The Project Gutenberg eBook of Black Silence, by Emmett McDowell

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
using this eBook.

Title: Black Silence

Author: Emmett McDowell

Release Date: January 18, 2021 [eBook #64326]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed
             Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK SILENCE ***




                             BLACK SILENCE

                          By EMMETT McDOWELL

           Thundering back they came across cold space--eyes
            aching for remembered vistas, nostrils flaring
             for sweet fresh air, feet itching to tread on
            precious soil. They stepped down--into a wasted
          lifeless horror! Eying each other in despair, they
              wondered. Must they--_could_ they--colonize
                 an alien world they once called HOME?

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                       Planet Stories Fall 1947.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


"Earth!" said Matthew Magoffin happily. "Good old Terra. Sounds
wonderful, doesn't it?" Elbows on table, he sat listening to the
specially-beamed broadcast from Earth. Half a dozen other members of
the first expedition to Mars were also in the messroom of the _Argus_.

"What's first on your program when we land, Lynn?"

They had been out two and a half years, and it was a subject of which
they never wearied.

Lynn said, "A bath--a real one. Not out of a tea cup." She was the
expedition's photographer and reporter, a small blonde with a soft
triangular face.

The music stopped in the middle of a bar. An announcer's voice broke in.

"_We interrupt this program to bring you a news flash from the Union of
South America._"

Everyone stopped talking in the messroom of the spaceship.

"_The plague area in the Andean region is spreading out of control.
Disease characterized by minute black spots that appear all over the
body from head to foot. The spots are accompanied by a high fever and
followed in two to three hours by death._"

"Whew!" said Matt to the company at large. "What a disagreeable way to
die! Wonder what causes it?"

As if in answer to his question, the announcer on Earth said, "_To
date, the germ has not been isolated. And all attempts to curb the
spread of the disease have proved futile._

"_The Pan-American League is meeting now in Lima to consider
segregating the entire Andean area where the plague is raging_...."

There was an interruption. Everyone in the messroom was tense,
conscious of blurred background noises in the far away studio toward
which they were flashing.

"_Here's a special bulletin!_" The announcer's voice sounded frightened
and excited. "_Marseilles, Liverpool, Hong Kong and San Francisco
report_...."

The speaker went dead.

Matt Magoffin found himself holding his breath, waiting for the news to
come back on. But it never did.

After a minute's silence, he leaped to his feet. "Damn that operator!
I'm going to see what's wrong."

He started for the starboard passage, a babble of voices breaking out
behind him. Matt was a stocky, powerfully built man in his thirties,
the expedition's palaeobotanist. He reached the starboard ladder, ran
up to the control deck and shouldered into the radio shack without
knocking.

"What's up?" he demanded of the operator, a thin freckled youth who was
staring at the banks of equipment in perplexity.

Sparks knit his brows.

"Nothing--that I can find."

"What!"

"There isn't a damn thing wrong at this end. The broadcast was
interrupted. Power failure, maybe."

Matt Magoffin ran his hand through his short crisp black hair, alarm in
his blue eyes.

"Have you tried to contact Earth?"

"No. Not yet."

The operator sat down at his instruments, threw in a switch and spoke
into a microphone.

"_Argus_ calling Earth. _Argus_ calling Earth. _Argus_ calling Earth.
Come in Earth."

Silence!

       *       *       *       *       *

Matt's jaw shut with a click. The operator tried again and again,
but without success. He was still trying when the director of the
expedition burst into the radio shack, followed closely by the captain.

"What interrupted the broadcast, Sparks?" the director burst out.

The operator shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with our instruments. But
I can't raise a peep from Earth."

The captain said, "Um. Keep trying."

"Yes, sir."

"And report at once as soon as you establish contact."

"Yes, sir."

The captain turned on his heel and left. Isaac Trigg, the director,
prepared to follow when Matt said: "Just a minute, Isaac. I'm coming
with you."

The director paused, allowing Matt Magoffin to come abreast of him.
"What do you make of it, Matt?" he asked.

"I don't know." Matt shook his head.

For two long years, between favorable oppositions with Earth, the
expedition had been searching the airless, waterless wastes of Mars for
any evidence of life. And had arrived at the disappointing conclusion
that not only was Mars devoid of life, but that the ruddy planet never
had supported life in any form.

But during the two years they had been in daily two-way communication
with Earth. Not once had they lost contact. Now that they were almost
returned....

The director suggested hopefully, "Perhaps they had a power breakdown."

"I don't think so." Matt shook his head. "But anyway we're only seven
months out. We should be able to contact other radio stations. I don't
understand it at all."

Their return to the messroom was greeted by an excited volley of
questions from the others. The director held up his hands in dismay.

"The trouble is on Earth," he explained when quiet was restored. "Our
instruments are functioning quite all right. There probably has been a
power stoppage of some sort. We should re-establish contact any minute."

But by the beginning of the rest period seven hours later, Earth was
still silent.

No one slept that night. Matt Magoffin tried, but at length he gave up
and switched on the lights in his cabin. He drew on comfortable gray
coveralls, which made him look even stockier than he was, and departed
for the messroom.

Counting the crew, there were thirty-one members of the
expedition--nine women and twenty-two men. Everyone of them, Matt
realized, must be present. The tension was so apparent that he could
feel a thrill of nervousness.

"No word, I suppose?" he asked, dropping into a vacant seat beside Lynn.

"No," the girl shook her head, setting her shoulder-length, yellow
hair to swinging. There was generally a half-wicked, half-mischievous
twinkle in her blue eyes, but it was lacking tonight. Little frown
lines creased her low broad forehead. "You don't suppose the plague has
anything to do with it, do you Matt?"

"Plague? How could the plague affect broadcasting?"

"I don't know." She shrugged helplessly. "Let's go up to the
observation deck. This waiting is driving me off my beam."

"Sure."

Matt followed her into the passage. She was wearing coveralls like his
own, but of a trimmer cut. She was unquestionably the prettiest of the
nine women, he reflected. And hard as nails.

Two years on the treacherous Martian deserts had enabled Matt to arrive
at a pretty accurate estimate of everyone by the way they reacted to
danger, to the disappointment at failing to discover evidence of life,
to their cramped quarters.

Their disappointment had been greater because Mars had been the last
hope of discovering life in the Solar System besides that of Earth.

No fossil life had been reported on the moon. The Reeves' expedition to
Venus two years ago had found that the Venusian clouds were composed
of dust swirling about a desiccated and lifeless world. Mercury had
not yet been reached, nor any of the outer planets, but there was
little expectation that life could have lodged in such inhospitable
environments.

No, in all the Solar System, Earth apparently was the only planet where
septic conditions prevailed--and life could germinate....

       *       *       *       *       *

They reached the observation deck in the bullet-shaped nose of the
vessel. Here the hull was built up of many small plates of quartzite
like the facets of a fly's eye. They had an unobstructed view of the
ebony arch of the heavens with Sol flaming like a beacon a point to
starboard.

"Where's Earth?" Lynn asked. "I never can find it."

He pointed it out, a bright greenish star on the port side of the ship.
It was just assuming a disk-shape with its tiny moon barely visible
beside it.

"It looks so far away," said the girl with a shiver. "I'm homesick, I
guess. We've been gone almost three years."

Matt said, "It's a long time." He slipped his arm about her waist.

Lynn let her yellow head rest on his shoulder. "I'm tired of being
tough. I'm scared. I want somebody to baby me and tell me everything's
all right.

"You--you don't think anything's happened to Earth, do you Matt?"

"Nothing could happen to seven billion people that suddenly! We've got
the jitters. We've been out too long." He kissed her almost roughly.

The girl clung to him half in terror. Matt could feel her taut young
body pressed against him. Slowly the tension melted out of her muscles.
_Fool_, he thought, _why didn't I try this two years ago?_

Matt stiffened. Over the crown of Lynn's yellow hair he caught sight of
a pale drawn face in the shadows of the ladder well across the deck.

It took him a second to recognize Nesbit, the palaeontologist, a young
man only a few years out of college.

"What is it?" Lynn asked, turning her head. "Oh!"

Nesbit glared at the pair silently; then his face disappeared as he
withdrew down the ladder.

"What the hell's eating him?" asked Matt.

Lynn bit her lip. "He must have followed us up. He...." She paused,
looking embarrassed. "He asked me to marry him when we reach Earth."

"Good Lord," ejaculated Matt. He turned the girl loose. "I wouldn't...."

Lynn's arms went around him fiercely and shook him. "Silly. He's just
a kid. I tried to let him down easy, but I certainly didn't promise to
marry him."

A grin spread across Matt's face. His arms tightened. From the corner
of his eye, he could see the unwinking green disk of Earth, silent,
cold, and unbelievably far away.

       *       *       *       *       *

During the next three months, they tore the radio down seven times and
rebuilt it with infinite care. They tested every tube and circuit. They
might as well have saved their time.

Not a single message reached them from Earth.

After three months they gave up trying at last and a queer sense of
dread took possession of them as the earth slowly expanded.

Sparks was a wreck. He spent incredible stretches in the radio shack
listening for a signal--any signal--from his dead instruments. The
cook went berserk and stabbed one of the engineers. Dr. Gwathmey, the
gentle, gray-haired psychologist, picked a fight with Pendergrast, the
expedition's gentle, gray-haired anthropologist over the theory that
life had resulted from spores drifting to Earth on light tides. The two
old men had battled it out in the messroom with their fists.

They were all, Matt realized, strained, nervous, edgy....

On the seventh of May the _Argus_ began to drop cautiously down through
a blanket of clouds that hid the surface of Earth. Everyone was at the
ports, but they were descending on the night side of the planet, and
the clouds were like soup.

Nothing was to be seen.

They were long since through the Heaviside layer, but still no
broadcast had reached them. The ether was as silent as it must have
been before the discovery of radio.

"Hell!" said Matt. "There's nothing to be seen out there." He took his
nose away from the port beyond which the wet clouds were roiling in
sheets of red, tinted by the flaming jets. "I'm going to wait in the
messroom."

He stamped off. He had grown thinner and his face was lined. His blue
eyes were haggard. The _Argus_ lurched and dropped a dozen feet,
hurling him to his knees.

Matt cursed viciously and caught his balance to stagger into the
messroom. Isaac Trigg, the director, was there, and Pendergrast. They
sat tense as violin strings, waiting.

"I couldn't stand it in the control room," Trigg explained to Matt.
"They're guiding us down with radar. There's been no radio beam to lead
us in. What the hell's wrong? You'd think Earth was a tomb!"

"Where are we?" Matt asked as he flung himself in a chair.

The director shook his head. "Some place in North America, the Ohio
valley, I believe. But the clouds shut us off before the navigator
could take accurate shots."

The loud speaker blared into sudden life, the first time since the
Silence! The men jumped to their feet, thinking that at last contact
had been established with Earth. Then they realized that it was the
captain speaking over the intercommunicator.

Matt cursed again, then paused.

"_Attention!_" the loud speaker blared. "_Attention, everyone. We
are descending in very hilly country. The radar reveals an irregular
surface beneath us. Please secure yourselves in your seats. Be sure to
fasten the safety straps._"

"Hilly country!" said Matt and buckled his safety strap. "But where?"

Most of the others straggled into their seats. There was no
conversation. Their faces were strained and white.

"_Four thousand feet!_" came the captain's voice over the broadcaster.
"_Visibility zero. Check your safety belts._"

Matt was conscious of a nervous rustle in the messroom. He realized
that he was biting his lip.

The _Argus_ lurched, fell another hundred feet and brought up with a
stuttering roar from her tubes. The business of landing a rocket ship
without a beam was nasty and uncertain. Matt could feel his heart
pumping almost in his mouth.

He looked about for Lynn and found her three seats off. She gave him a
wan grin, but blanched as the _Argus_ rolled sickeningly.

"_Three thousand feet!_" came the voice through the loud speaker.
"_Clouds and rain._"

An eternity went by.

At a thousand feet the suspense made Matt ill. The jets were striking
the surface now, bouncing back, dispelling the clouds directly beneath
them.

"_Wooded hills below_," said the loud speaker. "_Five hundred feet!_"

Again the minutes crawled away. There was a faint jar, then a settling
lurch. It was almost unexpected when it came. The jets fell silent.

Earth!

Matt found himself looking around at the strained faces. Hesitantly, he
threw off his straps and stood up. Others followed suit. None of them,
Matt realized, was anxious to be the first out.

It was a strange homecoming--certainly nothing like the one they had
all planned before the silence!

"Well," said Matt, "someone's got to be first."

He made his way to the main port. Silent, and uneasy, they all trooped
after him.

"What the hell!" said Matt with a sudden grin. He spat on his hands and
began to unscrew the bolts.

There was a collective sigh from those behind as he kicked open the
heavy port.

Only rain and blackness met his eyes.


                                  II

He inhaled deeply. The air was moist and sweet after the tainted stuff
they'd been breathing for three years. He'd forgotten how sweet. It was
almost intoxicating.

The ladder was lowered. Matt went over the side, riding it down. When
it struck, he leaped off and scooped up a double-handful of the muddy
earth.

There was a shout from above. Then everyone, staff and crew, came
swarming down the ladder.

For a while they went a little mad, dancing and scooping up the blessed
mud.

The director at last called a halt. "Hold on," he yelled above their
laughing.

