The HARPERS of

TITAN

A Captain Future NOVELET by EDMOND HAMILTON

Again Simon Wright, the "Brain", lives in a human body, and in that guise contends

with the most hideous peril he has ever faced--a menace driving a planet to madness!

CHAPTER I

Shadowed Moon

His name was Simon Wright, and

once he had been a man like other

men. Now he was a man no longer,

but a living brain, housed in a metal

case, nourished by serum instead of

blood, provided with artificial senses

and means of motion.

The body of Simon Wright, that had

known the pleasures and ills of

physical existence, had long ago

mingled with the dust. But the mind of

Simon Wright lived on, brilliant and

unimpaired.

HE ridge lifted, gaunt and rocky,

along the rim of the lichen forest,

the giant growths crowding to the very

crest and down the farther slope into

the valley.

Here and there was a clearing

around what might once have been a

temple, now long fallen into ruin. The

vast ragged shapes of the lichens

loomed above it, wrinkled and wind-

torn and sad. Now and again a little

breeze came and set them to rustling

with a sound like muted weeping,

shaking down a rotten, powdery dust.

Simon Wright was weary of the

ridge and the dun-gray forest, weary

of waiting. Three of Titan's nights had

passed since he and Grag and Otho

and Curt Newton, whom the System

knew better as Captain Furore, had

hidden their ship down in the lichen-

forest and had waited here on the

ridge for a man who did not come.

This was the fourth night of

waiting, under the incredible glory of

Titan's sky.

But even the pageant of Saturn,

girdled with the blazing Rings and

attended by the brilliant swarm of

moons, failed to lift Simon's mental

spirits. Somehow the beauty above

only accentuated the dreariness below.

Curt Newton said sharply, "If

Keogh doesn't come tonight, I'm

going down there and look for him."

He looked outward through a rift in

T

the lichens, to the valley where Moneb

lay--a city indistinct with night and

distance, picked out here and there

with the light of torches.

Simon spoke, his voice coming

precise and metallic through the

artificial resonator."Keogh's message

warned us on no account to go into the

city. Be patient, Curtis. He will

come."

Otho nodded. Otho, the lean, lithe

android who was so exactly human

that only a disturbing strangeness in

his pointed face and green, bright eyes

betrayed him.

"Apparently," Otho said, "there's a

devil of a mess going on in Moneb,

and we're liable to make it worse if

we go tramping in before we know

what it's all about."

HE manlike metal form of Grag

moved impatiently in the shadows

with a dull clanking sound. His

booming voice crashed loud against

the stillness.

"I'm like Curt," he said. "I'm tired

of waiting."

"We are all tired," said Simon. "But

we must wait. From Keogh's

message, I judge that he is neither a

coward nor a fool. He knows the

situation. We do not. We must not

endanger him by impatience."

Curt sighed. "I know it." He settled

back on the block of stone where he

was sitting. "I only hope he makes it

soon. These infernal lichens are

getting on my nerves."

Poised, effortlessly upon the unseen

magnetic beams that were his limbs,

Simon watched and brooded. Only in

a detached way could he appreciate

the picture he presented to others --a

small square metal case, with a

strange face of artificial lens-eyes and

resonator-mouth, hovering in the

darkness.

To himself, Simon seemed almost a

bodiless ego. He could not see his

own strange body. He was conscious

only of the steady, rhythmic throbbing

of the serum-pump that served as his

heart, and of the visual and auditory

sensations that his artificial sense-

organs gathered for him.

His lenslike eyes were capable of

better vision under all conditions than

the human eye, but even so he could

not penetrate the shifting, tumultuous

shadows of the valley. It remained a

mystery of shaking moonlight, mist

and darkness.

It looked peaceful. And yet the

message of this stranger, Keogh, had

cried for help against an evil too great

for him to fight alone.

Simon was acutely conscious of the

T

dreary rustling of the lichens. His

microphonic auditory system could

hear and distinguish each separate tiny

note too faint for normal ears, so that

the rustling became a weaving,

shifting pattern of sound, as of ghostly

voices whispering ­a sort of

symphony of despair.

Pure fancy, and Simon Wright was

not given to fancies. Yet in these

nights of waiting he had developed a

definite sense of foreboding. He

reasoned now that this sad whispering

of the forest was responsible, his brain

reacting to the repeated stimulus of a

sound-pattern.

Like Curt, he hoped that Keogh

would come soon.

Time passed. The Rings filled the

sky with supernal fire, and the moons

went splendidly on their eternal way,

bathed in the milky glow of Saturn.

The lichens would not cease from

their dusty weeping. Now and again

Curt Newton rose and went restlessly

back and forth across the clearing.

Otho watched him, sitting still, his

slim body bent like a steel bow. Grag

remained where he was, a dark

immobile giant in the shadows,

dwarfing even Newton's height.

Then, abruptly, there was a sound

different from all other sounds. Simon

heard, and listened, and after a

moment he said:

"There are two men, climbing the

slope from the valley, coming this

way."

Otho sprang up. Curt voiced a

short, sharp "Ah!" and said, "Better

take cover, until we're sure."

The four melted into the darkness.

Simon was so close to the strangers

that he might have reached out one of

his force-beams and touched them.

