COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 396
At the gate I lingered for a moment—do you remember this, Bellamy within me? Do you remember the plastic monuments we passed on the edge of the Park? Falconer and Brennan and the others, forever immortal, standing proud and godlike in the clear, eternal blocks. All passion spent, all fighting done, their glory assured forever. Did you envy them, too, Bellamy?
I remember how old Falconer's eyes seemed to look through me contemptuously. The number of heads he had taken is engraved on the base of his monument, and he was a very great man.
"Wait," I thought. "I'll stand in plastic, too. I'll take more heads than even you, Falconer, and the day that I do, it will be the day I can lay this burden down ..."
Just inside the gate, in the deep shadows, I slipped the bandage from my right hand. I drew my black knife and, close against the wall, I began to work my way rapidly toward the little gate which is nearest Griswold's mansion. I had, of course, no intention of going anywhere near the carousel site. Griswold would be in a hurry to get to me and out again, and he might not stop to think. Griswold was not a thinker. I gambled on his taking the closest route.
I waited, feeling very solitary and liking the solitude. It was hard to stay angry. The trees whispered in the darkness. The moon was rising from the Atlantic beyond Long Island. I thought of it shining on the Sound and on the city. It would rise like this long after I was dead. It would glitter on the plastic of my monument and bathe my face with cold light long after you and I, Bellamy, are at peace, our long war with each other ended.
-
THEN I heard Griswold coming. I tried to empty my mind of everything except killing. It was for this that my body and mind had been trained so painfully ever since I was six years old. I breathed deeply a few times. As always, the deep, shrinking fear tried to rise in me, fear, and something more. Something within me—is it you, Bellamy?—that says I do not really want to kill.
Then Griswold came into sight, and the familiar, hungry hatred made everything all right again.
I do not remember very much about the fight. It all seemed to happen within a single timeless interval, though I suppose it went on for quite a long while. It was a hard, fast, skillful fight. We both wore bulletproof clothing, but we were both wounded before we got close enough to try for each other's heads with steel. He favored a saber, which was longer than my machete. Still, it was an even battle. We had to fight fast, because the noise might draw other Hunters, if there were any in the Park tonight.
But in the end I killed him.
I took his head. The Moon was not yet clear of the high buildings on the other side of the Park and the night was young.
I summoned a taxi. Within minutes, I was back in my mansion, with my trophy. Before I would let the surgeons treat me, I saw to it that the head was taken to the laboratory for a quick treatment, a very quick preparation. And I sent out orders for a midnight Triumph.
While I lay on the table and the surgeons washed and dressed my wounds, the news was flashing through the city already. My servants were in Griswold's mansion, transferring his collections to my reception hall, setting up extra cases that would hold all my trophies, all True Jonathan Hull's and all of Griswold's, too. I would be the most powerful man in New York, under such masters as old Murdoch and one or two more. All my age-group and the one above it would be wild with envy and hate. I thought of Lindman and Cowles and laughed with triumph.
I thought it was triumph—then.
-
I STAND now at the head of the staircase, looking down at the lights and the brilliance, the row upon row of trophies, my wives in all their jewels. Servants are moving to the great bronze doors to swing them ponderously open. What will be revealed? The throng of guests, the great Hunters coming to give homage to a greater Hunter? Or—suppose no one has come to my Triumph, after all?
The bronze doors are beginning to open. And I'm afraid. The fear that never leaves a Hunter, except in his last and greatest Triumph, is with me now. Suppose, while I stalked Griswold tonight, some other Hunter ambushed even bigger game—what if, for example, someone has taken old Murdoch's head? Then someone else would be having a Triumph in New York tonight, a greater Triumph than mine!
The fear is choking me. I've failed. Some other Hunter has beaten me. I'm no good ...
No. Listen. Listen to them shouting my name! Look, look at them pouring in through the opened doors, all the great Hunters and their jewel-flashing women, thronging in to fill the bright hall beneath me. I feared too soon. I was the only Hunter in the Park tonight, after all. So I have won, and this is my Triumph.
There's Lindman. There's Cowles. I can read their expressions very, very easily. They can't wait to get me alone tonight and challenge me to a duel in the Park.
They all raise their arms toward me in salute. They shout my name.
I beckon to a servant. He hands me the filled glass that is ready. Now I look down at the Hunters of New York—I look down from the height of my Triumph—and I raise my glass to them.
I drink.
Hunters, you cannot rob me now.
I shall stand proud in plastic, godlike in the eternal block that holds me, all passion spent, all fighting done, my glory assured forever.
The poison works quickly.
This is the real Triumph!
The End
OR ELSE
Amazing Stories - August-September 1953
with Henry Kuttner
The reformers' main trouble is a blind spot when it comes to simple pragmatism. They know how to save the world, to save mankind from destruction, to save ten dollars a week against a rainy day. What they lack is actual experience. No man can expect to know how hard it is to save money when he's never had to fight like the devil to get his hands on a dime.