Matt was conscious suddenly of the cold rain. He was drenched to his
hide, and he shivered. He glanced around, peering into the night.

As well as he could distinguish, they had come down in a valley. He
could hear a stream purling on his left, and saw the dark slope of
pines reared up behind the ship.

"It's a little after one in the morning, Earth time," the director
called out. "There's nothing that we can do tonight...."

"I'd like to climb to the top of the hill and look around," Matt
interrupted. "We might spot a light."

"And I!"

"Me, too." The last was Lynn's voice, Matt recognized. A dozen others
echoed the wish.

"Very well," said the director. "I--I think that I, too, shall go
along."

They struggled up the hill in the black and the rain. It was higher
than Matt had guessed, but at length they came to the crest.

Slowly Matt turned around and around.

Blackness!

Everywhere he looked there was only impenetrable blackness. Not even a
pin prick of light broke the monotony.

"We--we must be in an unsettled area," Lynn ventured in a small voice
at his elbow.

He looked around at the blur that was the girl. "It's the country," he
suggested. "People go to bed early in the country."

"Maybe," said the girl. "I ... let's go back to the ship, Matt. I'm
cold."

Without a word, he took her arm and piloted her back down the slope.
They climbed the ladder.

"What's wrong here, Matt?" asked the girl, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Wrong?" echoed Matt. They had reached the corridor to the cabins.
"Nothing, so far as we know. The fact that there weren't any lights
doesn't mean anything. We may be in the mountains."

He paused. "You should skin out of those clothes. You're soaked to the
skin."

She shivered again. Her thin coveralls were plastered against her,
revealing every swelling curve and indentation. Her hair hung limp and
wringing wet. A little bead of water trickled down her tip-tilted nose.

"You look like a drowned rat," he informed her with a grin.

A sudden shrill scream burst on their ears, followed by terrified
shouting.

Lynn stiffened. "What's that?"

But Matt was already plunging for the air lock.

He was met, and almost bowled over, by the tide of frightened men and
women flooding up the ladder into the ship. He grabbed the nearest one.

"What is it? What's wrong out there?"

"It was a cow!"

"A cow?"

"A wild cow. It charged us--or whatever cows do."

"It was a bull," corrected Howes, the archaeologist. "I--I think it got
Pendergrast."

A dead silence met Howes' words. Matt glanced over the heads in the
crowded passage. "Pendergrast here?"

There wasn't any answer.

From the ground below came a snort and the sound of crashing brush.

Matt pushed to the port. He could see nothing through the blackness and
the rain. "Pendergrast!" he called. "Pendergrast!"

Only the endlessly dripping rain could be heard.

He turned angrily on the others. "Get a light and the express rifle!"

"Matt!" said Lynn. She had squeezed to his side. "You're not going down
there?"

"I'm going after Pendergrast."

She said, "Matt, please don't go. Let someone else." She took his hand,
kissed it shamelessly and pressed it to her breast. "Wait till morning,
Matt."

"He might be alive. You go on to your cabin and get out of those wet
clothes."

"I'm not moving a foot until you get back." She still held onto his
hand.

       *       *       *       *       *

After a few minutes the chief engineer pushed through the press and
handed Matt the rifle. "I'll take the light," he said. "We'll both go
down."

"Thanks," said Matt. He made sure a cartridge was in the chamber and
then began to climb down the ladder.

From over his head, the chief engineer's light flashed, probing the
brush below. Matt could see no sign of a bull or of Pendergrast. He
reached the soggy earth and waited until the chief joined him.

"It was over that way," said the chief, flashing his light toward a
clump of brush beyond the circle that had been charred black by the
jets.

They began to advance cautiously. The light picked out a wet shapeless
bundle on the ground a yard or two this side of the thicket.

"That's Pendergrast, I guess," said Matt in a tight voice.

"Yes, I suppose so!" The chief sounded sick. "What's that?"

Matt had heard it, too, a crashing in the thicket. He halted and swung
up his rifle.

The next instant the head of a large Jersey bull came into view. The
animal stalked into the circle of light. The bull lowered his head and
snorted, pawing the mud.

Matt fired. He fired for the neck. The bull's knees folded; he slumped
gently to the ground.

"Got him, by God!" said the chief. There was a ragged cheer from the
ship behind them.

"Well," said Matt in an unhappy voice. "We may as well get it over
with. Pendergrast might be alive."

But he wasn't. Pendergrast had been an old man, and the bull had gored
him cruelly. Matt doubted that he had lived more than a minute or two.
They hauled his broken body up with a rope and laid it out on his bunk.

From outside there came the eerie hoot of an owl. Somewhere in the
distance dogs were barking.

"There must be a farmhouse in the neighborhood after all," the director
said, closing the door to Pendergrast's cabin.

But Matt, remembering the bull, said, "I wouldn't count on it, Isaac."

"Eh?" said Isaac.

"Dogs can run wild," Matt reminded him. "They're a hell of a sight less
dangerous than bulls."

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning, it was decided that a party of five of the younger
men should reconnoiter the immediate vicinity, being careful not to go
so far that they couldn't make it back to the ship by dark.

"Be careful," the director admonished them. Matt, who was one of the
party, noticed that Isaac Trigg's hands shook slightly. He had not
shaved, and deep blue circles haunted his eyes. "The country hereabouts
seems to be quite wild. We ..." the director bit his lip--"we may have
come down in a plague area that has been segregated!"

The same thought had been uppermost in everyone's mind, but none of
them had had the courage to express it.

"Don't," went on the director, "drink or eat anything except what you
take along, and be careful about investigating deserted houses. That's
all, I suppose--and good luck."

They were turning to leave when Lynn Clark presented herself. "Hold
on," she said. "I'm going along."

"Nonsense!" exploded the director. "The women are staying here in the
ship!"

Matt said, "Don't be obstinate, Lynn."

But the girl set her mouth. "I'm the official photographer and
reporter. It's my job."

She was dressed in breeches and boots and a loose shirt. She had a
holstered automatic slung about her hips, and it wasn't a woman's
pearl-handled toy, but an ugly black .45 automatic pistol.

Matt said, "We don't know what we might run up against. Frankly, Lynn,
we can't afford to be handicapped with looking after you."

She gave him a scathing glance. "I can take care of myself. I don't
need you or anyone else to look after me!"

She walked to the open air lock, drew the automatic and fired six shots
at a sapling some twenty-five yards distant.

Bark flew. The sapling quivered. All six shots, Matt realized, could
have been covered by a four-inch circle.

She turned around and eyed the palaeobotanist coolly. "As for taking
care of myself, Mister Magoffin, I may not be as big as a horse, but I
can handle you. If you've any doubts, I'm perfectly willing to bat your
ears down to prove it." And she eyed him wickedly.

Someone tittered.

Matt could feel himself getting red. His neck swelled. Then his sense
of humor came to his rescue, and he roared, slapping his thighs. He
couldn't have done anything that would have disconcerted Lynn more.

She flushed darkly and slung the camera about her neck. "Nevertheless,
I'm going along."

Matt shrugged. "Fine, we can use you as a guard."

The director said helplessly, "Very well, Miss Clark, but don't stray
from the party."

Then he shook hands all around and bade them be careful once more. It
gave Matt an odd feeling. They were acting as if they were preparing to
explore a strange alien planet instead of Earth.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a queer homecoming in more ways than one, he reflected soberly.

The little party of five men and a girl made their way cautiously down
the valley. They were all armed with high powered rifles except the
girl, and she had her automatic. They didn't talk much.

The rain had stopped and a warm spring sun beat down relentlessly. Matt
began to sweat. He was conscious of birds among the scrub pine and oak
cloaking the hillsides. They were familiar birds--robins and sparrows.

There was a drowsy hum of bees in the air. A crow flapped overhead,
cawing discordantly. The brook, muddy and swollen by the rains, purled
along on their left.

"Watch the wire," said Bascom. The _Argus'_ captain was in the lead. He
pointed out a rusted strand of barb wire half hidden by weeds. Ahead of
them was an opening in the woods.

It might have been a pasture at one time, but it was overgrown with
ironweed and sassafras shoots.

Matt said, "Isn't that a house? There." He pointed. "Straight down the
valley. See? In among that clump of trees."

"Yes," Lynn said breathlessly. "We couldn't have seen any lights last
night because of the foliage."

"Don't get too hopeful," said Matt.

They trooped eagerly across the pasture and climbed another rusted
fence. When they were still fifty yards distant, it became apparent
that the house was deserted.

It was a big frame farm house, Matt saw. The front door hung askew.
Several panes of glass were gone from the windows, and the yard was
overgrown with weeds.

Lynn's mouth drooped with disappointment. Then she squared her
shoulders. "Maybe it's just vacant," she suggested hopefully.

Captain Bascom frowned.

Matt said, "There's no use kidding ourselves. Something's happened.
We'd better be prepared for some kind of a shock. Maybe, like Isaac
suggested, we've landed in a plague area that's been evacuated."

"Well," said Captain Bascom, "we'd better take a look at the house."

They started across the side yard again, when a squeal from within the
building halted them. There was the clatter of sharp hoofs. A poland
china boar burst out of the front door and across the porch. He was
big, almost as big as a pony, and lean as a Georgia razor-back. Two
wicked tusks curved upward a good seven inches from his snout. His
little bloodshot eyes surveyed the intruders angrily. Then without a
sound he charged.

       *       *       *       *       *

Matt drew a bead directly between and a little above the boar's eyes
and squeezed the trigger. The 30-06 kicked viciously. The boar plunged
snout-on into the soft earth, squealing eerily. Blood gushed from its
mouth. Its feet threshed spasmodically, and then fell still.

Matt could feel his pulse beating high and hot in his throat. He worked
another cartridge into the chamber with his bolt. "Nasty-tempered
brute!" he said dryly.

Nesbit mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "That was nice
shooting, Matt," he conceded in a queer voice.

Matt glanced at the palaeontologist sharply. Ever since that episode
on the observation deck, Nesbit had been avoiding him as much as was
possible aboard a spaceship.

Nesbit couldn't forget that he must have appeared rather silly, Matt
realized. He shrugged, started for the house with a great deal of
caution. The others followed. They went across the porch, peered
through the front door.

The room was a mess, Matt saw. Obviously the boar had been lairing in
the house. Bones were scattered helter skelter about the floor.

"Those look like human bones," said Captain Bascom.

Matt nodded grimly. "They are. Look. The skulls!" He pointed at a
corner.

There were two of them, grinning at them in the morning light that
streamed through the glassless windows. The bones had been gnawed, some
of them splintered.

"That pig!" said Matt.

Lynn asked, "D'you mean that boar killed them and ate them?"

"I don't know whether he killed them or not. They might have been
victims of the plague. But he sure ate them!"

"But pigs...."

"They'll eat a man, even domestic pigs will--and that fellow was wild."

Lynn looked as if she was going to be violently ill.

With a grimace of repugnance, Captain Bascom pushed through the front
door. Matt followed him inside. His eye lit on a yellowed corner of
paper on the mantel. He crossed swiftly to the fireplace.

"Look!" he said to the others, who were trooping inside. "It's a
newspaper! Maybe now we'll find out what's been happening!"

With gentle hands, Matt took the brittle paper from the mantel,
unfolded it as they crowded around.

                        SHEPHERDSVILLE GAZETTE
                          Shepherdsville, Ky.
                             Founded 1827

"Well," he said. "We're in Kentucky!" He glanced at the headlines.

                        PLAGUE PARALYZES EARTH

"What's the date?" Lynn asked.

"October 19th. Not quite seven months ago."

"Read it aloud, Matt," said Captain Bascom.

    PLAGUE PARALYZES EARTH AS WORKERS WALK OUT OF FACTORIES AND POWER
    PLANTS. CITIES BEING ABANDONED BY HORDES OF FEAR-CRAZED PEOPLE

    WASHINGTON (WP)--By yesterday at seven A.M. the plague had
    struck down over a hundred million people in the United States
    alone, it is estimated. Hysteria has gripped the world. Men and
    women refused to go to work for fear of catching the plague from
    their co-workers.

    The last flash came into this office at 8:20 A.M. yesterday from
    the WP. Since then, all wires have been dead....

Matt's voice trailed off.

"Go on." Lynn urged in a frightened voice.

    As yet, the germ virus has escaped detection. But Dr. Edward
    Collins, Ph. D., Sc. D., of the Palomar Observatory, who
    discovered Nova Centauri a week before the plague struck in the
    Chilean village of Puquois, has advanced the theory that the
    disease is caused by life spores too small to be detected in the
    electronic microscope.

    Dr. Collins calls attention to the theory that life reached Earth
    as minute spores borne along on light waves. He also pointed out
    the coincidence of Nova Centauri. Although the star burst over two
    hundred years ago in a great super Galaxy in the region of
    Centaurus, the light of the explosion has just reached Earth. If
    malignant life spores were carried on the exploding light rays of
    Nova Centauri, then it would account, Dr. Collins maintains, for
    the fact that the plague struck almost simultaneously in every
    corner of the globe....

Again Matt's voice trailed off.

The five men and the girl eyed each other in awed consternation.


                                  III

"Malignant life spores!"

Captain Bascom's deep set black eyes were troubled, frightened. "Here,
give me the paper, Matt. We'd better take it back to the ship with us."