They came into the clearing, breathing

heavily from the long climb, looking

eagerly about. One was a tall man,

very tall, with a gaunt width of

shoulder and a fine head. The other

was shorter, broader, moving with a

bearlike gait. Both were Earthmen,

with the unmistakable stamp of the

frontiers on them, and the hardness of

physical labor. Both men were armed.

They stopped. The hope went out of

them, and the tall man said

despairingly,

"They failed us. They didn't come.

Dan, they didn't come!"

Almost, the tall man wept.

"I guess your message didn't get

through," the other man said. His

voice, too, was leaden. "I don't know,

Keogh. I don't know what we'll do

now. I guess we might as well go

back."

Curt Newton spoke out of the

darkness. "Hold on a minute. It's all

right."

URT moved out into the open

space, his lean face and red hair

clear in the moonlight.

"It's he," said the stocky man. "It's

Captain Future." His voice was shaken

with relief.

Keogh smiled, a smile without

much humor in it. "You thought I

might be dead, and someone else

C

might keep the appointment. Not a

far-fetched assumption. I've been so

closely watched that I dared not try to

get away before. I only just managed

it tonight."

He broke off, staring, as Grag came

striding up, shaking the ground with

his tread. Otho moved in from beyond

him, light as a leaf. Simon joined

them, gliding silently from among the

shadows.

Keogh laughed, a little shakily.

"I'm glad to see you. If you only knew

how glad I am to see you all!"

"And me!" said the stocky man. He

added, "I'm Harker."

"My friend," Keogh told the

Futuremen. "For many years, my

friend." Then he hesitated, looking

earnestly at Curt. "You will help me?

I've held back down there in Moneb

so far. I've kept the people quiet. I've

tried to give them courage when they

need it, but I'm only one man. That's

a frail peg on which to hang the fate of

a city."

Curt nodded gravely. "We'll do all

we can. Otho--Grag! Keep watch,

just in case."

Grag and Otho disappeared again.

Curt looked expectantly at Keogh and

Harker. The breeze had steadied to a

wind, and Simon was conscious that it

was rising, bringing a deeper plaint

from the lichens.

Keogh sat down on a block of stone

and began to talk. Hovering near him,

Simon listened, watching Keogh's

face. It was a good face. A wise man,

Simon thought, and a strong one,

exhausted now by effort and long fear.

"I was the first Earthman to come

into the valley, years ago," Keogh

said. "I liked the men of Moneb and

they liked me. When the miners began

to come in, I saw to it that there was

no trouble between them and the

natives. I married a girl of Moneb,

daughter of one of the chief men.

She's dead now, but I have a son here.

And I'm one of their councilors, the

only man of foreign blood ever

allowed in the Inner City.

"So you see, I've swung a lot of -

weight and have used it to keep peace

here between native and outlander.

But now!"

He shook his head. "There have

always been men in Moneb who hated

to see Earthmen and Earth civilization

come in and lessen their own

influence. They've hated the

Earthmen who live in New Town and

work the mines. They'd have tried

long ago to force them out, and would

have embroiled Moneb in a hopeless

struggle, if they'd dared defy tradition

and use their one possible weapon.

Now, they're bolder and are planning

to use that weapon."

Curt Newton looked at him keenly.

"What is this weapon, Keogh?"

Keogh's answer was a question.

"You Futuremen know these worlds

well ­ I suppose you've heard of the

Harpers?"

Simon Wright felt a shock of

surprise. He saw incredulous

amazement on Curt Newton's face.

"You don't mean that your

malcontents plan to use the Harpers

as a weapon?"

Keogh nodded somberly. "They

do."

Memories of old days on Titan

were flashing through Simon's mind;

the strange, strange form of life that

dwelt deep in the great forests, the

unforgettable beauty wedded to

dreadful danger.

"The Harpers could be a weapon,

yes," he said, after a moment. "But the

weapon-would slay those who

wielded it, unless they were protected

from it.".

"Long ago," Keogh answered, "the

men of Moneb had such a protection.

They used the Harpers, then. But use

of them was so disastrous that it was

forbidden, put under a tabu.

"Now, those who wish to force out

the Earthmen here plan to break that

tabu. They want to bring in the

Harpers, and use them."

Harker added, "Things were all

right until the old king died. He was a

man.His son is a weakling. The

fanatics against outland civilization

have got to him, and he's afraid of his

own shadow. Keogh has been holding

him on his feet, against them."

IMON saw the almost worshipful

trust in Harker's eyes as he

glanced at his friend.

"They've tried to kill Keogh, of

course," Harker said. "With him gone,

there'd be no leader against them."

Keogh's voice rose, to be heard over

the booming and thrumming of the

lichens.

"A full council has been called for

two days from now. That will be the

timeof decision ­whether we, or the

breakers of tabu, will rule in Moneb.

And I know, as I know truth, that

some land of a trap has been set for

me.

"That is where I will need you

Futuremen's help, most desperately.

But you must not be seen in the town.

Any strangers now would excite

suspicion, and you are too well known

and ­" he glanced at Simon and added

apologetically, "distinctive."

