordered. "That ought to quiet him. Then dump him in a cabin. We'll dispose of him later."

Then Kresh was coming at me with the hypodermic needle. I felt it stab into my arm. He gave me a dose that might have killed an ordinary man.

I knew how bental worked. It was a drug that would throw me into a stupor, that would render my mind blank. Already it was taking effect. I pretended to be unconscious. Two men lifted me and carried me to a cabin, dropped me on the bunk and went out. The last thing I saw from beneath my lids was Beth being dragged toward that diabolical machine.

My senses were leaving me. I knew that I had to overcome the effects of the drug. I knew that I had to get out of that cabin. Somehow I dragged myself out of the bunk and got a porthole open. I crawled through it and dropped to the floor of the barn.

There were some loose boards and I pried them further apart and crawled out into the open. I no longer knew what I was doing; I no longer remembered Beth. I only knew that I had to run and keep on running.


My broken rib was stabbing into me like a knife. Across my chest the limb of the tree was a dead weight that crushed me. But now I knew who I was and what I was doing.

Despite the agony I managed to get my hands under the limb. I pushed up and felt it move. The pressure on my chest was gone. Inch by inch I slid out from beneath the huge branch. I staggered to my feet.

How much time had elapsed I didn't know. I was running again, but now I was running toward the dark barn. It wouldn't have taken Ristal long to get started. Maybe by now Beth was.... I shut the thought from my mind.

I was a few hundred yards away when the first scream came. Through the wind and the pelting rain it came, and it chilled me more than they had done.

My chest was aflame with every panting breath I took. But I ran as I had never run before. I had to get there before she screamed again. I had to stop them from doing this to her.

The barn door was locked. I got my fingers under the edge and ripped the wood away from the lock and went on through and into the ship.

None of them saw me coming. Copperd was tied in a chair, his face contorted and tears streaming down his face. Three of the men held Beth while Ristal and Kresh worked over her. The rest were watching.

They hadn't taken my del gun from me. But I couldn't use it for fear of hitting Beth. I had it out of my pocket and in my hand as I charged across the room.


My rush brought me into point-blank range on a line parallel with Beth's prostrate figure. At the same time her torturers wheeled about to face me, trapped for an instant in the paralysis of complete surprise. Ristal was the first to recover.

"Drop the gun, Marko," he said.

In my weakened condition, habit governed my reflexes. I almost obeyed the order. Then Ristal took a single step forward and I swung the muzzle of the gun upward again.

"You almost had me," I said. "But you are no longer in command. You and Kresh will return as prisoners, to face trial."

I hoped that he would accept the inevitable. Our crew could plead that they had done nothing except follow the orders of their commanding officer. But for Kresh and Ristal there could be no mitigating circumstances.

They would stand trial and they would receive the harshest of punishments, exile. It was a bleak outlook for them, and the bleakness was reflected in their faces. Ristal's hand flicked to his gun.


I pulled the trigger and a sizzling bolt of energy leaped forth


I fired once and there was the smell of searing flesh.

"Kresh?" I asked. He looked down at the faceless figure on the floor and shook his head.

He raised his elbows, leaving his holster exposed. I nodded to one of the crewmen and he stepped forward and removed Kresh's del gun.

"Drop it on the floor," I said. "Then tear off his insignia and lock him in the forward cabin."

It was the end of the mutiny. But I felt no joy at that. My chest pained intolerably, my shoulders sagged in exhaustion. And I had failed in my mission.

Beth was all right. I went to her and tore the electrodes from her wrists and ankles and helped her to her feet. She refused to look at me, even allowing me to untie her father by myself.

"I regret that it turned out this way," I said.

"How could it turn out any other way?" Beth demanded suddenly. "Do you think we'd trust you now?"

Off in the night a siren wailed. I listened while another siren joined the first.

"They're already looking for you," I said. "Which shows how little chance I would have had of getting to you openly. You'd better be going now."

But as I led them to the door I knew I had to make one more attempt.

"Professor Copperd, do you think there might still be hope? We of Venus can offer much to Earth."