He turned to Sawyer. "You're the biologist, Jesse. What do you think?"

Sawyer was a fat bald man with popping green eyes. He said, "Ed, I
don't like to make a snap judgment. We haven't seen much yet. But it's
possible, of course.

"The theory is that life spores, propelled by light rays, lodged on
Earth a few million years ago. The conditions were favorable, and they
multiplied, developed.

"The result of our expedition to Mars favors the theory somewhat. The
same spores must have bathed the entire solar system, but conditions
were too unfavorable for life on the other planets.

"After all, life is a fermentation, a festering on the surface of a
planet. The other planets were highly antiseptic. But Earth couldn't
repel the parasitic growth!"

"What a horrible theory!" Lynn burst out.

Matt asked, "If that's the case, then Mars must have been smothered in
the life spores this time, too. Why didn't we catch the plague?"

The biologist said, "We were sealed in the _Argus_ or our space suits
all the time. The spores couldn't get at us."

"But isn't there a chance we might catch the disease now?"

"If there is," said the biologist with a shrug, "we've already been
exposed. There's nothing we can do about it."

An uneasy silence possessed them. Matt was conscious of a faint wind
rustling the tree leaves outside.

"Suppose we look around," he said at length.

Almost reluctantly, they followed him back through the house. Dirty
dishes were piled on the dining room table, more dirty dishes in the
kitchen sink. Dirt and dust lay thick on everything.

They climbed the stairs. Matt pulled the first door open. A strong
fetid stench met his nostrils. He hastily shut it.

"There's another one in there," he said. "The pigs couldn't get to the
body, I suppose."

"Let's get out of here!" Lynn pleaded. "We've seen enough!"

Matt saw that they all appeared pale and sick. He wasn't feeling too
robust himself. "O.K. Let's go!"

They stumbled down the steps and out the back door. There was a pump in
the yard and, a hundred yards or so from the house, a large weathered
barn. They advanced cautiously toward it.

A cow had died in one of the stalls, starved to death. There was also
a large truck and a sedan. A cat, wild as any rabbit, shot suddenly
across their path and scooted under one of the stalls.

Matt ignored it as he went to the car. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "The fuel
gauge registers three-quarters full. We can cover a lot of ground in
the car."

"Do you suppose it's in running order?" Captain Bascom asked.

Matt shrugged. "We can see. It's an old-type internal combustion
engine." He glanced down at the wheels. "Those are foam rubber tires.
They're O.K. The motor shouldn't have rusted, protected like this."

He slid behind the wheel. The key was in the ignition; he switched it
on and pressed the starter button. The motor ground and then burst into
noisy sputtering life.

"Get in," he said.

They all bundled into the sedan. Matt backed out of the barn, turned
around and drove cautiously along the rutted drive.

They passed the house and reached a dirt road in front. "Which way?"
asked Matt.

Captain Bascom said, "Left. Away from the hills."

Matt nodded and turned into the dirt road. He had to drive slowly,
because in places there were wash-outs, and the road was grown up with
weeds. A narrow game trail ran down the center, but that was the only
evidence that the road had been used.

They passed other silent, deserted farm houses.

Once Lynn gave a low cry and pointed to the crest of a rise where a
magnificent stallion with his band of mares was outlined against the
bright blue May sky.

"Horses," said Matt. "They've run wild."

The dirt road wound on and on, coming at length to a black asphalt
highway. A sign across the highway read:

                              LOUISVILLE
                               14 MILES

"Louisville?" said Nesbit. "That's a fair-sized city. Million and a
half population."

Lynn frowned. "It's in Kentucky, isn't it?"

"Yes. On the Ohio, about a hundred and fifty miles downriver from
Cincinnati."

"What time is it?" Matt asked Captain Bascom.

The captain glanced at his watch. "Twenty-three after ten. We've got
time."

"Mark this road," Matt warned them. "We want to be able to find our way
back."

"I've been making a map in my notebook," Lynn informed him.

"Good girl."

He turned into the highway and speeded up. There were no cars anywhere,
except one in the ditch with a grinning skeleton in the front seat.

The houses were closer and after a few miles they passed through a
small town. The sign at the edge of town read:

                                OKALONA
                               POP. 766
                     SPEED LIMIT 20 MILES PER HOUR

There was no one in the streets, no one in the houses. They passed a
grocery store through whose broken glass show windows they could see
shelves and shelves of canned goods. The telephone poles were festooned
with wires like tangled broken cobwebs.

Matt suddenly slammed on the brakes. The car squealed to a stop before
a hardware store.

"What's wrong?" Lynn cried.

"Nothing. It just occurred to me that an ax might be a handy thing to
have along." He jumped out of the car and went through the gaping door.

The store inside was thick with dust and cobwebs. Leaves had eddied
across the floor from a broken show window. He found the axes, selected
a medium-sized, double-bitted one, scooped up three more and returned
to the car.

Just before he climbed back inside, he glanced up and saw the buzzards.
There must have been a hundred of them, sweeping in lazy spirals like
grotesque black gliders.

"Turkey buzzards!"

Captain Bascom asked, "What did you say?"

"I said, turkey buzzards. They're thick up ahead."

"Oh," Bascom said. Then he added thoughtfully, "Maybe we'd better roll
the windows up."

A half mile further on, a tree had fallen across the road, and the axes
proved their worth. As soon as they had chopped the trunk free and
dragged it out of the way, they went ahead.

Louisville had almost swallowed the little town of Okalona. A mile
beyond the fallen tree, a large sign loomed up beside the highway.

                         WELCOME TO LOUISVILLE
                       THE GATEWAY TO THE SOUTH
                            POP. 1,567,000

The vultures, Matt noticed, were thicker than ever. They sat on the
eaves of the houses peering down into the street or rose flapping into
the air ahead of them.

A faint fetid odor tainted the atmosphere, and it grew stronger and
stronger as they penetrated deeper into the city. It seeped through the
closed windows, strangling them.

Lynn said, "I can't stand much more of this."

"Neither can I," Captain Bascom agreed.

Matt said, "Suppose we turn around and go back. I think we've seen
enough for today. If we have to come into the city, we can use the
space suits."

"Yes," said Captain Bascom, "Let's get back. By all means. I--I....
Please excuse me, gentlemen, I'm making an ass of myself. But I left a
wife and two children in Detroit. I...." His voice choked up.

Matt saw that tears were trickling down the Captain's gaunt cheeks, and
looked away in embarrassment.

       *       *       *       *       *

Back at the ship, the director received Captain Bascom's report
stoically. They were in Trigg's office aboard the _Argus_--the five men
and the girl who had made the dash into Louisville and back.

Matt sank into a chair, watching the director's face narrowly as
he read the copy of the Shepherdsville Gazette. Matt felt tired,
discouraged, listless. The repeated shocks of their discoveries had
been insidious. He was appalled suddenly by the catastrophe which
seemed to have engulfed the whole world.

He felt a small hand slip into his. It was Lynn. She summoned a smile.
The girl looked washed out and frightened. Her blue eyes were enormous.

After a while Trigg folded the paper, looking intently from face to
face.

"I think," he said, "we had better call a meeting. There are some vital
problems we must face. I--I have expected something like this ever
since we landed last night."

_Last night?_ Matt thought. _Only last night. It seems like a year ago._

"When do you want to call the meeting?" Captain Bascom asked.

"After the evening meal. We are in a peculiar position. We may be the
only human survivors!"

Matt said, "Surely--someplace--_someone_ escaped the plague. It's
inconceivable that it wiped out the entire species."

"Species have been wiped out before," Trigg reminded him grimly. "But
there is a chance, of course, that isolated communities have survived.
That's one thing I want to take up at the meeting. The possibility of
contacting any survivors."

Matt realized the director was regarding Lynn grimly.

"Until we do establish contact with other communities," Trigg went on,
"we'll have to assume that we are alone...."

"What are you driving at?"

"Survival!"

Matt's eyes narrowed, and he ran his hand through his crisp black hair.
"Go on," he said.

"Survival of the race. There are nine women. But only seven are young
enough to bear children."

Lynn's eyes were enormous. She said, "What do you mean, Isaac?" in a
tight voice.

"I mean," rejoined the director, "that you'll be expected to bear
children--lots of children--and the sooner you get about it, the
better!"


                                  IV

Matt Magoffin kept his seat after the evening meal, as the conference
was scheduled to be held in the messroom right away. He had broken out
a pack of cigarettes and was smoking--a long-deferred luxury.

There had been more talking than eating at the tables. Everyone, Matt
realized, must have the facts pretty well assimilated. He saw the
director rising and turned to face him.

"I think everyone here," Isaac Trigg's voice plunged abruptly into the
meeting, "is acquainted with the disaster that has befallen Earth. Are
there any questions now?"

No one said anything.

"Very well," said Trigg, tugging at his beard. "As I see it, we have
four aims to consider.

"First, trying to establish contact with any survivors. Second,
securing our own continued existence. Third, the survival of the race."
He paused and frowned, then added, "And lastly preserving our heritage
of knowledge." He came to a stop, his eyes on their tense faces. "Does
anyone wish to add anything?"

No one did.

"Very well," said Trigg. "Suppose we take up the last item first. We
are all specialists in some branch of science. Together we cover the
extant field of knowledge rather thoroughly. Louisville is near. It has
a large library and there is a fine technical school with laboratories
and a library of its own. Those books should be preserved. It might
even be advisable for us to move to the campus.

"Expeditions can be sent to other cities to cull the cream of their
shelves. We should set ourselves to instruct the children--"

"What children?" Barb Poindexter interrupted. She was the psychiatrist,
a plump brown-haired woman with ample curves.

"Your children. You aren't over thirty-three, Miss Poindexter." The
director made rapid mental calculations. "You should be able to produce
a minimum of seven children."

Miss Poindexter gasped, regarded the grinning men in horror and got
very red.

"No occasion to be embarrassed," said Trigg. "Most natural thing in the
world."

He glared about the audience. No one seemed inclined to dispute his
assertion, so he went on.

"This is all very sketchy. Our plans will have to be elastic. We
should, I believe, continue to live in the ship until we can thoroughly
explore the neighborhood. According to Captain Bascom, there is an
abundance of canned food. We won't starve.

"There is, though, the danger of contracting the plague. I am rather
hazy on that subject. So I am going to turn you over to Dr. Lewis."

Cam Lewis stood up. She was a tall, raw-boned blonde, handsome,
self-assured and groomed to the last degree. She said in a crisp voice:
"To the best of our information, the plague struck seven months ago and
wiped out civilization. There is a better than even chance that it has
run its course.

"If, as Jesse Sawyer thinks"--she smiled at the fat biologist--"the
plague was caused by a cloud of life spores from outer space, then
the spores might have adjusted to this environment and are no longer
malignant...."

Matt leaned forward and asked, "Do you mean, Cam, that these life
spores may have begun to evolve into something else?"

"Why not?" came the biologist's terse answer.

Matt glanced around. Jesse Sawyer hadn't risen. He was sprawled in his
chair, his bald crown gleaming.

"Evolution," he said with a wave of his pudgy hand, "isn't static.
The spores could have developed in the human body into microscopic
organisms. Parasitic, probably. But when the humans died they had
to adapt themselves to a different environment. They might still be
with us but have lost the faculty of feeding off animal tissue or
whatever they attacked." He shrugged his heavy shoulders. "That's all
speculative, of course."

"Anyway," said Cam brightly, "we've all been exposed. There's nothing
we can do but wait and see if the black spots develop." And she sat
down.

It was an unfortunate remark, Matt thought. Isaac Trigg, he noticed,
was looking haggard when he rose. The director said, "Sparks is still
broadcasting, trying to reach any radio station that might be in
operation...."

Matt interrupted, "But it's possible, Isaac, that there are communities
without a radio."

"Yes," agreed Trigg. "We're not in a position, though, to send out
extended exploration parties. That'll have to wait--"

Suddenly, Barb Poindexter screamed!

She was sitting close to the starboard passage. Matt whirled around,
his eyes almost starting from his head.

A gaunt, half-naked man crouched in the doorway!

       *       *       *       *       *

For seconds an absolute silence gripped everyone in the room. The man
continued to crouch there, a frightened expression in his sunken eyes.
He was barefooted and clad only in the ragged remnants of a pair of
trousers.

And there was an iron collar about his neck from which a short length
of chain dangled!

Matt stared at it in disbelief.

Suddenly, the man seemed to hear something. His expression of fright
intensified. He took a half-step into the room, clasping his bony hands
before him.

"Please, sirs, please! Don't let them get me. Oh, my God, don't let
them take me back!"

"Eh?" said the director.

Matt asked, "Let who get you?"

"The women! Listen! You can hear them. They're trailing me up the
ravine like a pack of hounds. Oh, my God, don't let them take me...."

"Shut up!" said Matt. "How can we hear anything with you squalling?"

The man stopped talking. In the silence, Matt could hear a faint
yelping. It did sound something like an excited pack of hounds. And yet
there was a weird bloodcurdling overtone that was half human.

Matt could feel the hair rising on the back of his neck like the
hackles of a dog.

"That's them! That's them!" The half-naked man screamed. He dropped to
his knees. "Don't let them catch me. Look!" He turned around. Livid
scars striped his back. Whip scars.