He paused. In that pause, the boom

and thunder of the lichen was like the

slatting of great sails in the wind, and

Simon could not hear the little furtive

sound from behind him until it was

too late ­a second too late.

A man leaped into the clearing.

Simon had a fleeting glimpse of

copper-gold limbs and a killer's face,

and a curious weapon raised. Simon

spoke, but the bright small dart was

already fled.

In the same breath, Curt turned and

drew and fired. The man dropped. Out

in the shadows another gun flashed,

and they heard Otho's fierce cry.

There was a timeless instant when

no one moved, and then Otho came

back into the clearing. "There were

only two of them, I think."

"They followed us!" Harker

exclaimed. "They followed us up here

to ­"

He had been turning, as he spoke.

He suddenly stopped speaking, and

S

then cried out Keogh's name.

Keogh lay face down in the

powdery dust. From out his temple

stood a slim bronzed shaft little larger

than a needle, and where it pierced the

flesh was one dark drop of blood.

Simon hovered low over the

Earthman. His sensitive beams

touched the throat, the breast, lifted

one lax eyelid.

Simon said, without hope, "He still

lives."

CHAPTER II

Unearthly Stratagem

RAG carried Keogh through the

forest and, tall man that .Keogh

was, he seemed like a child in the

robot's mighty arms. The wind

howled, and the lichens shook and

thundered, and it was growing darker.

"Hurry!" said Harker. "Hurry -

there may still be a chance!"

His face had the white, staring look

that comes with shock. Simon was

still possessed of emotion - sharper,

clearer emotions than before, he

thought, divorced as they were from

the chemical confusions of the flesh.

Now he knew a great pity for Harker.

"The Comet is just ahead," Curt

told him.

Presently they saw the ship, a

shadowed bulk of metal lost among

the giant growths. Swiftly they took

Keogh in, and Grag laid him carefully

on the table in the tiny laboratory. He

was still breathing, but Simon knew

that it would not be for long.

The laboratory of the Comet, for all

its cramped size, was fitted with

medical equipment comparable to

most hospitals­most of it designed for

its particular purpose by Simon

himself, and by Curt Newton. It had

been used many times before for the

saving of lives. Now the two of them,

Simon and Curt together, worked

feverishly to save Keogh.

Curt wheeled a marvellously

compact adaptation of the Fraser unit

into place.

Within seconds the tubes were

clamped into Keogh's arteries and the

pumps were working, keeping the

blood flowing normally, feeding in a

stimulant solution directly to the heart.

The oxygen unit was functioning.

Presently Curt nodded.

"Pulse and respiration normal. Now

let's have a look at the brain."

He swung the ultrafluoroscope

into position and switched it on.

Simon looked into the screen,

hovering close to Curt's shoulder.

"The frontal lobe is torn beyond

repair," he said. "See the tiny barbs on

that dart? Deterioration of the cells

has already set in."

Harker spoke from the doorway.

"Can't you do something? Can't you

save him?" He stared into Curt's face

for a moment, and then his head

dropped forward and he said dully,

"No, of course you can't. I knew it

when he was hit."

All the strength seemed to run out

of him. He leaned against the door, a

G

man tired and beaten and sad beyond

endurance.

"It's bad enough to lose a friend.

But now everything he fought for is

lost, too. The fanatics will win, and

they'll turn loose something that will

destroy not only the Earthmen here,

but the entire populace of Moneb too,

in the long run."

Tears began to run slowly from

Harker's eyes. He did not seem to

notice them. He said, to no one, to the

universe, "Why couldn't I have seen

him in time? Why couldn't I have

killed him ­ in time?"

For a long, long moment, Simon

looked at Harker. Then he glanced

again into the screen, and then aside at

Curt, who nodded and slowly

switched it off. Curt began to remove

the tubes of the Fraser unit from

Keogh's wrists.

Simon said, "Wait, Curtis. Leave

them as they are."

Curt straightened, a certain startled

wonder in his eyes. Simon glided to

where Harker stood, whiter and more

stricken than the dead man on the

table.

Simon spoke his name three times,

before he roused himself to answer.

"Yes?"

"How much courage have you,

Harker? As much as Keogh? Am

much as I?"

Harker shook his head.

"There are times when courage

doesn't help a bit."

"Listen to me, Harker! Have you

courage to walk be-beside Keogh into

Moneb, knowing that he is dead?"

The eyes of the stocky man

widened. And Curt Newton came to

Simon and said in a strange voice,

"What are you thinking of?"

"I am thinking of a brave man who

died in the act of seeking help from

us. I am thinking, of many innocent

men and women who will die,

unless... Harker, it is true, is it not,

that the success of your fight

depended on Keogh?"

ARKER'S gaze dwelt upon the

body stretched on the table ­ a

body that breathed and pulsed with the

semblance of life borrowed from the

sighing pumps.

"That is true," he said. "That's why

they killed him. He was the leader.

With him gone ­ "Harker's broad

hands made a gesture of utter loss.

"Then it must not be known that

Keogh died."

Curt said harshly, "No! Simon, you

can't do it!"

"Why not, Curtis? You are

perfectly capable of completing the

operation."

"They've killed the man once.

They'll be ready to do it again. Simon,

you. can't risk yourself! Even if I

could do the operation ­ no!"