That's why Miguel wasn't impressed by all the fine talk this big-shot gringo was handing out. Anybody can swear off water when he's not dry as an old bone. Sort of "He laughs at scars who never felt a wound." But Miguel was no idiot. He knew you can't argue with a man who intends to kill you, if necessary, to save your life!
-
MIGUEL and Fernández were shooting inaccurately at each other across the valley when the flying saucer landed. They wasted a few bullets on the strange airship. The pilot appeared and began to walk across the valley and up the slope toward Miguel, who lay in the uncertain shade of a cholla, swearing and working the bolt of his rifle as rapidly as he could. His aim, never good, grew worse as the stranger approached. Finally, at the last minute, Miguel dropped his rifle, seized the machete beside him, and sprang to his feet.
"Die then," he said, and swung the blade. The steel blazed in the hot Mexican sun. The machete rebounded elastically from the stranger's neck and flew high in the air, while Miguel's arm tingled as though from an electric shock. A bullet came from across the valley, making the kind of sound a wasp's sting might make if you were hearing it instead of feeling it. Miguel dropped and rolled into the shelter of a large rock. Another bullet shrieked thinly, and a brief blue flash sparkled on the stranger's left shoulder.
"Estoy perdido," Miguel said, giving himself up for lost. Flat on his stomach, he lifted his head and snarled at his enemy.
The stranger, however, made no inimical moves. Moreover, he seemed to be unarmed. Miguel's sharp eyes searched him. The man was unusually dressed. He wore a cap made of short, shiny blue feathers. Under it his face was hard, ascetic and intolerant. He was very thin, and nearly seven feet tall. But he did seem to be unarmed. That gave Miguel courage. He wondered where his machete had fallen. He did not see it, but his rifle was only a few feet away.
The stranger came up and stood above Miguel.
"Stand up," he said. "Let us talk."
He spoke excellent Spanish, except that his voice seemed to be coming from inside Miguel's head.
"I will not stand up," Miguel said. "If I stand up, Fernández will shoot me. He is a very bad shot, but I would be a fool to take such a chance. Besides, this is very unfair. How much is Fernández paying you?"
The stranger looked austerely at Miguel.
"Do you know where I came from?" he asked.
"I don't care a centavo where you came from," Miguel said, wiping sweat from his forehead. He glanced toward a nearby rock where he had cached a goatskin of wine. "From los estados unidos, no doubt, you and your machine of flight. The Mexican government will hear of this."
"Does the Mexican government approve of murder?"
"This is a private matter," Miguel said. "A matter of water rights, which are very important. Besides, it is self-defense. That cabrón across the valley is trying to kill me. And you are his hired assassin. God will punish you both." A new thought came to him. "How much will you take to kill Fernández?" he inquired. "I will give you three pesos and a fine kid."
"There will be no more fighting at all," the stranger said. "Do you hear that?"
"Then go and tell Fernández," Miguel said. "Inform him that the water rights are mine. I will gladly allow him to go in peace." His neck ached from staring up at the tall man. He moved a little, and a bullet shrieked through the still, hot air and dug with a vicious splash into a nearby cactus.
The stranger smoothed the blue feathers on his head. "First I will finish talking with you. Listen to me, Miguel."
"How do you know my name?" Miguel demanded, rolling over and sitting up cautiously behind the rock. "It is as I thought. Fernández has hired you to assassinate me."
"I know your name because I can read your mind a little. Not much, because it is so cloudy."
"Your mother was a dog," Miguel said.
The stranger's nostrils pinched together slightly, but he ignored the remark. "I come from another world," he said. "My name is—" In Miguel's mind it sounded like Quetzalcoatl.
"Quetzalcoatl?" Miguel repeated, with fine irony. "Oh, I have no doubt of that. And mine is Saint Peter, who has the keys to Heaven."
Quetzalcoatl's thin, pale face flushed slightly, but his voice was determinedly calm. "Listen, Miguel. Look at my lips. They are not moving. I am speaking inside your head, by telepathy, and you translate my thoughts into words that have meaning to you. Evidently my name is too difficult for you. Your own mind has translated it as Quetzalcoatl. That is not my real name at all."
"De veras," Miguel said. "It is not your name at all, and you do not come from another world. I would not believe a norteamericano if he swore on the bones often thousand highly placed saints."
-
Quetzalcoatl's long, austere face flushed again.
"I am here to give orders," he said. "Not to bandy words with—Look here, Miguel. Why do you suppose you couldn't kill me with your machete? Why can't bullets touch me?"
"Why does your machine of flight fly?" Miguel riposted. He took out a sack of tobacco and began to roll a cigarette. He squinted around the rock. "Fernández is probably trying to creep up on me. I had better get my rifle."
"Leave it alone," Quetzalcoatl said. "Fernández will not harm you."