Matt sprang to his feet. "Get the rifles!" he cried over his shoulder,
and ran from the room.

Armed with his rifle and a powerful spotlight, Matt dashed down the
passage and brought up panting at the open air lock. It was night, but
there was a full moon. The scrub pine and oak reared up on either hand,
black and silver.

The ululating cries were closer now, ringing up the valley. He could
see lights flashing back and forth in the trees as the pack cast about
for the fugitive's trail in the dark.

Matt stood in the round port, the passage behind him jammed with the
curious members of the expedition.

All at once, the shouting below fell silent, the lights winked off.

"What is it? Do you see anything?" Trigg called nervously.

"Nothing." Matt realized that he was silhouetted against the light in
the passage. "Turn off the lights."

In an instant they blinked out. Matt found that he could see better. He
could make out the black circle charred bare by the jets when they had
landed, the ringing wall of pines.

"There's something moving in the trees!" he informed the others. He
could feel a shudder pass over them. "Where's that man?"

Lynn answered, "Back in the messroom, gibbering. Barb's trying to get
sense out of him, but he seems terrified of her."

Matt caught a flash of white from the trees below and stiffened.

Then, dainty as a wolf, a woman stepped into the bare moonlit circle
surrounding the _Argus_. She threw back her head to stare up at the
towering spaceship. She was dressed in boots and breeches, but they
couldn't conceal her sex.

"Hey, you up there!" she called in clear ringing tones. "Who are you?"

"The National Cosmographic Society's Expedition to Mars," Matt replied
cautiously.

There was a vague stirring from the black wood, but no other figures
appeared.

"You mean you've just returned from Mars?" the woman asked.

"Yes."

"Lower a ladder. I'm coming aboard."

Matt, who had caught the dull gleam of moonlight on metal, said, "Leave
your rifle at the edge of the wood."

The woman hesitated; then she leaned something against a tree. Matt
gave the signal; the ladder slowly descended and came to rest. He saw
the woman take hold of the rungs and begin to climb.

"Give me a hand," she said.

He extended his hand and she grasped it. He was surprised at
the strength of her grip as she hoisted herself to the deck and
straightened. She gave him a penetrating look from narrowed eyes and
then flung her glance over the faces blocking the passage. She was as
tall as he was, Matt realized, with hair cropped short about her face.

Matt said, "The lights!" and swung the port shut at the same instant,
shooting the bolts.

The woman crouched like an animal. Then the lights came on. Her hair,
Matt saw, was red as flame, her eyes green and oblong. She licked her
lips.

"Who are you?" Matt asked bluntly. "Why were you prowling around the
ship?"

The woman straightened again slowly. "Did you see anything of a man
coming this way?"

"Yes. He's in there." Matt nodded toward the messroom. "What did you
want with him?"

The woman looked vaguely surprised. "He's mine!" she said. "He ran
away!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Gradually Matt had become aware of a subtle difference that set the
woman apart from the others. It was not so much her appearance as the
way she carried herself--the set of her head, the level appraising
coolness of her green eyes.

Arrogance!

He felt a bristling of hostility. "You've been through the plague?"

The woman nodded, her flame-colored hair glinting golden in the light.

The director thrust himself to the fore. "Won't you come into the
messroom? There are hundreds of questions we'd like to ask, Miss ...
Miss...."

"My name's Margot," she said. "Margot Drake. Where is this messroom?"

"This way," began the director.

Margot Drake glanced at a wrist watch. "But I must warn you. My girls
should have brought up the rocket gun by this time. If I'm not out in
half an hour, they'll shell the ship."

Isaac Trigg's jaw dropped. "But, really! That's preposterous!" he
sputtered. "Why in heaven's name should they shell us?"

The red-headed woman smiled faintly. "Obviously, you've no idea of the
situation today."

"Obviously," Matt agreed. "But we've hope of finding out from you. If
you'll just step this way, Miss Drake...."

When the strange white man saw the red-headed woman, he cowered
terrified in the opposite corner.

"So there you are, Scobbie," Margot Drake said in a cold voice. "I'll
flay the hide off of you for this."

Scobbie snarled like a cornered animal. "I'm not going back!"

Margot turned to the director. "You'll return this man to me, of
course."

Trigg sputtered, tugging nervously at his wispy beard. It was Matt
again who answered. "If he wants to go, he can go. If he wants to stay,
he stays."

"But he's mine!" Margot's green eyes flashed.

Matt said, "We don't recognize the right of anyone to own somebody
else."

"You've a lot to learn!"

"That's what I'm waiting for. How did you happen to survive the plague?"

Margot Drake's eyes narrowed. She glanced again at her watch before
replying. "The plague didn't kill everyone. A few escaped. In the last
days, it was already beginning to wear itself out. For some reason the
women were less susceptible than the men. Only a few men survived, but
possibly a hundred thousand women."

"Do you mean here in Kentucky?"

"I mean in the world!"

Matt swallowed. Still it was more than he had hoped.

The red-headed woman went on, "Quite naturally, women are dominant. And
what few men are left are highly prized. For instance, there are three
hundred women in my band--but only two men."

"Lord!" said Matt, "what a life they must lead!" Someone snickered.
"Where are you camped?"

"Farther down the creek by the farmhouse."

"How do you live?" Matt inquired.

"Off the fat of the land. We're nomadic. Cars and trailers. There's
plenty of gasoline and food for the taking. When a car breaks down, we
commandeer another. We're trekking north for the summer. Lake Michigan.
We'll head back to Mexico in the winter."

She glanced at her watch again. "If I don't leave now, they'll begin
to shell the ship. Will someone unlock the port? And take good care of
that man for me. I'll be back for him."

Scobbie, crouched in the corner, growled at her words. Matt and Captain
Bascom went with the red-head to open the port.

But when they got there, it was already unlocked, standing open.
Moonlight flooded the passage.

Matt swore. Captain Bascom said, "Who did this?" But Margot Drake only
smiled slyly.

She slipped down the ladder and paused to wave. "I'll be seeing you
soon," she called and, without waiting for a reply, turned and strode
lithely toward the wood.

Matt looked around for a gun emplacement. But, if there was one, it was
hidden among the trees. He closed the outer and inner ports, locking
and sealing them.

"We'd better count noses!" he said, frowning, as they returned to the
messroom. "It's damn queer, those ports being open."

A hasty check up revealed that three of the younger men were
missing--Sparks and two of the pilots.

Matt said grimly, "The fools! I suppose there's nothing to it but to
set a guard at the airlock. And it'll have to be a woman!"


                                   V

Isaac Trigg, looking badly shaken, sank into the chair behind his desk.
"Matt we can't stay here!"

Matt Magoffin raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. Faith
Hutton, the genial middle-aged nurse, comfortable, stout and jolly, sat
in another chair at the end of the desk, smoothing her skirt nervously.

The pair of them, Isaac and Faith, had just returned from visiting the
women's camp down the valley. Faith had gone, because as she had said
with a twinkle in her gray eyes, the Amazons had no interest in women,
certainly not gray-haired ones anyway. Isaac explained dryly that
his gray hairs should protect him, too--not to mention certain other
perfectly natural infirmities that were associated with old age. So the
pair had gone off to reconnoiter the Amazons' strength and ferret out
their intentions.

They had returned an hour later, frightened and upset, summoning Matt
into the director's office.

Isaac said again, "It's impossible to remain here. You may wonder,
Matt, why we called you in. But the past three years have given me a
rather unique opportunity of judging your especial abilities."

The old man cleared his throat, combing his Van Dyke nervously with
his fingers. Matt glanced in surprise from his face to Faith's pinkly
healthy complexion and back again.

"What are you driving at, Isaac?"

Isaac Trigg gave him a shrewd glance. "We need someone to see that our
plans are carried out--to meet emergencies. An executive, who can carry
out our wishes. We think you can handle it, Matt." His eyes twinkled
suddenly. "While your botany leaves a great deal to be hoped for, you
do have an amazing audacity, an ability to get things done."

"Thanks," said Matt dryly.

"Don't take offense. You're young, only thirty-four. There's plenty of
time to master your subject. But at the moment it's youth and courage
we need.

"Your courage, Matt, although on the foolhardy side, is
unquestioned. And we particularly need someone with your
unscrupulous--er--temperament, who can seize opportunity by the
forelock--without any qualms or moral--er--indecision."

Matt burst out laughing. "It's a damn good thing for our egos that we
aren't mind readers." Still chuckling, he asked, "Have you consulted
the others about this proposal? You know, there's no earthly way we can
force them to stay and work, if they don't want to."

Isaac nodded. "They agree with me almost unanimously. We can't make
them stay, but if they do, they'll have to obey orders."

Matt scratched his crisp black hair. "Well, I don't know. We can try
it, I suppose. As I understand it, I'm not expected to formulate the
policy--that's a matter of general consent--but to see that whatever
plans are made are carried out. Right?"

"That's it exactly."

Matt said, "O.K. Suppose you begin by telling me what you learned at
the women's camp this morning."

Isaac's brow darkened. "They're wasters! Hedonists. They're living
absolutely for the moment. No care about the future. In a generation or
two, they'll have reverted to barbarianism. There's no hope for them.

"They live in trailers, traveling from place to place as the whim moves
them. There's plenty of clothes and food and gasoline everyplace now.
They repair nothing and make no provision for the time when decay and
rust and disintegration will destroy these things.

"There isn't a scientist among them. And, according to Margot Drake,
they're typical of dozens of such bands of women roaming at loose ends
across the Americas."

"Any children?"

"Surprisingly enough, there are quite a few. Some of them were
pregnant before the plague. Also, they've adopted any children they've
found. It's a strange paradox. But they manifest a very strong
maternal instinct. The children, of course, are pampered and spoiled
unreasonably."

"I wish we could kidnap the children," said Matt, "but I suppose that's
out of the question. As I see it, Isaac, we need a site that can be
easily fortified. And we need more people.

"With Sparks and the two pilots gone, there are only twenty-seven of us
left and that's counting the crew and Scobbie, the runaway."

Isaac Trigg looked unhappy. "Frankly, Matt, I don't see how we're going
to get either. We're under a state of siege. They've got a rocket gun
hidden in the trees."

He tugged at his Van Dyke. "Margot Drake asked permission to bring a
party of her girls aboard to show them about. I've a hunch there's more
to it than curiosity. I think she intends to bring her most attractive
cohorts in the hopes of luring more of our men to the camp. Sparks and
the pilots are there now living like sultans. We're more likely to lose
our men than gain any recruits."

"Hmmm," said Matt.

"As for locating a better site," Isaac went on, "we can't send out
expeditions to find one, because the men'll be captured."

"I know the spot to fortify," rejoined Matt. "I was studying the charts
this morning. Fort Knox is only about twenty miles from here on the
Ohio where Salt River empties into it.

"There should be guns, ammunition, tanks, wire, bulldozers--everything
we need. And we can fly the ship there. I know it's tricky navigating
in a strong gravitational field, but we'll have to chance it."

A ray of hope gleamed in the director's face. He thumped a bony fist
into his palm. "You've hit it, Matt! We'll leave immediately!"

"No," said Matt. "We'll wait until the delegates from the Amazons come
aboard to parley."

An expression of consternation passed across Isaac's visage. "But, good
Lord, Matt, they're dangerous! There's no telling what treachery they
might be planning."

"We need women, don't we? We'll turn the tables on them!"

The director swallowed.

"But they're dangerous," he repeated vehemently. "They're wild, I tell
you. They're violent, lawless wenches. Why, I'd sooner be ..." he shut
his mouth, glancing at Faith in embarrassment.

The middle-aged nurse's eyes were twinkling.

Matt said imperturbably, "In that case, we'll tame 'em!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Margot Drake appeared at the edge of the charred circle surrounding the
_Argus_ promptly at 11:30. Matt was waiting for her at the airlock.

"Hello," she called. "Lower the ladder, please."

The woman's red hair shone like molten gold in the sun, and Matt
realized that she had taken considerable pains to rig herself out in as
fetching a manner as possible.

She was wearing a forest green jacket that hugged her breasts as if
it had been lacquered on. Her short green skirt sheathed her hips
before flaring out to expose a goodly length of well-turned legs. The
only incongruous note was a high powered rifle that she carried in a
competent fashion.

"How many are with you?" Matt called, making no move to lower the
ladder.

Margot hesitated. "Eighteen."

"Tell them to show themselves."

The red-headed leader gave a sharp command and a flock of girls
appeared laughing from the woods.

Matt whistled silently. Isaac had called her shot. Margot
unquestionably had culled the most attractive wenches in her band and
dressed them scantily but ravishingly. They flocked about their leader,
staring up curiously at the ship.

"We didn't expect so many," called Matt, "but leave your rifles at the
edge of the wood before you come aboard. You'll have to be searched. We
aren't taking any chances."

[Illustration: "_Leave your guns before you come aboard._"]

Again there was a slight hesitation on Margot Drake's part. Then she
leaned her gun against a tree and bade her girls to do likewise. Matt
lowered the ladder.

As they swarmed up one at a time, Lynn, who was standing just behind
him, ran her hands swiftly over them from neck to toes. They were
carrying no concealed weapons.

"You're invited to lunch before we show you about." He glanced at his
watch as a gong sounded from down the passage. "It's served now. If
you'll just step this way...."