Something queerly pleading came

into Curt's gray eyes. "This is my kind

of a job, Simon. Mine and Grag's and

Otho's. Let us do it."

"And how will you do it?" Simon

asked. "By force? By reasoning? You

are not omnipotent, Curtis. Nor are

H

Grag and Otho. You, all three of you,

would be going into certain death, and

even more certain defeat. And I know

you. You would go."

Simon paused. It seemed to him

suddenly that he had gone mad, that

he must be mad to contemplate what

he was about to do. And yet, it was

the only way ­ the only possible

chance of preventing an irretrievable

disaster.

Simon knew what the Harpers

could do, in the wrong hands. He

knew what would happen to the

Earthmen in New Town. And he knew

too what retribution for that would

overtake the many guiltless people of

Moneb, as well as the few guilty ones.

He glanced beyond Harker and saw

Grag standing there, and Otho beside

him, his green eyes very bright, and

Simon thought, I made them both, I

and Roger Newton. I gave them hearts

and minds and courage. Some day

they will perish, but it will not be

because I failed them.

And there was Curt, stubborn,

reckless, driven by the demon of his

own loneliness, a bitter searcher after

knowledge, a stranger to his own kind.

Simon thought. We made him so,

Otho and Grag and I. And we wrought

too well. There is too much iron in

him. He will break, but never bend ­

and I will not have him broken

because of me!

Harker said, very slowly, "I don't

understand."

Simon explained. "Keogh's body is

whole. Only the brain was destroyed.

If the body were supplied with another

brain ­ mine ­ Keogh would seem to

live again, to finish his task in

Moneb."

Harker stood for a long moment

without speaking. Then he whispered,

"Is that possible?"

"Quite possible. Not easy, not even

safe ­ but possible."

Harker's hands clenched into fists.

Something, a light that might have

been hope, crept back into his eyes.

"Only we five," said Simon, "know

that Keogh died. There would be no

difficulty there. And I know the

language of Titan, as I know most of

the System tongues.

"But I would still need help ­ a

.guide, who knew Keogh's life and

could enable me to live it for the short

time that is necessary. You, Harker.

And I warn you, it will not be easy."

Harker's voice was low, but steady.

"If you can do the one thing, I can do

the other."

Curt Newton said angrily, "No one

is going to do anything of the sort.

Simon, I won't have any part of it!"

The stormy look that Simon knew

so well had come into Curt's face. If

Simon had been able to, he would

have smiled. Instead, he spoke exactly

as he had spoken so many times

before, long ago when Curt Newton

was a small redheaded boy playing in

the lonely corridors of the laboratory

hidden under Tycho, with no

companions but the robot, the android,

and Simon, himself.

"You will do as I say, Curtis!" He

turned to the others. "Grag, take Mr.

Harker into the main cabin. See that

he sleeps, for he will need his

strength. Otho, Curtis will want your

help."

Otho came in and shut the door. He

glanced from Simon to Curt and back

again, his eyes brilliant with a certain

acid amusement. Curt stood where he

was, his jaw set, unmoving.

imon glided over to the cabinets

built solidly against one wall.

Using the wonderfully adaptable

force-beams more skilfully than a man

uses his hands, he took from them the

needful things ­ the trephine saw, the

clamps and sutures, the many-shaped

delicate knives. And the other things,

that had set modern surgery so far

ahead of the crude Twentieth Century

techniques. The compounds that

prevented bleeding, the organic

chemicals that promoted cell

regeneration so rapidly and fully that a

wound would heal within hours and

leave no scar, the Stimulants and

anaesthetics that prevented shock, the

neurone compounds.

The UV tube was pulsing overhead,

sterilizing everything in the

laboratory. Simon, whose vision was

better and touch more sure than that of

any surgeon dependent on human

form, made the preliminary incision in

Keogh's skull.

Curt Newton had still not moved.

His face was as set and stubborn as

before, but there was a pallor about it

now, something of desperation.

Simon said sharply, "Curtis!"

Curt moved then. He came to the

table and put his hands on it beside the

dead man's head, and Simon saw that

they trembled.

"I can't," he whispered. "Simon, I

can't do it. I'm afraid."

Simon looked steadily into his eyes.

"There is no need to be. You will not

let me die."

He held out a glittering instrument.

Slowly, like a man in a dream, Curt

took it.

Otho's bright gaze softened. He

nodded to Simon, across Curt's

shoulder, and smiled. There was

admiration in that smile, for both of

them.

Simon busied himself with other

things.

"Pay particular attention, Curtis, to

the trigeminal, glossopharyngeal,

facial ­"

"I know all about that," said Curt,

with a peculiar irritation.

"­pneumogastric, spinal accessory,

and hypoglossal nerves," Simon

finished. Vials and syringes were laid

in a neat row. "Here is the anaesthetic

to be introduced into my serum-

stream. And immediately after the

operation, this is to be injected

beneath the dura and pia mater."

Curt nodded. His hands had stopped

shaking, working now with swift, sure

skill. His mouth had thinned to a grim

line.

Simon thought, He'll do. He'll

always do.

There was a moment, then, of

S

waiting. Simon looked down at the

man John Keogh and of a sudden fear

took hold of him, a deep terror of what

he was about to do.