Miguel laughed harshly.
"And you must not harm him," Quetzalcoatl added firmly.
"I will, then, turn the other cheek," Miguel said, "so that he can shoot me through the side of my head. I will believe Fernández wishes peace, Señor Quetzalcoatl, when I see him walking across the valley with his hands over his head. Even then I will not let him come close, because of the knife he wears down his back."
Quetzalcoatl smoothed his blue steel feathers again. His bony face was frowning. "You must stop fighting forever, both of you," he said. "My race polices the universe and our responsibility is to bring peace to every planet we visit."
"It is as I thought," Miguel said with satisfaction. "You come from los estados unidos. Why do you not bring peace to your own country? I have seen los señores Humphrey Bogart and Edward Robinson in las películas. Why, all over Nueva York gangsters shoot at each other from one skyscraper to another. And what do you do about it? You dance all over the place with la señora Betty Grable. Ah yes, I understand very well. First you will bring peace, and then you will take our oil and our precious minerals."
-
Quetzalcoatl kicked angrily at a pebble beside his shiny steel toe. "I must make you understand," he said. He looked at the unlighted cigarette dangling from Miguel's lips. Suddenly he raised his hand, and a white-hot ray shot from a ring on his finger and kindled the end of the cigarette. Miguel jerked away, startled. Then he inhaled the smoke and nodded. The white-hot ray disappeared.
"Muchas gracias, señor," Miguel said.
Quetzalcoatl's colorless lips pressed together thinly. "Miguel," he said, "could a norteamericano do that?"
"Quién sabe?"
"No one living on your planet could do that, and you know it."
Miguel shrugged.
"Do you see that cactus over there?" Quetzalcoatl demanded. "I could destroy it in two seconds."
"I have no doubt of it, señor."
"I could, for that matter, destroy this whole planet."
"Yes, I have heard of the atomic bombs," Miguel said politely. "Why, then, do you trouble to interfere with a quite private little argument between Fernández and me, over a small water hole of no importance to anybody but—"
A bullet sang past.
Quetzalcoatl rubbed the ring on his finger with an angry gesture.
"Because the world is going to stop fighting," he said ominously. "If it doesn't we will destroy it. There is no reason at all why men should not live together in peace and brotherhood."
"There is one reason, señor."
"What is that?"
"Fernández," Miguel said.
"I will destroy you both if you do not stop fighting."
"El señor is a great peacemaker," Miguel said courteously. "I will gladly stop fighting if you will tell me how to avoid being killed when I do."
"Fernández will stop fighting too."
Miguel removed his somewhat battered sombrero, reached for a stick, and carefully raised the hat above the rock. There was a nasty crack. The hat jumped away, and Miguel caught it as it fell.
"Very well," he said. "Since you insist, señor, I will stop fighting. But I will not come out from behind this rock. I am perfectly willing to stop fighting. But it seems to me that you demand I do something which you do not tell me how to do. You could as well require that I fly through the air like your machine of flight."
Quetzalcoatl frowned more deeply. Finally he said, "Miguel, tell me how this fight started."
"Fernández wishes to kill me and enslave my family."
"Why should he want to do that?"
"Because he is evil," Miguel said.
"How do you know he is evil?"
"Because," Miguel pointed out logically, "he wishes to kill me and enslave my family."
-
There was a pause. A road-runner darted past and paused to peck at the gleaming barrel of Miguel's rifle. Miguel sighed.
"There is a skin of good wine not twenty feet away—" he began, but Quetzalcoatl interrupted him.
"What was it you said about the water rights?"
"Oh, that," Miguel said. "This is a poor country, señor. Water is precious here. We have had a dry year and there is no longer water enough for two families. The water hole is mine. Fernández wishes to kill me and enslave—"
"Are there no courts of law in your country?"
"For such as us?" Miguel demanded, and smiled politely.
"Has Fernández a family too?" Quetzalcoatl asked.
"Yes, the poors," Miguel said. "He beats them when they do not work until they drop."
"Do you beat your family?"
"Only when they need it," Miguel said, surprised. "My wife is very fat and lazy. And my oldest, Chico, talks back. It is my duty to beat them when they need it, for their own good. It is also my duty to protect our water rights, since the evil Fernández is determined to kill me and—"
Quetzalcoatl said impatiently, "This is a waste of time. Let me consider." He rubbed the ring on his finger again. He looked around. The road-runner had found a more appetizing morsel than the rifle. He was now to be seen trotting away with the writhing tail of a lizard dangling from his beak.
Overhead the sun was hot in a clear blue sky. The dry air smelled of mesquite. Below, in the valley, the flying saucer's perfection of shape and texture looked incongruous and unreal.
"Wait here," Quetzalcoatl said at last. "I will talk to Fernández. When I call, come to my machine of flight. Fernández and I will meet you there presently."
"As you say, señor," Miguel agreed. His eyes strayed.