"No tricks," admonished Margot in a suspicious voice. "The rocket gun
is still trained on the ship."

"No tricks." He grinned amiably. When they came to the messroom door,
he stood aside for them to enter. Cloths had been laid, tables set.
Food steamed on the side-board.

They trooped inside, giggling and chattering. No sooner had the last
girl passed across the threshold than Matt slammed the heavy door and
barred it.

A glance down the passage assured him that Lynn had the ladder up and
the airlock sealed.

Dimly, he was aware of angry yells from the messroom, the thud of boots
against the bulkhead. He grinned. Door and bulkheads were of heavy
steel.

He stepped to the ladder well and blew shrilly on a whistle.

The deep rumble of the jets answered at once as Captain Bascom threw in
the controls. Sheets of roaring flame bounced from the ground up past
the ports.

From the outside, Matt realized, the _Argus_ must present an awe
inspiring sight cloaked in fire. He felt the deck shudder, then press
strongly against the soles of his feet.

They were off.

He grabbed Lynn in a bear hug and whirled her precariously around the
shimmying deck.

"We got 'em!" he shouted above the sullen thunder of the tubes. "We've
trapped 'em! Nineteen!"

Lynn gasped, "Put me down!" and struck him a hard blow in the solar
plexus.

Matt grunted, dropping her with a thump.

"I don't see why you're so elated," she said grimly.

A twinkle began to gleam in Matt's blue eyes.

Lynn saw the twinkle and said, "If you don't keep your hands off those
hussies, I'm going straight to your cabin and move all my things out!"

"What?" Matt was jarred out of his complacency.

"I said," she repeated with emphasis, "that if you even look cross eyed
at any of those trollops, I'm leaving you flat! I move out! Is that
clear?"

"But, good Lord!" Matt burst out, "I didn't even know you'd moved in.
Why ... I mean--what...."

Lynn had the grace to look confused. She said indignantly, "You know
what Isaac said yesterday as well as I do."

"What _Isaac_ said?" He stared at her blankly. Then a light broke.
"Oh, you mean about childr...."

"Yes," she interrupted. "There are so few women. Not enough to
go around, I mean. Obviously, we had to choose." She watched him
defiantly, but not without anxiety. "Well, I've chosen. Of course, if
you don't want me ... you do, don't you?"

For answer Matt swept her into his arms. This time she came without
resistance. "Oh, Matt," she said, "I was so scared that maybe you
wouldn't want me. I--I...." She pushed back a little so that she could
look into his eyes. "But, if you make any passes at those...."

With a chuckle, Matt put his hand over her mouth. "You malign me, Lynn.
I hadn't thought of such a thing. I was only thinking about the future
of the colony. That was all."

"I doubt it!" she said and kissed him hard on the mouth.

       *       *       *       *       *

The trip to Fort Knox, only twenty miles off, was a prolonged crisis.
Captain Bascom had been forced to angle the ship up at a slant, until
they were miles high above the fort, and then descend perpendicularly.
Every moment Matt thought the _Argus_ was going to lose momentum and
plunge back to the ground.

When the jets at length fell silent, he wiped the sweat off his face
with his sleeve and looked at the bloodless features of Lynn.

"Never again!" said the girl. "The next time we have to move, I walk!"

They had waited in the passage to the air lock. Now Matt pulled himself
together, ran to the port and threw it open.

Fort Knox had been moved since World War II. The atom bomb had made a
large army, navy or air force obsolete. The barracks of the old fort
had been enlarged and modernized and, at the time of the plague, housed
workers who commuted back and forth to Louisville. The gold vault had
been turned into a museum and library, the parade ground into a park.

New Fort Knox was a single massive building of gray monolithic
concrete. Large as a city block and thirty stories high, the frowning
structure was located on a promontory overlooking the Ohio and Salt
rivers. It had housed a detachment of the world police, and the
laboratories and living quarters of the technicians who had come to
replace the standing army in the new era of push-button warfare.

Matt, staring at the cubical gray fort, realized that it had been built
to protect the lethal experiments that had been carried out in its
labs. There were no windows on the first or second floors. Nothing less
than an atom bomb could destroy it.

He cast a cautious glance at the silent deserted town of West Point
beyond the highway and the brown slack waters of Salt River, muddied by
spring rains. The _Argus_ had landed directly behind the fort and the
Ohio was at their backs.

Isaac Trigg came into the passage with Captain Bascom. Rapidly the
others began to assemble.

"Well?" asked Isaac.

"Look for yourself. We could have scoured the world and not found a
better place."

They crowded to the port, staring out at the silent pile of concrete.

"Splendid! Splendid!" Isaac rubbed his dry hands together. Broad grins,
laughter and exultant comments broke out among the others.

Isaac gazed fondly at Matt. "You're the boss, Matt. What's to be done?"

"Strip the _Argus_ of everything that can be moved and carry it into
the fort. There should be guns in there and ammunition. It housed a
detachment of the world police force, you remember. They used the
obsolete weapons--never resorted to A-bombs unless necessary.

"We've crossed Salt River, but not the Ohio. That means we'd better
destroy the monorail and the tube crossing and the railway bridge.
We can leave the highway bridge up, but we'll have to fortify it
temporarily."

"Then," broke in Captain Bascom, "you think the Amazons will follow?"

Matt nodded. "They could see us come down not too far off." He paused,
pushing his hand through his short black hair. "But we were north of
Salt River. Now we're south of it. They can't know that. Neither can
they know whether we've crossed the Ohio or not. I imagine they'll send
scout cars."

"That bridge"--he pointed to the arches spanning the Salt river--"is
the only one this side of Shepherdsville.

"It should take a couple of hours for their scout cars to reach us. If
we fortify the bridge so that they have to cross at Shepherdsville,
their main body'll have to go over a hundred miles out of their way. We
can count on from eight to ten hours."

"Not too much time!" Isaac muttered.

"No," Matt agreed, "it isn't." He turned to the palaeontologist. "Fetch
the walkie-talkie and the rifles, Nesbit. You and I and Isaac had
better look over the fort.

"Captain Bascom, will you see that everyone starts at once to packing?
I'll leave this end of the moving up to you."

He touched the button beside the port The ladder slowly descended.


                                  VI

There was a vivid spring greenness about the grass and foliage that
Matt couldn't recall having seen outside of England. To their left, the
muddy Salt emptied into the muddy Ohio behind them. The turf underfoot
was soft and springy.

Flanked by Nesbit and Isaac Trigg, Matt crossed to the disused drive.
Dead leaves and twigs littered it all the way to the gate, where
it disappeared through heavy steel doors into the fort. The doors
themselves, large enough to admit a freight car, stood open, a drift of
dead leaves piled against one massive panel.

"It's bristling with guns!" Isaac Trigg pointed at a row of slots that
ran across the second story. The grim snouts of fifty-calibre machine
guns poked wickedly through the embrasures.

Matt shifted his rifle into a handier position. He had seen the canvas
covered barrel of a 5.35 dual-purpose anti-aircraft gun on the roof.

Above the third floor, rows of windows began, narrow slits closed with
heavy bulletproof glass. Higher up, he made out banks of rocket guns.

"Seven months," he said half to himself.

"Eh?"

"I was thinking that only seven months have elapsed since these guns
were serviced. We should have no trouble getting them into operation."

He paused before the gaping entrance, peering into the dark cavern
ahead of them. "Get out your light," he told Nesbit.

The younger man snapped on his flash, the blade of light piercing the
gloom. The drive, Matt saw, led into a vaulted hall. Along one side ran
freight elevators. A loading platform lined the opposite wall. At the
rear, a spiral ramp led up from the basement to the floors above. An
abandoned truck was still in one of the elevators.

"If we can get the truck running," suggested Nesbit, "we can move the
equipment faster."

Matt nodded. "Do you smell anything?"

"Yes," agreed Isaac.

"It's not bad here, though," said Nesbit. He was still stiff with Matt
and addressed his comments pointedly to the director.

Matt said, "No. I imagine the living quarters are on the top floors.
Some of the men in space suits will have to clear out the rooms. But
that can wait. I'm curious about the source of power for the elevators
and lights. Let's try the basement."

They advanced cautiously into the hall, disturbing a bat which circled
eerily around and around the light. Nesbit flinched each time it
swooped close.

"Nasty beast!"

Matt didn't reply, his eyes searching out the dusty walls for a
stairway. "There." He pointed with his rifle.

The door stood open. Stairs descended into blackness.

The fort proved to have not one basement, but three. The first level
held trucks, tanks, half-tracks, and cars in solid ranks. The second
basement was stored with ammunition, the third held furnaces, a pumping
system and a power plant, the generating force being a massive atomic
boiler.

Matt whistled softly. "We'll have to get the engineers down here right
away."

Isaac said, "Three basements, thirty floors. It'll take us a month to
explore the building."

Matt turned to Nesbit. "Go back to the ship, Hi. Tell Captain Bascom
to send the chief engineer and the first assistant to put these atomic
engines back in operation. The second assistant engineer is to start
one of the trucks, load it with explosives and blow up all the bridges
across Salt River except the highway bridge.

"Tell Sawyer to take two more men and another truck and fortify the
highway bridge. Dismount some of these machine guns if necessary, and
set up a pill box at this end. String barbed wire across the bridge.
Got it?"

"Yes," said Nesbit. He turned to leave. "What should I do then?"

"Get another truck and start hauling our equipment into the fort. Isaac
and I are going to look over the upper floors."

Nesbit nodded and strode toward the stairs. "Come along, Isaac," said
Matt. "We've seen enough here."

       *       *       *       *       *

During the next hour, Matt got a fair idea of the plan of the lower
floors of the fort.

They had entered through the freight entrance in the rear, the main
doors fronting the highway, on the other side of which lay the small
town of West Point.

The lower levels were largely devoted to storage and offices. The fort,
he realized, had been equipped to withstand a siege. There were tons of
food and equipment. Above, they found forges, foundries, machine shops,
laboratories and even hydroponic gardens.

It was a world to itself; a world without any inhabitants.

They were on the seventeenth floor, examining the modern, well-equipped
guardhouse, when lights began to blink on.

Matt said, "That was quick work." He found an inter communication
televisor, hunted for the engine-room number and buzzed it
experimentally.

After a moment, the screen glowed and the square rough features of the
chief engineer flashed in its depths.

"Any trouble?" Matt asked.

"Nary a bit. The engine had been shut down. That was all."

"What about the elevators?"

"Power's been cut in on all lines."

"Good," said Matt. He snapped the televisor off, just as a dull boom
sounded in the distance.

"There goes one of the bridges," Isaac said nervously.

Matt cut in the walkie-talkie strapped to his back. "Captain Bascom.
Captain Bascom."

"Check," came Bascom's voice through earphones.

"How is the moving coming along?"

"Fine. We have three trucks shuttling between the ship and the freight
hall. Everyone's turned to." Matt glanced at his watch; they'd been at
the fort two hours.

"Arm the women with rifles," he told the captain. "Put Lynn in charge.
Have them bring our captives to the seventeenth floor. There's a brig
here where we can lock them in. Is Lynn handy?"

"She's right here."

"Let me speak to her."

"Right."

There was a silence; then Lynn's voice came clear and small. "That you,
Matt?"

"Yes," he said. "Now listen carefully. I'm putting you in charge of the
women. You're to bring those Amazons we captured to the seventeenth
floor of the fort. If any of them show fight, shoot them!"

He heard her gasp. "But, Matt...."

"Shoot them!" he interrupted fiercely. "We can't afford to take
chances--and there's plenty more where they came from!"

There was a pause, then Lynn said, "Yes," in a strained voice.

Matt clicked off the walkie-talkie. He realized Isaac was regarding him
with a queer expression.

Matt said, "Damn it, Isaac, we _can't_ afford to take chances. There
are nineteen of those Amazons locked in the messroom. They'd like
nothing better than to get the upper hand. They're mean, Isaac. Mean as
cats that have run wild!"

"You're right, of course," Isaac agreed. "But to order them shot down
if they...."

A second dull boom interrupted him as another bridge across Salt River
was blown by Barren, the third assistant engineer.

A buzzer on Matt's walkie-talkie began to whir softly. He clicked it
on. The voice of Sawyer, the fat biologist whom he had sent to fortify
the highway bridge, sounded in his ear.

"Sawyer reporting. Two cars coming from the direction of Louisville."

"Scouts?" Matt asked.

"I think so."

"Are you dug in yet?"

"We have one machine gun set up and barbed wire strung across the
bridge. We can hold them."

"Let them get on the bridge," said Matt. "Then shoot up the cars. See
if you can't put them out of commission."

"Very well. They're coming onto the bridge now--slow." There was a
silence. Then Matt heard Sawyer say, "Hold your fire." Again there was
a silence that stretched on and on. Matt could feel his nerves tighten
like violin strings. After an interminable period, Sawyer said, "Now!"
Obviously, he was turned away from the mouthpiece because his voice was
faint.

Matt's fists clenched as the distant rattle of a machine gun reached
his ears. There was a second burst, and a third.

"We knocked out one car," Sawyer's voice sounded suddenly in Matt's
ear. "The other got away."

"Too bad," said Matt. "But that still gives us about six hours before
they can bring up the main body."

There was a loud boom from the direction of the river. "What was that?"
Matt snapped.