He was content as he was. Once,

many years before, he had made his

choice between extinction and his

present existence. The genius of Curt's

own father had saved him then, given

him new life, and Simon had made

peace with that life, strange as it was,

and turned it to good use. He had

discovered the advantages of his new

form ­ the increased skills, the ability

to think clearly with a mind unfettered

by useless and uncontrollable

impulses of the flesh. He had learned

to be grateful for them.

And now, after all these years...

He thought, I cannot do it, after all!

I, too, am afraid ­ not of dying, but of

life.

And yet, beneath that fear was

longing, a hunger that Simon had

thought mercifully dead these many

years.

The longing to be once again a

man, a human being clothed in flesh.

The cold, clear mind of Simon

Wright, the precise, logical

unwavering mind, reeled under the

impact of these mingled dreads and

hungers. They leaped up full stature

from their graves in his subconscious.

He was shocked that he could still be

prey to emotion, and the voice of his

mind cried out, I cannot do it! No, I

cannot!

Curt said quietly, "All ready,

Simon."

Slowly, very slowly, Simon moved

and came to rest beside John Keogh.

He saw Otho watching him, with a

look of pain and understanding, and ­

yes, envy. Being unhuman himself,

Otho would know, where others could

only guess.

Curt's face was cut from stone. The

serum-pump broke its steady rhythm,

and then went on.

Simon Wright passed quietly into

the darkness.

CHAPTER III

Once Born of Flesh

earing came first. A distant

confusion of sounds, seeming

very dull and blurred. Simon's first

thought was that something had gone

wrong with his auditory mechanism.

Then a chill wing of memory brushed

him, and in its wake came a pang of

fear, and a sense of wrongness.

It was dark. Why should it be so

dark in the Comet?

From far off, someone called his

name. "Simon! Simon, open your

eyes!"

Eyes?

Again that dull inchoate terror. His

mind was heavy. It refused to

function, and the throb of the serum-

pump was gone.

The serum-pump, Simon thought. It

has stopped, arid I am dying!

He must call for help. That had

happened once before, and Curt had

saved him. He cried out, "Curtis, the

H

serum-pump has stopped!"

The voice was not his own, and it

was formed so strangely.

"I'm here, Simon. Open your eyes."

A long unused series of motor relays

clicked over in Simon's brain at that

repeated command. Without

conscious volition he raised his

eyelids. Someone's eyelids, surely not

his own! He had not had eyelids for

many years!

He saw.

Vision like the hearing, dim and

blurred. The familiar laboratory

seemed to swim in a wavering haze.

Curt's face, and Otho's, and above

them the looming form of Grag, and a

strange man... No, not strange; he had

a name and Simon knew it ­ Harker.

That name started the chain, and

Simon remembered. Memory pounced

upon him, worried him, tore him, and

now he could feel the fear ­ the

physical anguish of it, the sweating,

the pounding of the heart, the painful

contraction of the great bodily

ganglia.

"Raise your hand, Simon. Raise

your right hand." There was a strained

undertone in Curt's voice. Simon

understood. Curt was afraid he might

not have done things properly.

Uncertainly, like a child who has

not yet learned coordination, Simon

raised his right hand. Then his left. He

looked at them for an endless moment

and let them fall. Drops of saline

moisture stung his eyes, and he

remembered them. He remembered

tears.

"You're all right," Curt said shakily.

He helped Simon raise his head and

held a glass to his lips. "Can you drink

this? It will clear away the fog, give

you strength."

Simon drank, and the act of

drinking had wonder in it.

The potion counteracted the

remaining effects of the anaesthetic.

Sight and hearing cleared, and he had

his mind under control again. He lay

still for some time, trying to adjust

himself to the all but forgotten

sensations of the flesh.

The little things. The crispness of a

sheet against the skin, the warmth, the

pleasure of relaxed lips. The memory

of sleep.

He sighed, and in that, too, there

was wonder. "Give me your hand,

Curtis. I will stand."

Curt was on one side, Otho on the

other, steadying him. And Simon

Wright, in the body of John Keogh,

rose from the table where he had lain

and stood upright, a man and whole.

By the doorway, Harker fell

forward in a dead faint.

Simon looked at him, the strong

stocky man crumpled on the floor, his

face gray and sick. He said, with a

queer touch of pity for all humanity, "I

told him it would not be easy."

But even Simon had not realized

just how hard it would be.

There were so many things to be

learned all over again. Long used to a

weightless, effortless ease of

movement, this tall rangy body he

now inhabited seemed heavy and

awkward, painfully slow. He had great

difficulty in managing it. At first his

attempts to walk were a series of

ungainly staggerings wherein he must

cling to something to keep from

falling.

His sense of balance had to undergo

a complete readjustment. And the

dullness of his sight and hearing

bothered him. That was only

comparative, he knew ­ Keogh's sight

and hearing had been excellent, by all

human standards. But they lacked the

precision, the selectivity, the clarity to

which Simon had become

accustomed. He felt as though his

senses were somehow muffled, as by a

veil.

And it was a strange thing, when he

stumbled or made an incautious

movement, to feel pain again.