"Maybe there is hope," he said, and he looked brighter than I had ever seen him look. "I was reaching the point where I had no faith in the future. But now, knowing that you have solved the problems which we face.... Perhaps, if the proper arrangements were made.... But you would be risking a great deal to return. And I can assure you that for a long time Venus will be safe. So you have no reason—"

"I have a good reason for coming back," I interrupted. Taking Beth by the shoulders, I swung her about to face me.

"I love you," I said. "I started out to trick you and ended by loving you."

Then her arms were about me and her lips were on mine. I felt my face wet with her tears, and I knew that my love was returned. There were still problems to face, dangers to overcome, but they didn't matter.

"It may be a year," I said. "Perhaps two years."

"I'll be waiting. I'll be standing here, waiting for you."

Now the sirens were very close and there were searchlights sweeping the fields and the woods. I watched Beth and her father walking away and then I closed the door. I should have felt sad, but I didn't. A year or two weren't much. On this planet far from my own, I was leaving my heart, and I would return one day to redeem it.

Friday, May 13, 2022

The Alien Dies at Dawn by Randall Garrett and Robert Silverberg

The Alien Dies at Dawn by Randall Garrett and Robert Silverberg

The Alien Dies At Dawn

By Alexander Blade

Kendall Stone had twelve hours to save a
thousand lives. It wasn't much time, especially
since someone was making sure he didn't use it!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
December 1956
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


There was a scream of tortured air over the Mojave Spaceport as a two-man starship dropped on its hot jets toward the wide cementalloy landing field. It slowed and settled gently to the ground. Before the faint wisps of smoke had time to dissipate, the airlock door opened, and a big, broad-shouldered man got out. He dropped lithely to the ground and started off across the field at a quick trot.

He nearly bowled over a field attendant who had been coming toward him. "Hey!" the surprised attendant said. "Don't you want your ship checked?"

"Don't have time," Kendall Stone called back, as he continued running toward the Customs Office. He glanced at his watch. 1800. Twelve hours till dawn. Twelve hours!

Kendall Stone gritted his teeth and doubled his pace. He was in a super-plus top-level hurry. He'd practically burned a hole in the vacuum between Earth and Mars trying to get to Mojave on time. Twelve hours! At dawn, Galth of Rastol would die in the execution chamber for the crime of murder. And it was up to Kendall Stone to stop it.

He opened the door to the Main Lounge of the spaceport building and pushed his way through the thick, jostling crowd, moving slowly toward the Customs Office. He hardly noticed the people he shoved aside. There was only one thought in his mind: I've only got twelve hours.

Personally, Stone didn't give an octangle damn about Galth; he didn't even know the Rastolian personally—had never heard of him until a short time ago. But if Galth of Rastol died, so would a thousand others. The human colony on Rastol III would be wiped out in reprisal.

Including, Stone thought bitterly, the wife and two sons he had left behind to go on this purchasing trip.

The Customs Office was in sight now. He threaded his way through the mob. Just before he reached the door, he was almost pushed off balance by a squat, chubby little man who steadied him, apologized profusely, and went on his way.

Scowling angrily, Stone stepped inside the Customs Office. A hard-faced man in uniform sat behind the broad desk, looking up at him boredly.

"Yes?"

"I have a cargo of Martian valdone aboard my ship, and I want to report it," Stone said.

The official nodded. "Do you have the import permission papers?"

Kendall shook his head. "I don't intend to import the stuff to Earth; I'm just stopping over here until I can get some very important business cleared up. But valdone is a dangerous drug, and I simply wanted to report the fact that I have a hundred kilograms of it aboard my ship."

"I see," said the official, making a note on a minipad. "We'll have to put a seal on the ship until you are ready to take off again."

"That's perfectly all right," Kendall agreed. Anything would have been all right, as long as it didn't take much of the precious time remaining before dawn.

The official extended his hand. "Your papers, please."

Kendall reached inside his jacket pocket for the small booklet of identification papers. An icy shiver ran down his back.

The booklet was gone.

"What's the matter?" the official asked.

"My ID booklet is gone! I put it in my jacket just before I left the ship; I must have lost it on my way over here."

