The Edmond Hamilton Megapack: 16 Classic Science Fiction Tales by Edmond Hamilton
Authors: Edmond Hamilton
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leaning, towering figures of stone, moving forever in their lonely orbit, going nowhere, returning to nowhere.
Then he saw the second tug overhead. He forgot his daydreams. “They’re going to act as a spotter,” he said. Shearing grunted but did not speak. His whole mind was concentrated on maintaining the cloak. Hyrst stopped him still in the pitchy shadow under what might have been a kneeling woman sixty feet high. He watched the tug. It lazed away, circling slowly, and he did not think it had seen them. He could not any longer see the place where they had landed, but he assumed that by now the yacht had looped back and come in—if not there somewhere close by. They could figure on nine to eleven men hunting them, depending on whether they left the ships guarded or not. Either way, it was too many.
“Listen,” he said aloud to Shearing. “Listen, I want to ask you. What you said about latent impressions—you think I might have seen and heard the killer even though I was unconscious?”
“Especially heard. Possible. With your increased power, and ours, impressions received through sense-channels but not recognized at the time or remembered later might be recovered.” He shook his head. “Don’t bother me.”
“I just wanted to know,” said Hyrst. He thought of his son, and the two daughters he hoped he would never see. He thought of Elena. It was too late to do anything for her, but the others were still living. So was he, and he intended to stay that way, at least until he had done what he set out to do.
“Old Bellaver was behind that killing, wasn’t he? Old Quentin, this one’s grandfather.”
“Yes. Don’t bother me.”
“One thing more. Do we Lazarites live longer than men?”
Shearing gave him a curious, brief look. “Yes.”
The tug was out of sight behind a massive rearing shape that seemed to clutch a broken ship between its paws. Symbolic, perhaps, of space? Who knew? Hyrst led Shearing in wild impala-like leaps across an open space, and into a narrow way that twisted, filled with darkness, among the bases of a group that resembled an outlandish procession following a king.
“How much longer?”
“Humane Penalty first came in a hundred and fourteen years ago, right? After Seitz’ method was perfected for saving spacemen. I was one of the first they used it on.”
“My God,” said Hyrst. Yet, somehow, he was not as surprised as he might have been.
“I’ve aged,” said Shearing apologetically. “I was only twenty-seven then.”
They crouched, beside a humped shape like a gigantic lizard with a long tail. The tug swung overhead and slowly on.
Hyrst said, “Then it’s possible the one who killed MacDonald is still alive?”
“Possible. Probable.”
Hyrst bared his teeth, in what was not at all like a smile. “Good,” he said. “That makes me happy.”
They did not do any talking after that. They had had their helmet radios operating on practically no power at all, so that they couldn’t be picked up outside a radius of a few yards, but even that might be too close, now that Bellaver’s men had had time to get suited and fan out. They shut them off entirely, communicating by yanks and nudges.
For what seemed to Hyrst like a very long time, but which was probably less than half an hour in measured minutes, they dodged from one patch of shadow to another, following an erratic course that Hyrst thought would lead them away from the ships. Once more the tug went over, slow, and then Hyrst didn’t see it again. The idea that they might have given up occurred to him but he dismissed it as absurd. With the helmet mike shut off, the silence was beginning to get on his nerves. Once he looked up and saw a piece of cosmic debris smash into a monolith. Dust and splinters flew, and a great fragment broke off and fell slowly downward, bumping and rebounding, and all of it as soundless as a dream. You couldn’t hear yourself walk, you couldn’t hear anything but the roar of
Then he saw the second tug overhead. He forgot his daydreams. “They’re going to act as a spotter,” he said. Shearing grunted but did not speak. His whole mind was concentrated on maintaining the cloak. Hyrst stopped him still in the pitchy shadow under what might have been a kneeling woman sixty feet high. He watched the tug. It lazed away, circling slowly, and he did not think it had seen them. He could not any longer see the place where they had landed, but he assumed that by now the yacht had looped back and come in—if not there somewhere close by. They could figure on nine to eleven men hunting them, depending on whether they left the ships guarded or not. Either way, it was too many.
“Listen,” he said aloud to Shearing. “Listen, I want to ask you. What you said about latent impressions—you think I might have seen and heard the killer even though I was unconscious?”
“Especially heard. Possible. With your increased power, and ours, impressions received through sense-channels but not recognized at the time or remembered later might be recovered.” He shook his head. “Don’t bother me.”
“I just wanted to know,” said Hyrst. He thought of his son, and the two daughters he hoped he would never see. He thought of Elena. It was too late to do anything for her, but the others were still living. So was he, and he intended to stay that way, at least until he had done what he set out to do.
“Old Bellaver was behind that killing, wasn’t he? Old Quentin, this one’s grandfather.”
“Yes. Don’t bother me.”
“One thing more. Do we Lazarites live longer than men?”
Shearing gave him a curious, brief look. “Yes.”
The tug was out of sight behind a massive rearing shape that seemed to clutch a broken ship between its paws. Symbolic, perhaps, of space? Who knew? Hyrst led Shearing in wild impala-like leaps across an open space, and into a narrow way that twisted, filled with darkness, among the bases of a group that resembled an outlandish procession following a king.
“How much longer?”
“Humane Penalty first came in a hundred and fourteen years ago, right? After Seitz’ method was perfected for saving spacemen. I was one of the first they used it on.”
“My God,” said Hyrst. Yet, somehow, he was not as surprised as he might have been.
“I’ve aged,” said Shearing apologetically. “I was only twenty-seven then.”
They crouched, beside a humped shape like a gigantic lizard with a long tail. The tug swung overhead and slowly on.
Hyrst said, “Then it’s possible the one who killed MacDonald is still alive?”
“Possible. Probable.”
Hyrst bared his teeth, in what was not at all like a smile. “Good,” he said. “That makes me happy.”
They did not do any talking after that. They had had their helmet radios operating on practically no power at all, so that they couldn’t be picked up outside a radius of a few yards, but even that might be too close, now that Bellaver’s men had had time to get suited and fan out. They shut them off entirely, communicating by yanks and nudges.
For what seemed to Hyrst like a very long time, but which was probably less than half an hour in measured minutes, they dodged from one patch of shadow to another, following an erratic course that Hyrst thought would lead them away from the ships. Once more the tug went over, slow, and then Hyrst didn’t see it again. The idea that they might have given up occurred to him but he dismissed it as absurd. With the helmet mike shut off, the silence was beginning to get on his nerves. Once he looked up and saw a piece of cosmic debris smash into a monolith. Dust and splinters flew, and a great fragment broke off and fell slowly downward, bumping and rebounding, and all of it as soundless as a dream. You couldn’t hear yourself walk, you couldn’t hear anything but the roar of
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