"Barren. He just blew the railroad bridge. That's the last one except
the one we're guarding."

"O.K.," said Matt. "Hang on."

"Don't leave me stuck out here in case they cross at Shepherdsville and
come up behind us. I don't want to be cut off."

"Don't worry," said Matt. "I'm sending a scout car up the highway
toward Elizabethtown. They'll warn us in plenty of time if they come
that way."

He snapped the radio off and turned to Isaac. "Well, we may as well
wait here until Lynn fetches our captives," and lit a cigarette.

       *       *       *       *       *

By dark they had all the vital stores and their personal goods
transferred from the _Argus_ to the fort. The nineteen women from
Margot Drake's band were locked in the jail. The second assistant
engineer had dismantled key parts of the rocket ship so that it
couldn't be moved. And what was left of the bodies of the former
personnel of the fort were being removed from the top floors by a
special detail of space-suited men and dumped into the river.

Matt himself had seen to it that their defenses were in order.
Floodlights illuminated the grounds. The machine guns were oiled and
ammunition belts stacked handily.

At seven o'clock, he called in Jesse Sawyer. "Take up the machine gun,"
he ordered, "and let the bridge go. It isn't practical to hold it any
longer. I'm calling in the scout car from Elizabethtown."

"Good," came Sawyer's relieved voice. Matt detected a note of
excitement in it. "Good. I've something important that I want you to
see, Matt. Is the microscope set up?"

"Not ours," said Matt, "but the fort has some of the finest-equipped
laboratories I've ever seen. You can use the one here. What have you
found?"

"I'll be there in a jiffy. Show you then. But it's big, Matt. It's big.
I'll want you and Isaac in the laboratory. Yes, and Frazer, too." The
radio clicked off.

A frown furrowed Matt's brow. What the hell had Sawyer stumbled across?
He had never heard the biologist so urgent before. And Sawyer wasn't an
excitable person.

He wondered why he wanted Frazer, Isaac and himself all in the
laboratory?

Suddenly it struck him. Frazer was the biochemist. Isaac, besides being
the director, was the expedition's zoologist, and he himself was the
botanist!

It was not long before the three men were in the organic laboratory.
Jesse Sawyer entered, wheezing and dabbing at his moon face with a
handkerchief. Matt noticed that he was carrying a specimen jar in his
other hand.

"What have you found, Jesse?" Matt began, but the fat man waved him to
silence.

"Not so fast. I want a look at this under the microscope first. Then
I want all of you to see it, before I say anything. Where is the
microscope? Oh, here."

With trembling hands he began to prepare a slide. Matt watched him
fascinated, noting the deftness of the biologist's pudgy fingers. At
length, perspiring freely, Sawyer put his eye to the microscope, making
several adjustments. He drew in his breath sharply.

The jar that he had been carrying, Matt saw, was filled with some
liquid that radiated a pale yellow light. Was it phosphorescing? He
ran his hand through his coal black hair, his blue eyes narrowed.

"I thought so!" Sawyer muttered. "I thought so. Come here, Frazer. Take
a look."

The biochemist rose, looked through the microscope. "Well, I'll be
damned!" he ejaculated. "Where did you get that specimen?"

"Never mind. Isaac, you and Matt come see what you think."

When it came Matt's turn to put his eye to the aperture, he could
distinguish nothing at first. Then he made out dozens of minute
amoeba-like organisms squirming in the specimen on the slide.

Their resemblance to amoebae, he saw, was only superficial. Each one of
the minute organisms was glowing like a very small incandescent light.
He glanced up in bewilderment.

"Well," said Sawyer, "What do you make of them? Are they plant or
animal?"

"Where did they come from?" Matt asked.

"The river. That's a specimen of river water." The fat man pointed at
the bottle. "I tell you, Salt River and the Ohio are alive with these
organisms. Have you ever seen anything like them before?"

The three men shook their heads.

"What do you think, Jesse?" Matt asked the biologist.

"What do I think? I think they're the first evolutionary step of the
life spores that invaded Earth!"

"The life spores?"

The fat man nodded emphatically, crinkling an extra chin. "An alien
life form starting up the evolutionary ladder. I'm positive that
they're neither plant nor animal...."

"Then what are they?" Matt interrupted.

Jesse Sawyer shrugged fat shoulders. "I don't know. I want Frazer to
analyze them if he can."

"An alien life form!" said Matt speculatively. "Two dominant life forms
on the same planet...." He broke off as the eerie wail of sirens rent
the building.

"The Amazons! They're here!" he cried.

From the northeast corner of the building there came the staccato roar
of a machine gun.

"The roof!" Matt cried and dashed for the elevator.

The four men ran out on the landscaped roof. They made hurriedly for a
tight knot of men and women at the opposite rail.

Megaphones roared suddenly as Captain Bascom called through them:
"Don't approach any closer! We've machine guns trained over the
grounds!"

His voice was the voice of a giant through the electric megaphones.

Matt reached the rail and peered down. "Where are they?" he asked.

"There!" Lynn cried, pointing. Thirty stories below, Matt could see
the grounds lit by the flood lights as bright as day. At the edge of
illumination, he could make out tiny shadowy figures.

Suddenly, someone grasped his shoulder.

"Never mind the women," he heard Sawyer's voice grate in his ear. "Look
at the river!"

Matt raised his eyes. Salt River and the mile-wide Ohio were broad
glowing ribbons of light.

"The alien amoebas!" he gasped.


                                  VII

For moments, Matt Magoffin stared silently at the luminous rivers. Then
he turned to Lynn.

"Where's Captain Bascom?"

"On the second floor--in charge of the machine guns."

"Is there a telecaster up here?"

"Yes. Over there. Here, I'll show you." She led him back to the
elevator house to a telecaster set just inside the door.

Matt buzzed the second floor headquarters and told Captain Bascom to
fire a second burst over the women's heads.

The rattling burst of the machine guns answered. A hail of lead tore
through the branches in the distance, thudding against walls in the
town of West Point across the highway.

"They're sending us an emissary under a white flag," came Captain
Bascom's voice.

"We won't parley!" said Matt flatly. "Not tonight. Tell them to stay
clear and we'll talk to them in the morning."

In a moment, Captain Bascom's voice was relaying Matt's decision
through the electronic megaphones. Matt got back to the rail in time to
see the figures disappearing beyond the circle of light.

He turned away, getting a chance to survey the roof for the first time.
It was not flat, but in the shape of a vast amphitheatre. Apartments
were built like penthouses all around the outer edge, ringing a
park-like area in the center, where a grove of trees were growing on
the edge of a dry-leaf-cluttered swimming pool. There were walks, now
leaf-strewn, and the ivory gleam of statuary amid the shrubbery. Broad
marble stairways led up to the roofs of the penthouse where he stood.

These, too, were landscaped, except for the four corners where the
anti-aircraft guns pointed their snouts skyward like sentinels. A
helicopter, like a monstrous deformed gadfly, was squatting on the
sward atop the opposite penthouse.

Matt stepped back into the elevator house and called Captain Bascom.

"Post sentinels," he ordered. "Four. One at each corner. And relieve
them every two hours."

"Right," said Captain Bascom. "Anything else?"

"No. That's all, except that you'd better get some rest."

"The same goes for you," the captain suggested. "You look fagged out."

Matt nodded and turned away, conscious suddenly of fatigue dragging at
his limbs. Hunger gnawed at his belly. He remembered that he hadn't
eaten since breakfast.

He felt someone tug at his sleeve. It was Lynn beside him in the
moonlight.

"Come along, Iron Man," she said. "You may not know it, but you've been
going on nervous energy."

But Matt did know it. He allowed her to lead him down one of the stairs
descending to the park.

"What about the bodies?" he asked.

The girl shivered. "They've been moved out of all the penthouses, and
some of the apartments put in shape. I've picked us out one."

"Us?" said Matt and grinned wearily. "Oh. What about the floor below?"

"They haven't got to those yet, nor the other two floors."

They reached the park. The grass was shaggy, the shrubs beginning to
send out untrimmed shoots. Dead leaves cluttered everything.

"We'll have to groom these grounds," he said. "Can't live like savages."

"Relax!" she said, urging him into one of the lavish apartments. "This
is home. How do you like it?"

Matt's tired eyes took in the sea green carpet, the glowing walls,
the inviting chairs and sofas--especially the sofas. With a sigh, he
stretched himself full length on a rose brocaded lounge and closed his
eyes.

Lynn regarded him fondly and leaned over to kiss his eyelids. "Now wait
just a minute," she said. "I've made coffee and sandwiches. I'll be
right back."

It was fifteen minutes before she reappeared. She was carrying a tray
on which a silver coffee pot steamed, flanked by a plate of sandwiches.
She had combed out her yellow hair and slipped into a wicked black
negligee that did things to the slender almost girlish figure beneath
it.

A gentle snore greeted her at the threshold.

Lynn stopped, regarding the sleeping Matt with a grim expression. Then
very deliberately she set the tray down, seized his heels and dragged
him off the couch. He hit the floor with a thump and struggled, still
half-asleep, to his feet.

"If you're going to sleep, Romeo, you might as well use the bed."

"Bed?" said Matt groggily. "Where?"

"In there." She pointed toward a low doorway at the left.

And Matt went.

       *       *       *       *       *

Matt awoke the next morning alone, but a vague smell of perfume
lingered, and the pillow next his was crushed. The sound of whistling
came through the doorway.

He sprang out of bed, to discover that he was clad in a pair of his
pajamas, of a pale robin's-egg blue--and raised his eyebrows.

He lit a cigarette and prowled about the luxurious chamber, opening
doors and drawers. His clothes were hanging in one closet, but the
other was full of fluffy feminine apparel. The same condition prevailed
in the chests; one holding his own shirts, ties, socks; the other
crammed with lacy underthings.

He ran his hands through his rumpled hair, blue eyes gleaming with
interest. At length he went into the bath and showered and shaved.
There was only one thing that troubled him.

The water that poured from the shower glowed like a spray of light with
the minute phosphorescent organisms!

The alien amoebas had even invaded the subterranean pools.

"My sleeping beauty!" Lynn greeted him when he entered the breakfast
room.

Matt eyed her appreciatively. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was
wearing a crisp blue smock. The mouth-watering smell of frying ham and
eggs invaded his nostrils.

"Breakfast ready?"

"Yes, my somnolent lord. There also have been six calls for you." She
ticked them off on her fingers. "Isaac Trigg; then Captain Bascom. Then
Isaac Trigg again. After that Sawyer called; then Isaac Trigg. Finally,
Isaac Trigg called to say he was on the way up."

He said, "Let's eat."

"Aren't you curious?"

"Yes. But I'm also hungry. Can't you tell me while we eat?"

She sat down. "Sawyer called to let you know that Frazer has analyzed
the amoebas."

Matt looked at her sharply. "Well, what did he find?"

"They aren't carbon life at all. They're silicon life!"

Matt stared at her in disbelief. Theoretically, of course, it was
quite possible. Silicon had the ability to form complex molecules
very closely akin to carbon compounds. Somehow, though, he had
never seriously considered life manifesting itself in anything but
carbon-based protoplasm.

The girl went on before he could ask any questions. "Sawyer also said
that although they had examined sample after sample of the water, they
were unable to find a trace of the normal microscopic organisms usually
present.

"Apparently the silicon life has completely destroyed all the carbon
base forms!"

Matt put down his fork with a clatter. "That sounds serious!"

The girl frowned. "It struck me as ominous, but I couldn't see exactly
how."

Matt said, "Minute aquatic life feeds on the microscopic forms. Small
fish, minnows, and other fry, feed on the smaller aquatic creatures.
The minnows in turn supply food for larger species. It's a chain.
Destroy the first link and you destroy the whole chain. In weeks our
waters will be devoid of carbon-based life in any form!"

Lynn said, "Oh!" in a frightened voice.

A buzzer interrupted them.

"That must be Isaac," said the girl and pressed a button releasing the
front door.

Isaac Trigg, the director, came in, looking haggard and unshaven. Matt
thought Isaac was beginning to appear perpetually haggard.

The director took a seat and combed his beard nervously with his
fingers.

"What's on your mind, Isaac?" Matt asked.

"Those women!"

Matt frowned. "How so?"

"Frankly, Matt, they're raising hell. They demand that they be
released."

"Let them demand."

"Well, what are you going to do with them?"

Matt said, "That must be decided later." He cast a sidelong glance at
Lynn. "At the moment, it's more important that we get organized."

"Yes," agreed the director, "but some of the men are--er--anxious that
the prisoners' fate be settled. In fact one or two were inclined to
take it into their own hands. Nesbit's in back of it."

Matt's jaw set. He smashed his fist on the table so that the cups
danced. "Oh, no! We're not going to have those women running loose
inside the fort. They'd be worse than a Trojan horse any day.

"We've got work to do. And until we get settled, those women stay
behind bars."

Isaac swallowed. "I'm in complete accord. After all, I'm beyond the age
when women mean anything to me, but Nesbit--"

"Then that's settled!" said Matt emphatically and went on with his
breakfast.

All at once a low buzzing began to sound. "Door?" Matt asked.

Lynn shook her head. "Televisor." She threw a switch in the wall behind
her and a small inset screen glowed into life. Captain Bascom's square
visage filled the screen.