"If that's the case, someone will return it," the Customs official said. "It's of no use to anyone else. We'll send out a call for it. Meanwhile, I'm afraid you'll have to remain inside the spaceport."

Kendall scowled. Of all the lousy time-wasting pieces of red-tape, he thought. He felt trapped by bureaucracy. He didn't have time to waste hanging around the spaceport tonight.

"We'll also ask for confirmation over the subradio," said the official. "What is your home planet?"

"Rastol III, near Deneb."

"Very well. Even if we don't find your ID booklet, we can give you a temporary pass if you are identified from Rastol by subradio."

Stone felt a cold trickle of perspiration forming on his forehead. "That's going to take nearly twenty-four hours," he objected. "Isn't there a faster way?"

The official shook his head and shrugged, the timeless gesture of all bureaucrats. "I'm afraid not. Not unless we find your ID booklet."


Like a caged tiger, Kendall Stone paced the administration area of the spaceport for an hour, hoping doggedly that the ID booklet would turn up somewhere out on the field. But an hour later, there was still no sign of the booklet, and Stone felt himself growing desperate. The glowing ball of Sol had already set behind the western horizon. Night had fallen—the night whose end would bring the death of Galth of Rastol and of a thousand innocent, unsuspecting colonists.

Stone stared at the polychrome hues of the sunset for a long minute, clenched his fists, and made his decision; there was only one thing to do.

He strolled quietly around the spaceport, looking for a way out. There were none which were unguarded; Earth didn't like unwanted or unauthorized colonists sneaking in on them.

Finally, he chose one of the smaller gates at random and walked up to the guard. The sign over the gate said: OFFICIAL PERSONNEL ONLY.

Kendall walked straight up to the guard as though he had every right in the galaxy to go through the gate. The man looked up at him unsuspiciously, as though waiting for Stone to produce his ID booklet.

Kendall kept walking toward him, putting his hand inside his jacket and fumbling around as though searching for the booklet. "Must be here someplace," he murmured, as he came within earshot.

When he was within three feet of the unsuspecting guard, Stone withdrew his hand and swung his fist in a hard, short arc which landed crunchingly on the point of the guard's chin. The man staggered and groped groggily for his gun.

"No you don't!" Stone said quietly. He sent another driving fist into the guard's solar plexus, and the man folded up like an empty potato sack.

Stone caught him before he hit the ground. "Sorry, pal," he whispered, "but I've got work to do." He lowered the guard gently to the ground.

The sudden shrill blast of a whistle broke the twilight silence somewhere to his left. Someone had seen the attack. Kendall didn't wait for further discussion. He ran at top speed through the gate and into the gathering darkness beyond.

Fifteen minutes later he was in Mojave City.


The city, which had grown up around the spaceport, was a sprawling, busy place. Stone headed straight into the heart of town.

He stopped in at the first store he met, and before the shopkeeper could say anything, he burst out with, "I'm in a hurry, friend. Can you tell me how to get to the Governor?"

The merchant, a small, pale man wearing a greasy apron, smiled and said, "You won't be able to get to him easily, my good sir. You'll have to see his Secretary. It's the way it's done."

"All right, where's his Secretary to be found?" Stone barked. He received full directions on how to reach the Secretary's residence, and snapped a "Thanks" and left.

It was a short trip by bus, but Stone decided to walk. Walking would work off some of the nervous energy that was accumulating in him, making him tense and keyed-up.

He reviewed the situation bitterly as he strode through the brightly-lit streets.

The Rastolians were a peculiar race. They looked something like reptiles walking on their hind feet, but they had warm blood and were mammalian in several respects. The Government of Earth knew that much about them.

What the Government didn't seem to know much about was the Rastolian moral code. The Rastolians did not believe that any government had a right to kill one of its citizens. Even murder could be punished only by life imprisonment. Usually, though, a Rastolian convicted of murder was simply given a gun with one shot in it and left alone in his cell. Regardless of how despicable his crime may have been, no Rastolian was so completely without honor that he would refuse to take the proper steps to punish himself.

Galth of Rastol had been convicted and condemned. He had, the jury found, murdered an Earthman in cold blood over a gambling dispute. But if Earth sent him to the execution chamber, his fellow beings, outraged over the injury and the insult to their way of life, would take steps to avenge him. And that would be the end of the small colony of humans on Rastol III.