UT as he began to gain control

over this complicated bulk of

bone and muscle and nerve, Simon

found himself taking joy in it. The

endless variety of sensory and tactile

impressions, the feeling of life, of

warm blood flowing, the knowing of

heat and cold and hunger were

fascinating.

Once born of flesh, he thought, and

clenched his hands together. What

have I done? What madness have I

done?

He must not think of that, nor of

himself. He must think of nothing but

the task to be done, in the name of

John Keogh who was dead.

Harker recovered from his faint.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "It was just

that I saw him ­ you ­ rise up and

stand, it ­ "He did not finish. "I'm all

right, now. You don't have to worry."

Simon noticed that he kept his eyes

averted as much as possible. But there

was a dogged look about him that

said-he told the truth.

"We ought to get back as soon as

you can make it," Harker said. "We ­

Keogh and I, have been gone too long

as it is."

He added, "There's just one thing.

What about Dion?"

"Dion?"

"Keogh's son."

Simon said slowly, "No need to tell

the boy. He could hot understand, and

it will only torture him."

Mercifully, he thought, the time

would be short. But he wished that

Keogh had not had a son.

Curt interrupted. "Simon, I've been

talking to Harker. The council is

tonight, only a few hours away. And

you will have to go alone into the

Inner City, for there Harker is not

allowed to enter.

"But Otho and I are going to try to

get around Moneb and into the council

hall, secretly. Harker tells me that was

Keogh's idea, and it's a good one ­ if

it works. Grag will stay with the ship,

on call if necessary."

He handed Simon two objects, a

small mono-wave audio disc and a

heavy metal box only four inches

square.

"We'll keep in touch with the

audios," he said. "The other is a hasty

B

adaptation of the Comet's own

repellor field, but tuned for sonic

vibrations. I had to rob two of the coil

units. What do you think of it?"

Simon examined the tiny box, the

compact, cunning interior

arrangement of oscillators, the capsule

power unit, the four complicated

grids.

"The design might have been

further simplified, Curtis ­ but, under

the circumstances, a creditable job. It

will serve very well, in case of

necessity."

"Let's hope," said Curt feelingly,

"that there won't be any such case."

He looked at Simon and smiled. His

eyes held a deep pride and admiration.

"Good luck," he said.

Simon held out his hand. It was

long and long since he had done that.

He was amazed to find his voice

unsteady.

"Take care," he said. "All of you."

He turned and went out, going still

a bit uncertainly, and behind him he

heard Curt speaking low and savagely

to Harker.

"If you let anything happen to him,

I'll lull you with my own hands!"

Simon smiled.

Harker joined him, and they went

together through the lichen forest,

ghostly under the dim, far Sun. The

tall growths were silent now that the

wind had died. And as they went,

Harker talked of Moneb and the men

and women who dwelt there. Simon

listened, knowing that his life

depended on remembering what he

heard.

But even that necessity could not

occupy more than one small part of

his mind. The rest of it was busy with

the other things ­ the bitter smell of

dust, the chill bite of the air in the

shaded places, the warmth of the sun

in the clearings, the intricate play of

muscles necessary to the taking of a

step, the rasp of lichen fronds over

unprotected skin, the miracle of

breathing, of sweating, of grasping an

object with five fingers of flesh.

The little things one took for

granted. The small, miraculous

incredible things that one never

noticed until they were gone.

He had seen the forest before as a

dun-gray monochrome, heard it as a

pattern of rustling sound. It had been

without temperature, scent or feel.

Now it had all of these things. Simon

was overwhelmed with a flood of

impressions, poignant almost beyond

enduring.

e gathered strength and sureness

as he went. By the time he

breasted the slope of the ridge, he

could find pleasure in the difficulty of

climbing, scrambling up over

treacherous slides of dust, choking,

coughing as the acrid powder invaded

his lungs.

Harker swore, shambling bearlike

up the steep way among the lichens.

And suddenly Simon laughed. He

could not have said what made him do

so. But it was good to laugh again.

They avoided the clearing by

H

common consent. Harker led the way,

lower down across the ridge. They

came out onto open ground, and

Simon was touched beyond measure

to find that he had a shadow.

They paused to get their breath, and

Harker glanced sidelong at Simon, his

eyes full of a strange curiosity.

"How does it feel?" he asked. "How

does it feel to be a man again?"

Simon did not answer. He could

not. There were no words. He looked

away from Harker, out over the valley

that lay so quiet under the shadowy

Sun. He was filled with a strange

excitement, so that he felt himself

tremble.

As though suddenly frightened by

what he had said, and all the things

that were implicit in that question,

Harker turned suddenly and plunged

down the slope, almost running, and

Simon followed. Once he slipped and

caught himself, gashing his hand

against a rock. He stood motionless,

watching with wondering eyes the

slow red drops that ran from the cut,

until Harker had called him three

rimes by Keogh's name, and once by

his own.

They avoided the New Town. "No

use asking for trouble," Harker said,

and led the way past it down a ravine.

But they could see it in the distance, a

settlement of metalloy houses on a

shoulder of the ridge, below the black

mouth of the mines. Simon thought

the town was strangely quiet.

"See the shutters on the windows?"