"So you're finally up," he began without preamble. "You're none too
soon. The delegates from the women's camp are on their way with a white
flag."

"How many?" Matt asked.

"Four."

"O.K.," said Matt. "Let them in and lock them in the brig. I'll talk to
them later."

Captain Bascom looked shocked. "But they're coming with a white flag to
parley...."

"I don't care if they're coming with angels. The more we capture, the
less are still outside opposing us. Throw them in the jail with the
others."


                                 VIII

It took the small group of survivors a week to adjust to their new
surroundings. During that time they explored the fort and began taking
an inventory. The laboratories were the first to be put back into
use. The greatest activity centered around the organic lab where the
biochemist, the biologist, and Isaac Trigg were immersed in the study
of the alien amoebas.

Matt Magoffin had converted the large front room of his and Lynn's
apartment into an office. He had been confronted with a thousand
problems clamoring all at once to be solved. He had ended by
obstinately refusing to tackle more than one at a time.

At the moment he was regarding Lynn rather balefully over his desk.
"It's intolerable!" she was saying. "This being under siege by a couple
of hundred women. We can't send an expedition out of the fort. We can't
leave the place...."

"And they can't batter their way in," he interrupted. "It's stalemate."

"But...."

"Never mind the buts! There are other things more important to
consider."

"What?" Lynn's expression was set in indignant lines. "All the
specialists have made lists of the things they consider vital--books,
instruments and raw materials. There's a good photographic lab here,
but no means of manufacturing film, lenses or cameras. I want the
material to make our own equipment. Everyone else is in the same boat.
And what happens? We're under siege by a lot of paranoic women, and we
can't stir a foot beyond the gates. Maybe you think other things are
more important. But I'd like to know what?"

"Look out the window," he said dryly.

A puzzled expression crept across Lynn's features. She twisted in her
chair and gazed out on the park-like roof garden.

The grass had been cut, shrubs trimmed, leaves and debris raked. Water
sparkled in the swimming pool. A fountain gurgled.

"But what...." She paused, wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't look so green
as when we first came! It's beginning to turn brown!"

"And this is May," he informed her. "It should be the greenest month."

"But I don't see...."

"I sent down a specimen of the soil to be analyzed yesterday. Sawyer
said the alien infestation has spread to the earth. Not the exact same
species as the organism in the water--a variation--an adaptation!"

"But I still don't see...."

He said grimly. "Do you remember how the amoebas killed all other
microscopic life forms in the water? The same thing is happening in the
soil.

"Plants depend to a large extent on the work of microbe like organisms
that convert minerals into a form that they can assimilate. With those
organisms dead, the vegetation is starving to death!"

The girl's eyes widened in horror. "But, Matt, every form of life
depends directly or indirectly on vegetation--even us!"

"Even us," he echoed in a grim voice. "But maybe we can make an island
out of this fort. Willie Shaw is experimenting with an aluminum oxide
glass to seal us in. Silicon wouldn't do. The engineers are drawing
plans for an air-conditioning unit that will destroy the alien amoebas.
We are going to enclose the roof in a glass dome.

"We can't destroy the alien protozoa all over the world. But we can
destroy them inside the fort."

"A hot-house culture!" The girl's shoulders slumped. "So that's to be
the future of the human race. If we survive at all!"

"That's about it," he said.

       *       *       *       *       *

Through the windows, he saw four men bearing down on his office. Hi
Nesbit, the young palaeontologist, was in the lead.

"Here comes trouble," said Matt. He pushed back from his desk and stood
up just as the four men entered.

Nesbit's lean jaw was thrust out; he planted himself squarely in front
of Matt. Matt found himself aching to take a sock at that inviting jaw
but he restrained himself.

"Well," he said, "why aren't you at work?"

Nesbit looked slightly taken aback; then he recovered himself. "Look
here, Matt, we've had enough of this shilly-shallying about the women.
You don't care, we know; you've got Lynn. But some of us aren't so
fortunate...."

Matt knocked him sprawling.

There was a shocked silence from the others as Nesbit toppled over a
chair and hit the floor with his shoulders.

The palaeontologist scrambled to his feet, his black eyes insane. He
started to swing, but Matt hit him in the mouth. Nesbit reeled back,
his mouth spilling blood.

"Damn you," said Nesbit. "I'll kill you for this!" He picked up a metal
chair.

Matt watched the younger man like a hawk as he closed in. There was
murder in Nesbit's eyes, heightened by the blood from his mouth.

Without warning, Matt kicked Nesbit's feet out from under him and then
kicked him in the temple. The palaeontologist went out like a candle.

Matt didn't trouble to give Nesbit a second glance, but looked up
swiftly at the three men who had accompanied the palaeontologist.

"Any more objections?"

Their faces were sick. Matt realized that the physical violence had
shocked them unutterably.

"Get on back to work, then!" he snapped. "And take that crazy
trouble-maker with you."

They picked up Nesbit silently and were starting to leave when Matt
stopped them.

"I'll have my eye on you," he said, "so walk softly. As for the women,
that's to be decided at the general assembly--tonight. Now get the hell
out of here!"

At three o'clock, Willie Shaw dropped in at Matt's office, nodded at
Lynn who was transcribing notes, and sat down in front of the desk.
Willie Shaw was a small dark woman of thirty-five, the expedition's
chemist. She was living with Alex Gist, the astro-physicist.

Matt said, "Hello, Willie. How's the work coming?"

"It's done," the woman replied. "That's what I came to see you about."

"Good."

"Not so good as you might think." She tucked a stray black curl into
place and sighed. "We've developed a plastic that can be sprayed on in
the molten state. When it cools it grows almost as hard as diamond.
But...."

"Go on," said Matt. "What's the trouble?"

"We don't have the raw materials."

Matt said, "Oh. What's needed?"

"Aluminum, principally. If we could get trucks through to Louisville,
we could get all we need. There were several aluminum plants there
before the plague."

"Just a minute." He buzzed the organic lab on the telecaster and got
Sawyer. "What's the latest development, Jesse?"

Sawyer passed a chubby hand across his eyes. They were red and swollen
with fatigue.

"Bad. Bad. We've distinguished nineteen distinct species, all
adaptations of the aquatic form. They reproduce in a rather peculiar
form of fission. Instead of dividing in half, they break up into twenty
or thirty units at maturity, each unit growing and breaking up into
twenty or thirty more. They grow rapidly--and adjust rapidly."

Matt whistled softly. "How much time?"

"Time for what?"

"Before they kill off all bacterial forms of life?"

"They already have!"

"What? But, good Lord, Jesse, surely you're wrong! That can't be true.
Why--why, it means we're too late! If all bacterial forms of life are
extinct, we're done for!"

"Keep your pants on," said Jesse wearily. "We're preserving about
a thousand types of bacteria--algae, amoeba, molds--in airtight
containers. Enough to give us a start when we get the fort sealed.
Plant life isn't going to last very long though--and neither is animal
life. We should lay in a supply of seeds, not to mention breeding
stocks of those animals we want to preserve. And in a hurry, too."

Slowly Matt clenched his fist.

"O.K., Jesse," he said. "Thanks. Drop everything else and get to work
on a toxic agent that'll destroy the alien amoebas inside the fort."

"Right."

The screen went dead.

Matt realized that Lynn was regarding him in dismay. He grinned at
her suddenly. "You win. We'll have to smash those women tomorrow."
He turned to Willie Shaw. "Get the engineers to help you design any
equipment you need. The fort will have to be sealed from top to bottom,
windows and all. What about the basements?"

"We can seal them from the inside."

"And the dome over the roof?"

"Build it up of plastic plates welded together. We'll need an airlock,
of course, and all the water will have to pass through the boilers. But
how are you going to handle the quantity of material that it'll take?
And we don't have a tenth enough workmen."

Matt frowned. "We'll have to put one of the factories in Louisville
back into operation, I suppose. But as for workmen...." He paused,
running his hand through his crisp black hair. "Why, we'll all have to
drop everything else and go to work on this--and that includes those
Amazons we captured!"

"But, Matt, how can you make _them_ work?" Lynn's eyes were enormous.

"Did you ever hear of chain gangs?" he asked savagely. "Of slave labor
and overseers with blacksnake whips?"

"But, Matt, surely you wouldn't...."

"I'd do anything to get this fort sealed in time! Anything! Is that
clear?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Clang! Clang! Clang! Sparks showered from the anvil as Steve Babcock,
stripped to the waist and sweating, his bare chest protected by a black
apron, hammered the band of iron. Steve, the square-faced, sandy-haired
chief engineer, was the only man who had any practical knowledge of
blacksmithing.

Matt watched him silently. The chief's shoulders and arm bulged like
gnarled tree burls. The hammer came down--_clang!--clang!_

They had set up the forge in the corridor outside the cells where the
twenty-three women were lodged. The chief straightened and wiped the
sweat out of his eyes. "All right," he said. "Fetch the first one out."

Matt nodded at Captain Bascom. There were three other men in the
corridor, silent and uneasy. They were all armed.

They stiffened as Captain Bascom inserted a key in the lock on Margot
Drake's cell door.

The door swung inward. "Come along now," said Matt gruffly. "No fuss."

"Go to hell!" said Margot Drake.

The lithe red-head regarded him defiantly. She was standing beside her
cot, small fists clenched, her red hair like a halo about her imperious
features.

Matt's mouth thinned, not enjoying the prospect, but he went into the
cell. The girl struck at him. He dodged and grabbed her wrist. In a
trice they had her out of the cell.

Margot kicked, screamed and called down imprecations on their heads,
but to no avail. They hoisted her onto the table and tied her left leg
across the anvil.

The chief spit on his hands, a grin cracking his face. "Regular devil,
isn't she?"

When they released her, a heavy iron band encircled her left ankle.
Panting and exhausted, she flung herself on the cot in her cell.
Captain Bascom shut and locked the door.

"O.K.," said the chief. "Bring on the next one."

Captain Bascom opened the next cell in line.

The tang of ozone, engendered by the blue electric-arc furnace was
faint in Matt's nostrils, and the peculiar smell of burning iron. He
thought grimly of the morrow when the besieging Amazons would have to
be liquidated.

They could convoy the trucks through the Amazon's lines with a couple
of the tanks that were stored in the basement. But he dismissed the
plan as soon as it presented itself. That way, they would have to
divide their strength, using precious manpower to guard the workers
when they needed everyone to convert the fortress into a sealed bastion
against the alien life form.

The girl on the table yelled sharply. Matt glanced at her. She was a
statuesque blonde. The iron, he realized, must have been too hot and
burned her ankle.

The chief flicked the sweat out of his eyes.

"Fetch the next one," Matt heard him say.


                                  IX

There was a large conference chamber on the twenty-ninth floor where
the directors of the world police had formerly met to discuss minor
peace infringements, hear complaints from various governments and
transact the multitudinous affairs when seven billion humans had
inhabited the planet.

Murals ran around the walls. A large T-shaped table, capable of seating
over a hundred, occupied the center of the room. And the acoustics were
so fine that a whisper could be heard distinctly from end to end.

Here the small party of explorers met immediately after dinner. They
were all there, except the four look-outs. Matt sat at the crossing of
the T, looking down the long table, with Captain Bascom on his left and
Isaac Trigg on his right.

The twenty-four Amazons, chained ankle to ankle, were ranged against
the back wall.

"Understand," said Isaac Trigg, his gray Van Dyke jerking angrily,
"we have a democracy in its purest form--not anarchism. Whatever the
decision of the majority is, it will hold for all of us!" And he bent
his gaze on Nesbit.

The palaeontologist looked sullen, Matt thought. His jaw was still
swollen and bruised. He sat about halfway down the table, gazing into
space.

"Before we take any steps about our--er--captives," Isaac went on,
"there are two things that should be made clear.

"In the present crisis, we need every hand we can get. If we are to
save any forms of carbon life at all--especially vegetation--there
isn't a moment to spare. This fort has to be converted into an airtight
island for our form of protoplasm, because, in weeks or months at the
longest, the alien protozoa will have made a desert of Earth!"

Matt heard a leg-band clank behind him in the silence. He twisted
around. Margot Drake was staring open mouthed at the director.

"It's not possible! You're lying!" she burst out in a throaty voice.

Isaac wheeled around.

"Lying? The chances are that all the normal bacterial organisms whether
in the water, soil or air have already been destroyed by the alien
amoebas! What do you think of that, young woman?"

Margot didn't say anything.

Isaac turned back to the table. "The second factor to be considered is
that these women are emotionally unbalanced."

There was a gasp of indrawn breath from his audience. He said, "Barb,
will you tell them of your findings?" and sat down.

Barb Poindexter, the psychiatrist, stood up slowly. She smoothed her
hands down her plump hips nervously.

"I have been examining the captives." Her voice gained in confidence
as she went on. "But, first, how many of you are not familiar with
Marties' law of equilibrium?"

At least half of them expressed their ignorance. "Then I'd better
explain it," she replied.

"Amiel Marties, who founded the school of mechanistic psychology,
formulated the law that whenever the equilibrium between life and death
is upset by war, famine, or pestilence, nature makes an effort to
restore the balance." She paused as several blank expressions still met
her eyes.

"In other words, when some catastrophe decimates the population, a
wave of seeming licentiousness grips everyone. Men and women appear to
be hurled into each other's arms by the force of their desires. It's
nature's attempt to restore life."