Stone thought of his wife—who looked much too young to be the mother of two children, who looked as fresh and desirable as she had the day Stone had married her. She would perish with them. His sons; his home. He shook his head bitterly. The tragedy could be averted if he could reach the Governor's Secretary, if he could convince the Secretary that there must be a stay of execution. The Government had to allow Galth of Rastol the chance to kill himself in accordance with his people's customs.

He glanced up at the street-sign. This was the street. It was a quiet, residential block, lacking the fluorescent streetlamps of the business district. He saw the house, and headed for it.

As he started up the long walk toward the house, two figures stepped out of the shadows.

"Put up your hands, Mr. Stone," said the taller of the two. "The Secretary wants to see you."

Stone frowned puzzledly, but made no resistance. He didn't care to argue with a naked gun, and they were taking him where he was heading anyway. He raised his hands and folded them behind his head, and let them march him up the concrete pathway.


The Secretary was a heavy-set, heavy-jowled man with a smile on his lips and a calculating look in his eyes. He sat comfortably in an overinflated pneumochair, smoking a cigar.

"Well, Mr. Stone," he said, eyeing Kendall coldly, "may I ask you why you broke away from the spaceport? That is a serious offense, you know."

Stone moistened dry lips. "I know, Mr. Secretary, but it was an emergency. I lost my ID booklet, and I had to get to see you before it was too late."

The Secretary ignored that. "What is your business, Mr. Stone?" he asked, narrowing his eyes penetratingly. "Why have you come from Rastol III?"

"I came to pick up a hundred pounds of Martian valdone," Stone explained. "We use it on Rastol III to make antivirotic drugs in combination with extracts from Apler's Weed. The weed only grows on two planets, Rastol III and Vescalor IX."

The Secretary grinned complacently, but did not say anything. Stone began to sweat.

"While I was on Mars, I heard that the Rastolian native, Galth, was to be executed, so I came here to ask the Governor to stay the execution." He went on to explain in detail what would happen if Galth were to be executed.

When he finished, he stared at the Secretary, searching the man's face for some sign of interest. "Would you phone the Governor and tell him what I've just told you?" he asked hoarsely.

"I'm afraid we can't do anything like that on the word of an unidentified man, Mr. Stone," the Secretary said calmly. "As soon as your identification comes through—"

"But that will be too late! Can't you see that this may mean the death of thousands of innocent people?"

The Secretary held up his hand, palm out, for silence. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stone. I can't take the unsubstantiated word of every crackpot that comes in here." He reached over and turned on the visiphone. "I'm going to have to call the police," he said. He looked over at the shorter of the two men who had brought Stone in. "Miller, take Mr. Stone into the other room and hold him until the police arrive."

The squat man took his gun out. "Let's go."

Kendall turned toward the man named Miller, and for the first time saw his face clearly. In the darkness outside, he hadn't had a really good look at the man, and since he'd been in the Secretary's study, he hadn't paid any attention to the men who stood behind him. But as he faced the pudgy little man, he realized that the face was definitely familiar. He struggled to recall where he had seen the man before.

"In here, fellow," the squat man said, jostling Stone into what was probably the library. Keeping the gun trained on him with one hand, Miller lit a cigarette with the other, and a cloud of bluish smoke curled upward.

Stone watched him. Suddenly, he remembered the face. The little man was the same one who had bumped into him in the spaceport terminal, just outside the Customs Room! He knew now what had happened to his ID booklet. The fat little man was a pickpocket.

And if he was working for the Secretary—

Stone sucked in his breath sharply. This involved more than mere ignorance about Rastolian customs; this was a conspiracy to wipe out the colony of Earthmen up there!

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Not much time left. Overhead, he heard the gentle whirring of a police helicopter. They weren't wasting a moment in getting him clamped away where he couldn't do any harm.

He glanced up at the noise, and Miller automatically glanced up too. Kendall's hand shot out, enclosing the squat man's gun hand in a vice-like grip. Miller started to yell, but his antagonist's fist smashed into his mouth before he could say anything. Miller dropped to the floor.