Harker asked. "See the barricades in

the streets? They're waiting, waiting

for tonight."

He did not speak again. At the foot

of the ridge they came to an open

plain, dotted with clumps of grayish1

scrub. They began to cross it, toward

the outskirts of the city.

But as they approached Moneb a

group of men came running to meet

them. At their head Simon saw a tall,

dark-haired boy.

Harker said, "That is your son."

His skin a lighter gold, his face a

mixture of Keogh's and something of

a softer beauty, his eyes very direct

and proud, Dion was what Simon

would have expected.

He felt a sense of guilt as he greeted

the boy by name. Yet mingled with it

was a strange feeling of pride. He

thought suddenly, I wish that I had

had a son like this, in the old days

before I changed.

And then, desperately, "I must not

think these things! The lure of the

flesh is pulling me back."

Dion was breathless with haste, his

face showing the marks of

sleeplessness and worry.

"Father, we've scoured the valley

for you! Where have you been?"

Simon started the explanation that

he had concerted with Harker, but the

boy cut him short, racing from one

thing to another in an urgent flood of

words.

"You didn't come, and we were

afraid something had happened to

you. And while you were gone, they

advanced the time of the council!

They hoped you wouldn't come back

at all, but if you did, they were going

to make sure it was too late."

Dion's strong young hand gripped

Simon's arm. "They're already

gathering in the council hall! Come

on. There may still be time, but we

must hurry!"

Harker looked grimly over the

boy's head at Simon. "It's come

already."

With Keogh's impatient son, and

the men with him, they hurried on into

the city.

Houses of mud brick, generations

old, and towering above them the wall

of the Inner City, and above that still

the roofs and squat, massive towers of

the palaces and temples, washed with

a kind of lime and painted with ocher

and crimson.

HE air was full of smells ­ of

food and the smoke of Cooking

fires, acrid-sweet, of dust, of human

bodies oiled and fragrant and musky,

of old brick crumbling in the sun, of

beasts in pens, of unknown spices.

Simon breathed them deeply, and

listened to the echo of his footsteps

ring hollow from the walls. He felt the

rising breeze cold on his face that was

damp with sweat. And again the

excitement shook him, and with it

came a sort of awe at the

magnificence of human sensation.

I had forgotten so much, he

thought. And how was it possible ever

to forget?

He walked down the streets of

Moneb, striding as a tall man strides,

his head erect, a proud fire in his eyes.

The dark-haired folk with skins of

golden copper watched him from the

doorways and sent the name of Keogh

whispering up the lanes and the

twisting alleys.

It came to Simon that there was yet

another thing in the air of Moneb ­ a

thing called fear.

They came to the gates in the inner

wall. Here Harker dropped helplessly

back with the other men, and Simon -

and the son of Keogh went on alone.

Temple and palace rose above him,

impressive and strong, bearing in

heroic frescoes the history of the kings

of Moneb. Simon hardly saw them.

There was a tightness in him now, a

gathering of nerves.

This was the test ­ now, before he

was ready for it. This was the time

when he must not falter, or the thing

he had done would be for nothing, and

the Harpers would be brought into the

valley of Moneb.

Two round towers of brick, a low

and massive doorway. Dimness,

lighted by torches, red light flaring on

coppery flesh, on the ceremonial robes

of the councilors, here and there on a

helmet of barbaric design. Voices,

clamoring over and through each

other. A feeling of tension so great

that the nerves screamed with it.

Dion pressed his arm and said

something that Simon did not catch,

but the smile, the look of love and

pride, were unmistakable. Then the

boy was gone, to the shadowy benches

T

beyond.

Simon stood alone.

At one end of the low, oblong hall,

beside the high, gilded seat of the

king, he saw a group of helmeted men

looking toward him with hatred they

did not even try to conceal, and with

it, a contempt that could only come

from triumph.

And suddenly from out of the

uneasy milling of the throng before

him an old man stepped and put his

hands on Simon's shoulders, and

peered at him with anguished eyes.

"It is too late, John Keogh," the old

man said hoarsely. "It is all for

nothing. They have brought the

Harpers in!"

CHAPTER IV

The Harpers

IMON felt a cold shock of recoil.

He had not looked for this. He had

not expected that now, this soon, he

might be called upon to meet the

Harpers.

He had met them once before, years

ago. He knew the subtle and terrible

danger of them. It had shaken him

badly then, when he was a brain

divorced from flesh. What would it do

to him, now that he dwelt again in a

vulnerable, unpredictable human

body?

His hand closed tightly on the tiny

metal box in his pocket. He must

gamble that it would protect him from

the Harpers'power. But, remembering

that experience of years ago, he

dreaded the test.

He asked the old councillor, "Do

you know this to be true, about the

Harpers?"

"Taras and two others were seen at

dawn, coming back from the forest,

each bearing a hidden thing. And ­

they wore the Helmets of Silence."

The old man gestured toward the

group of men by the king's throne who

looked with such triumphant hatred at

he whom they thought to be John

Keogh.

"See, they wear them still!"

Swiftly, Simon studied the helmets.

At first glance they had seemed no

more than the ordinary bronze battle-

gear of a barbaric warrior. Now he

saw that they were of curious design,

covering the ears and the entire cranial

area, and overlarge as though padded

with many layers of some insulating

material.

