The Three Brains of Taval had spoken! Kenley
must die! The cheerful youth from an earlier
time-strata must enter Death-in-Life. Nothing less
than a cosmic revolt could postpone his decreed fate.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1940.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The warm, night air whipped Bob Winslow's face as he crossed the
open space before Kerla Research, Inc., to the car where Jim Kenley,
his roommate and lifelong friend was waiting. A storm was roaring in
from the west, revealing the city's skyline at frequent intervals
silhouetted against a background of sheet lightning. Bob should have
been elated to the point of near explosion, over the news he could give
Jim. Bob was to be promoted for his achievements in polarization of
the newly discovered Decka light stream, and for his development of the
electronoscope that had given astronomy a new universe to explore.
Instead, Bob had a sixth sense of actual fear, as if something
invisible--invincible, was trailing him. Recently this feeling had
come, sometimes at night, arousing him abruptly, as if actually
touched. All today, and now tonight, the feeling grew that a Presence
was at hand. Small matter if he was to be director of Kerla Research,
Inc., at the age of twenty-six. Bob wondered if his nerves were shot.
Maybe, but he felt steady enough.
The car was at the curb and Jim, as far removed from a world of
scientific research as one could imagine, swung open the door. "Mean
storm coming," he called. "Must be hail in it. Let's scram for home. We
can listen in to that night ball game."
Water splashed Bob's face. He was thinking, as he crossed the pavement,
that Jim lived as much in the world of sports as he in the field of
scientific investigation. Jim Kenley worked hard as an auditor in
the daytime. Off duty, it might be football, horse racing, tennis or
baseball. He liked all of them, and could hardly wait for the score, or
result of a standout event. Perhaps that was why Bob liked Jim so well.
Bob was at the car as the first wave of rain and wind, broken into
needle point mist, obscured lights and broke over them. He saw that,
and then more. He saw Jim catapulted from the car as if pushed by
invisible hands. Then Bob felt himself gripped, and felt, not chill
rain, but absolute zero. It surely took no more time than the fraction
of a second, before he plunged into a white world--a world without
motion, without sound. But in that flicker of time fading so swiftly,
Bob saw men in strange raiment, at first opaque, then solidifying.
He saw, too, an elongated, golden red craft without wheels; and from
it emerged a tall man with a silver skull cap. After that--absolute
zero. It couldn't have been a point above. That was Bob's last
thought--absolute zero.
A tired sleeper arouses slowly, hovering between consciousness and
dreamland because the mind dreads taking over mastership of the body.
Such was the way Bob Winslow experienced his awakening. It was so
comfortable, to rouse slightly, then plunge back into soft, warm
slumber. At last voices disturbed his brain, and light beat against
closed lids. With a sigh Bob opened his eyes.
After one startled look Bob closed them briefly. He wasn't in his
room. He was in a strange place, a room with tinted, translucent walls
and concealed lights. The bed, sheet, everything about it, were odd.
Bob started to get up. Sharp pains streaked along arms and legs.
They passed and he tried it again. There was so much to take in: the
squat chairs of semi-transparent material, the room with a screen at
the farther end, flanked with metallic disks. The room itself, while
rectangular, had curved corners.
There was a peculiar scent in the room, pungent, yet not unpleasant. It
had an exhilarating effect. And Bob thought suddenly of Jim Kenley. He
had to laugh then, for Jim bounced up beside him, eyes wide. "Huh," he
said. "Tornado hit us? What sort of hospital is this?"
It came back to Bob--his departure from the laboratory building, to the
car as the storm bore down. Then the figures--and the machine! That
wasn't a dream. For Bob knew he was wide awake now, and this place
was real enough. "Maybe," he answered Jim. "I suppose it is a sort of
hospital. But where?"
"I'm hungry," Jim announced, yawning. "Ouch! Damned funny. Pains all
over. Like I'd been running ten miles. Sa-a-ay! Bob, I got hit out
of the car, and somebody piled ice on me. Hey--where the hell's my
clothes. Let's get out of this dump. Are there any nurses anywhere."
The disks across the room began to whir, without noise. Before either
could speak again, the screen began to send out a soft glow. Then a
figure materialized, that of a man, full sized, in a sort of garment
fitting like waist jacket and tight trousers, but in a single piece.
The man wore a helmet, chromium bright, and looked no more than forty.
Bob and Jim waited, the former fully aware that a tremendous change,
somehow, had come into their lives. As for Jim Kenley, he merely
grunted. "Movies. Gimme Mickey Mouse, or Popeye. T'hell with Flash
Gordon."
Then the figure on the screen spoke. His words didn't come from a
speaker. As certain as he believed his own eyes and ears, Bob realized
the man was actually talking to them, from this screen. "I perceive the
actinic frequency treatment has revived you," he said, rather amiably.
"Good. Did either of you experience muscular pains yet?"
"Say," Jim Kenley exclaimed, "what t'hell's it all about. Yeah, I got
pains. And why? Somebody slugged me, that's why.
"And if we're okay now, how about sending our clothes around, and no
bill. I didn't start it. And where are we anyway?"