Kendall picked up the gun, shoved it into his pocket, and threw the little man easily over his shoulder. Then he headed for the French windows that opened onto the balcony.

The police copter was landing on the roof as Kendall dropped from the balcony and sprinted silently across the lawn. He ran to the garage, opened the door to one of the Secretary's cars, and dumped Miller in the back seat. It was but the work of a moment to short through the starting switch. The hum of the turboelectric engine was completely drowned out by the whirring of the copter blades above.

Without turning on the headlights, Kendall rolled the car out into the street and drove toward an aircab stand. He was several blocks from the Secretary's house before he turned on the headlights.


He parked the Secretary's car in a darkened alley a block away from the aircab office. As he drew back the handbrake, he heard Miller groan faintly in the back.

"Quiet, friend," he said soothingly, and tapped him lightly on the head with the butt of the gun. Rapidly he went through the fat little man's pockets, tossing out cards of all different sorts before finding what he was looking for. Sure enough, there was his ID booklet.

The picture was starting to take shape now, with everything falling into place except the answer to the big question: Why?

Why was the Secretary so anxious to see Stone out of the way? What was the whole business about? He didn't know.

He pocketed the ID booklet. It wouldn't help him now, not with the police after him for breaking away from the spaceport, and maybe a kidnapping charge on top of that.

Glancing at Miller to make sure he'd be out for a while to come, Stone got out of the car and walked the block to the aircab office. It was easy to rent one of them. All he had to do was show the bored clerk his ID booklet, and sign for the cab.

"Remember," the clerk cautioned, "you can't take off inside the city limits. You'll have to drive outside Mojave first."

"I know," Kendall said as he shoved the bills across the counter. "Thanks."

He drove the aircar back to where he had left Miller in the Secretary's car, and transferred the unconscious man to the rear seat of the aircab. He looked around; no one in sight. Good, he thought. Then, in direct violation of the law, he lifted the aircar and headed into the night sky. The moon was bright overhead; the time was running short.

The Governor's palace was over a hundred and fifty miles away. Stone figured he'd make it with very little time to spare. He set the autopilot, and reached back with one big hand to pick up Miller by his lapels.

"Wake up, Miller!"

The fat man shook his head groggily and opened one eye. He groaned.

Stone slapped him across the face, just hard enough to sting. "Come on, damn you, wake up!"

"Lemme alone," Miller murmured. A sharp blow with an open hand brought him to some attention. "Leggo."

Stone shook him until his head wobbled. "Get up and look alive. I want to talk to you."

"I ain't sayin' nothin'," Miller said sullenly. "I don't know nothin', and I can't tell you a thing."

A few seconds' quick persuasion and he had changed his mind. "All right!" he yelled. "All right! I ain't got anything to lose, anyhow, unless you want to get me for pickin' your pocket."

"I won't prosecute you if you talk," Kendall promised.

"Okay," Miller grunted. "You won't live to use the information anyway." He sat up and rubbed his jaw. "The Secretary owns a lot of stock in the colony that's making antivirotic drugs on Vescalor IX. He wanted to put Rastol III out of commission so that the drugs would have to be bought from Vescalor IX. So he framed this alien Galth and had him sentenced to the execution chamber. He knew what would happen if the Government executed a Rastolian."

Stone pounded his fist against the seat. "Don't the lives of a thousand innocent people mean anything to him?"

"I never asked him, mister."

Stone started to lash out angrily at Miller, then pulled back the fist. "Then Galth didn't kill the Earthman?"

"Nope. Penowski did. The tall guy who was with me in the Secretary's place."

Kendall reached out one hand and clamped it tightly on the small man's shoulder. Miller winced. "You're going to tell the Governor your story," Stone said. "Every word."

Miller shook his head. "Oh, no. You can slap me around all you want, but I ain't gonna get myself in hot water that way. No, sir, brother. If the—LOOK OUT!"

Stone whirled and saw an aircar approaching, dropping down on his tail. A white-hot beam flashed from it, blistering the paint on Stone's ship.


Luckily, it was difficult for the other man to aim. The aircars were flying at close to three hundred miles an hour.