The psychologist's voice was very earnest. She talked, Matt thought, as
if she were reading a paper. As a plant biologist, he was familiar with
Marties' law of equilibrium.

"The catastrophe that depopulated the Earth is--is...." She groped
for an adjective, and gave up. "There's been nothing like it before.
Although we didn't witness the plague, we've been touched ourselves.
We lived together intimately for three years with no liaisons that I'm
aware of.

"But, when we return to find humanity destroyed, we become obsessed
with the necessity of producing children, restoring the equilibrium.

"These women"--she waved a plump hand toward the Amazons--"lived
through the plague. They don't realize it, but they are psychologically
twisted by that awful pestilence.

"Witness the fact that they have adopted every child that they could
find--and spoiled them and pampered them beyond reason. Witness their
squabble for men--and the rapidity with which they have abandoned
established morals and their former settled way of life.

"They are the product of a ravening nature trying desperately to
restore a status quo after a debacle, the magnitude of which has never
been rivaled in history.

"They aren't quite human!"

       *       *       *       *       *

She stood there, looking searchingly up and down the table to see what
effect her words had had. After a moment she asked, "Are there any
questions?"

Matt, who believed in striking while the iron was hot, asked, "You can
substantiate this?"

"Marties' Law?" She replied in a puzzled voice. "There are volumes of
proof. Marties' own paper. '_The Law of Nature's Equilibrium._' It has
pages and pages of statistics ... the abnormal laxity of morals during
World Wars I and II ... the effect of the cholera plagues in Naples,
in...." She broke off. "Oh, I could cite examples the rest of the
night."

"So what?" came Nesbit's challenging voice like a sword-cut. Barb
turned to him as if facing a heckler, her face suffusing rosily with
anger. "If you're unable to see how dangerous these women are, you
should be psychoanalyzed yourself!"

Matt said, "Explain, Barb."

"They've reverted to the primitive. A matriarchy is one of the earliest
forms of society. They are irresponsible and untrustworthy. If we are
to use them at all in the work ahead, they'll have to be handled like a
chain gang!"

"Amen!" said Matt with satisfaction.

Nesbit's face went white; he stared at Matt venomously.

Isaac Trigg asked, "Are their cases hopeless?"

"I wouldn't say that. But it will require weeks of treatment before
they can be admitted among us without danger. There's a mob psychology
about their aberration that is contagious." Barb Poindexter sank slowly
into her chair.

"That settles that!" said Matt. "Or is there any further objection to
keeping them segregated?" and he looked straight at Nesbit.

The palaeontologist looked as if he wanted to say plenty, but he kept
his mouth shut.

Margot Drake said suddenly in a ringing voice, "Do you mind if I ask a
question?"

Everyone turned to stare at the red-headed leader of the Amazons. She
was regarding them coolly.

"No," said Matt. "Go ahead."

"I'll pass up those cracks about our sanity," Margot said. "They may
or may not be true. I don't care. But is it a fact that the world is
coming to an end?"

It was the fat biologist who answered. "For our type of life--yes. For
this alien silicon-base species of protoplasm--no. A million, two
million years hence, the silicon amoebas may even evolve an intelligent
species. But, unless we establish a sanctuary here, there won't be any
humans to witness it. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," replied Margot. "Now I've a proposition to make."

"Go ahead," said Matt. There was a speculative gleam in his blue eyes.

"We need you," began Margot. "I'm not denying that. You've got the
knowledge monopolized. But you need us, too. We've got the woman-power
necessary to do the work that must be done...."

"You're suggesting that we combine forces?" said Matt.

Margot nodded.

"There's only one hitch," Matt pointed out. "We can't trust you!"

The red-head looked taken aback. "No," she agreed after a moment of
silence. "No, I suppose not--if you've swallowed all that hogwash...."

"And," Matt relentlessly pressed his point, "we have the fort. We have
tanks and guns and ammunition. We can build the sanctuary despite your
Amazons. It may take us longer, but it can be done. And your girls
can't save themselves from the gradual destruction of all carbon life.
They haven't the special knowledge that's needed."

"Then you won't consider...."

"No," interrupted Matt. "I didn't say that."

Margot Drake regarded the stocky black-haired palaeobotanist in
perplexity. "What do you propose?"

"That your forces disarm and give themselves up."

Two bright spots began to burn in Margot Drake's cheek bones. "That's
preposterous!"

Matt shrugged. The red-haired woman chewed her lip savagely. At length
she asked, "What would happen to us then?"

"Nothing," Matt replied with a grin. "You would have to work, of
course. But we're all going to do that--and take orders. Then you would
have to be segregated, at least until we get the fort encased, the
hydroponic gardens growing. But that's all."

"Segregated?"

"Yes. We could turn over a couple of floors to your girls. Put guards
at the stairways and elevators. I ought to warn you that I'd give
orders that any of them who are found off their floors should be shot
on sight."

For a long tense moment the silence held.

"We haven't much choice," Margot said at length from between her teeth.
"How can I contact my girls?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Matt's eyes were bright. "We'll release you. You can go talk to them
yourself. Of course we'll keep these other women as hostages. You can
have three hours. At the end of that time, if you haven't returned,
we'll hang one of your girls at the front gate every hour until you do!"

Margot stared at him in disbelief, then gradually realized that he was
serious. "When can I go?"

"Now."

"Now?" she said. "Where do I bring them?"

"Into the freight entrance--unarmed!--and in three hours."

"What about these irons?"

"We'll strike them off." He sent the chief engineer after the torch.
They waited in tense silence until the chief returned.

"Wait a moment," said Matt. "Hadn't we better put this to a vote?"

"Yes," agreed Isaac. He stood up. "Any objections?" They were too
stunned to offer any.

"Very well," said Isaac. "Strike off her shackles, Steve."

Matt leaned down the table. "Get your automatic, Lynn. Take Duff and
Jacob Haddin with you and escort her to the gate. Let her out, then
come straight back here."

Lynn nodded and slipped from the room. She was back by the time
Margot's shackle had dropped to the floor.

"O.K.," said Matt to the red-headed leader. "You can go now." He
glanced at his watch. "But if you're not back by eleven o'clock we
begin to hang your girls, one every hour until you do get back!"

Margot nodded silently. Escorted by Lynn and the two men, she
disappeared through the door.

Captain Bascom inquired in a tight voice, "What in hell are you
proposing, Matt?"

"To put the lot of them in irons. You don't suppose I'd trust them to
live up to their side of the agreement, do you?"

       *       *       *       *       *

The vast echoing hall that was the freight depot was ablaze with
lights. Matt Magoffin paced nervously back and forth in front of the
door, his chunky figure casting a monstrous shadow.

He glanced at his watch and took a last reassuring glance about the
hall. The freight elevator's door that lined the right hand wall were
all closed. The ramp was blocked; all the other exits were bolted.

The minutes dragged past.

Matt suddenly heard voices. Then a bell began to ring shrilly. He went
to the control box and pressed a button. The massive outer doors swept
soundlessly open.

The driveway outside was massed with women--lean women and fat women,
old and young, big and little. Margot Drake was at their head.

"Have you disposed of your arms?" Matt called.

"Yes." The red-headed leader stared into the silent empty hall, her
eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Then bring 'em in."

Margot hesitated, and then turned around. "Come on," she said.

Silent and curious, they filed inside. Matt spotted Sparks, a sheepish
expression on his face, and the two pilots.

"Hello," Matt called. "I see you boys are returning to the fold." They
grinned but didn't say anything.

The children trooped in last, almost a hundred of them. When they were
all inside, Matt walked to the door, closed and bolted it. Margot Drake
was at his elbow. "What floors do we get?"

"Twenty-ninth and thirtieth."

"How does it happen no one else is here?"

Matt could feel his heart thumping in his throat and his mouth was dry,
but he managed to grin.

"If you were planning treachery, I'm the only one you'd get." He
started for the side of the hall. "I'll call an elevator."

Matt could feel his palms sweating. He reached the wall and pressed the
button. A bell began to ring in the elevator shaft.

Eight of the doors slid open, revealing an ugly machine gun in each
car. Matt nimbly skipped into the nearest one.

"Get your women against the far wall, Margot Drake," he yelled, "or
we'll chop them into hamburger with the guns!"


                                   X

Summer was on the wane before the last plastic plate was welded in the
dome over the fortress, and the work was done.

Matt, accompanied by Isaac Trigg, made a tour of inspection from the
lowest basement with its water-purifiers to the park atop the roof.
They inspected the massive airlock, capable of passing a large freight
car, and the hydroponic gardens that occupied the entire seventh and
eighth floors.

"Not so fast, Matt," Isaac puffed. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

Matt grinned, slowing down. "Is Nesbit back from Louisville yet?"

"Yes. He thinks the city should be converted into a vast warehouse
where we could accumulate spoils from the other cities."

"That's not a bad idea," said Matt. "In a few years they won't have to
be guarded against anything except the weather. Sawyer was telling me
yesterday that he's discovered two hundred and thirty new species of
the silicon amoeba."

"They adapt fast," Isaac agreed. "We didn't get the fort sealed any too
soon. Let's take the elevator."

On the ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth floors, animals were
contentedly munching in stalls or exercising on treads under sun lamps.

"I'm sorry about the dogs," said Matt. "I wish to hell we could have
saved some dogs."

"Too wild," said Isaac.

Matt cast a slow glance over the floor before closing the elevator
doors. They had trapped cows and pigs, sheep and goats, chickens,
ducks, and turkeys, but there had been room for neither horses nor dogs.

They looked in at the shops and laboratory, and the school where the
children of the Amazons were being put through their lessons. It was
dusk when they reached the park on the roof.

There were birds in the park, half a dozen species, but they had gone
to roost in the grove of trees. The grass was green again, and the
water in the pool looked like water--not liquid light. A fish jumped,
making ripples that spread out and out to the tile edge. A squirrel
frisked across the lawn.

"We've done a good job," said Isaac complacently.

Matt frowned. It was raining outside like the night they had landed.
The water streamed down the plastic dome blurring the scene beyond. But
he didn't need to see; he knew. The sere brown grass, the bare skeleton
trunks and limbs of the trees.

Food had grown so scarce that the animals were mad with hunger. It was
dangerous to venture outside. But the winter would take care of them.
In the spring the Earth would be dead.

Not dead, exactly. There would be the community here, a tiny island of
the old life. And there were the new silicon protozoa. In a million
years they should evolve thousands of complex organisms. The Earth
would be cloaked again with a weird and fantastic life.

Matt said, "The job's not done, Isaac. It's just beginning."

"Eh?"

"Have you seen the plans the engineers are drawing up for the new city?"

"Oh," said Isaac. He chuckled in his chest. The community was deep in
plans for an immense city of plastic that was to cover thousands of
acres and be hundreds of levels high. A dream city. "The crystal city,"
he said.

Matt regarded him shrewdly. "Yes. Crystal City. It may take generations
to build, but we'll get it done."

There was a man approaching across the park. Matt recognized Nesbit.

"Hello, Matt," the palaeontologist called cheerily. "I brought you
something to hang in your living room." He held out a framed picture.

Matt glanced at it in surprise. It was an original Rembrandt etching:
the Goldweigher's Field.

"Thanks, Hi. I never thought I'd own a genuine Rembrandt. What have you
decided about the palaeontologist exhibits in the museums?"

"They're better off left where they are right now. In time, maybe we
can move them to Crystal City."

"Yes," Matt agreed. "Well, if I don't go in I'll be late for dinner."
His face lengthened. "I don't want that to happen again."

Both men chuckled. Nesbit called after him, "Next time I go to the
museum, I'll bring you one of Renoir's Nudes."

There had been a remarkable change in Nesbit, Matt reflected as he
hurried across the grass. But it didn't take a psychologist to get to
the bottom of the change.

There was the faintest hesitation in Matt's manner when he reached the
door of his apartment. Then he squared his shoulders, and pushed inside.

       *       *       *       *       *

Lynn and Margot Drake were sitting in the front room. They glanced up.

"Darling," they both said in the same breath. "You're late."

Matt winced. He said, "I've been busy."

A third girl stuck her head out of the dining room door. "So there you
are. Dinner's growing cold. Hurry up."

From upstairs a woman's voice called, "Is that Matt? It's about time.
We'll miss the show if we don't hurry."

Another feminine voice said from upstairs, "It's a new film Hi Nesbit
found in Louisville too."

"Come on," said Matt, "let's eat."

He ate silently, while his seven wives chattered lightly. After all,
he reflected, he was better off than Nesbit. The palaeontologist had
thirteen.

In the next generation, there would be a more even distribution of men
and women. Not, he reflected, that it would do him any good!

"Matt," said Lynn, "you won't have time to smoke."

"No," Margot chimed in, "you've barely time to dress."

He lit his cigarette deliberately.

"Matt!" Lynn's voice was frosty.

Matt's jaw set.

"Don't be pig-headed, dear," said the blonde at the foot of the table.

Matt's blue eyes narrowed.

"Get the hell out of here!" he roared suddenly. "All of you! And leave
me to finish my smoke in peace!"

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK SILENCE ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the
United States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.

1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
  United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
  you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that:

* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
  Literary Archive Foundation."

* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
  works.

* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
  receipt of the work.

* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without
widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.