He snapped off the switch of the autopilot and sent the little aircar into a high, screaming climb. Another beam flashed by.

Kendall spun the ship into a back loop and barrel-rolled, bringing him in on the tail of the other aircar. But the other driver was cagey; he went into a hard right turn and tried to come up under Stone's vehicle.


The Alien Dies at Dawn by Randall Garrett and Robert Silverberg

Stone could see that the other aircraft definitely was not a police craft. An official car would have externally-mounted, automatically-controlled guns that would have shot Stone out of the skies with the first blast. No; this was a highly unofficial, extra-legal affair.

Another beam sizzled by so close that it gouged a spot out of the side of the ship. Stone reached down, groping for the gun he'd taken from Miller. It had been lying on the seat beside him, but it was gone now. Stone cursed. It must have slid to the floor when he spun the ship around.

"Never mind, Stone," Miller said coldly. "I got the gun now."

Kendall said nothing. He didn't even have time to curse. He was too busy trying to avoid the white-hot blasts from the other aircar. He sent the ship into a power dive and shoved in on the throttle. He didn't know if the little car would take what he was going to give it, but it was his only chance. If he survived—well, that was fine. If he didn't, the last hope of the little colony was dead.

"You'll kill us!" yelled Miller. He put the gun against Kendall's neck. "Stop it! You'll kill us!"

"Shut up and put that gun away, Miller," Stone snapped without moving his head. "If you shoot me, we'll both die. This is the only way we can keep your pals from murdering both of us."

Miller said nothing, but the cold pressure of the muzzle left Stone's neck.

Suddenly, Kendall heaved back on the control wheel, pulling the aircar out of its dive. He hung on grimly as the centrifugal force of the pullout dragged the blood from his brain. Then he blacked out.

When consciousness returned, the sturdy little aircar was climbing skyward. Stone glanced around. Miller was still unconscious, lying slumped in a rotund heap down at the floor of the aircab. Stone hauled him up, applied a hard punch to the jaw to make sure he'd stay that way, and let him sag back down. Then he grabbed the gun from the unconscious man's lap.

The other aircar was about half a mile away, heading toward him. Evidently the other pilot had blacked out, too. Overhead the moon glittered brightly. The night was wearing along. And when the sun's rays trickled over the horizon—

Holding on to the wheel with his right hand, Kendall opened the window a tiny bit and stuck his left hand out. The blast of air that tore past almost ripped the gun from his hand.

He gripped it harder, until the knuckles whitened, and turned the ship to face his assailant. A chill wind blew through the cabin. Sighting the pistol by instinct alone, he squeezed the trigger.

The blue-white beam speared out, burning off part of the control surfaces of the other car. It shuddered and spun, and then began to spiral downward.

Kendall Stone closed the window, grasped the controls, and pointed the aircar toward the Governor's palace.


The Governor yawned sleepily as Kendall Stone finished his story. He glanced at Miller, who was pinioned securely between two burly Security Guards.

"Well?"

"It's true," the fat man said.

"Oh?" Stone asked. "Why the sudden nobility, Miller?"

"It's not nobility," Miller said. "They came after your ship knowing I was in it—and that didn't keep them from shooting me down. Why shouldn't I turn them in, if it'll save my own skin?"

"You should have known," Kendall said, "that people like those two wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice you. They'd already planned to kill a whole colony, you know."

The Governor, who had watched the whole interchange of conversation rather impatiently, smiled grimly. "Mr. Stone, I think we all owe you an apology. This has been a gross miscarriage of justice." He was wide awake now. He turned to one of the guards.

"Fallon, get the Warden on the phone right away. Tell him the sentence of death on Galth of Rastol has been commuted. Tell him that the real murderer will be punished."

The guard returned a moment later.

"Well?" the Governor demanded.

"They were just leading him into the death cell when the message arrived," the guard said. "They've returned him to confinement pending the written pardon."

Kendall Stone sank down limply on a chair.

He glanced at his watch. 0545.

Outside the window, the first rays of dawn were breaking through the murky night. He thought of his family awakening light years away. The sun would be coming up too on Rastol....