The Helmets of Silence. He knew,

now, that Keogh had spoken truly

when he told of an ancient means of

protection used long ago by the men

of Moneb against the Harpers. Those

helmets would protect, yes.

The king of Moneb rose from his

throne. And the nervous uproar in the

hall stilled to a frozen tension.

A young man, the king. Very

young, very frightened, weakness and

stubbornness mingled in his face. His

head was bare.

"We of Moneb have too long

tolerated strangers in our valley ­

have even suffered one of them to sit

S

in this council and influence our

decisions," he began.

Here there was a sharp uneasy

turning of heads toward "Keogh."

"The strangers' ways more and

more color the lives of our people.

They must go ­ all of them! And since

they will not go willingly, they must

be forced!"

He had learned the speech by rote.

Simon knew that from the way in

which he stumbled over it, the way in

which his eyes slid to the tallest of the

cloaked and helmeted men beside

him, for prompting and strength. The

dark, tall man whom Simon

recognized from Harker's description

as Keogh's chief enemy, Taras.

"We cannot force the Earthmen out

with our darts and spears. Their

weapons are too strong. But we too

have a weapon, one they cannot fight!

It was forbidden to us, by foolish

kings who were afraid it might be

used against them. But now we must

use it.

"Therefore I demand that the old

tabu be lifted! I demand that we

invoke the power of the Harpers to

drive the Earthmen forth!"

There was a taut, unhappy silence

in the hall. Simon saw men looking at

him, the eager confidence in young

Dion's eyes. He knew 'that they

placed in him their desperate last hope

of preventing this thing.

They were right, for whatever was

done he must do alone. Curt Newton

and Otho could not possibly have yet

made their way secretly by back ways

to this council hall.

Simon strode forward. He looked

around him. Because of what he was,

a kind of fierce exaltation took him, to

be once more a man among men. It

made his voice ring loud, thundering

from the low vault.

"Is it not true that the king fears, not

the Earthmen, but Taras ­ and that

Taras is bent not on freeing Moneb

from a mythical yoke, but in placing

one of his own upon our necks?"

There was a moment of utter

silence in which they all, king and

councilors alike, stared at him aghast.

And in the silence, Simon said grimly:

"I speak for the council! There will

be no lifting of tabu ­ and he that

brings the Harpers into Moneb does so

under pain of death!"

For one short moment the

councilors recovered their courage

and voiced it. The hall shook with the

cheering. Under cover of the noise

Taras bent and spoke into the king's

ear, and Simon saw the face of the

king become pallid.

ROM behind the high seat Taras

lifted a helmet bossed in gold and

placed it on the king's head. A Helmet

of Silence.

The cheering faded, and was not.

The king said hoarsely, "Then for

the good of Moneb, I must disband the

council,"

Taras stepped forward. He looked

directly at Simon, and his eyes smiled.

"We had foreseen your traitorous

counsels, John Keogh. And so we

F

came prepared."

He flung back his cloak. Beneath it,

in the curve of his left arm, was

something wrapped in silk.

Simon instinctively stepped back. :

Taras ripped the silk away. And in

his hands was a living creature no

larger than a dove, a thing of silver

and rose-pearl and delicate frills of

shining membrane, and large, soft,

gentle eyes.

A dweller in the deep forests, a shy

sweet bearer of destruction, an angel

of madness and death.

A Harper!

A low moan rose among the

councilors, and there was a shifting

and a swaying of bodies poised for

flight. Taras said,

"Be still. There is time enough for

running, when I give you leave."

The councilors were still. The king

was still, white-faced upon his throne.

But on the shadowy benches, Simon

saw Keogh's son bent forward,

yearning toward the man he thought to

be his father, his face alight with a

child's faith.

Taras stroked the creature in his

hands, his head bent low over it.

The membranous frills began to lift

arid stir. The rose-pearl body pulsed,

and there broke forth a ripple of music

like the sound of a muted harp,

infinitely sweet and distant.

The eyes of the Harper glowed. It

was happy, pleased to be released

from the binding silk that had kept its

membranes useless for the making of

music. Taras continued to stroke it

gently, and it responded with a

quivering freshet of song, the liquid

notes running and trilling upon the

silent air.

And two more of the helmeted men

brought forth silvery, soft-eyed

captives from under their cloaks, and

they began to join their music

together, timidly at first, and then

more and more without hesitation,

until the council hall was full of the

strange wild harping and men stood

still because they were too entranced

now to move.

Even Simon was not proof against

that infinitely poignant tide of thrilling

sound. He felt his body respond, every

nerve quivering with a pleasure akin

to pain.

He had forgotten the effect of music

on the human consciousness. For

many years he had forgotten music.

Now, suddenly, all those long-closed

gates between mind and body were

flung open by the soaring song of the

Harpers. Clear, lovely, thoughtless,

the very voice of life unfettered, the

music filled Simon with an aching

hunger for he knew not what. His

mind wandered down vague pathways

thronged with shadows, and his heart

throbbed with a solemn joy that was

close to tears.

Caught in the sweet wild web of

that harping, he stood motionless,

dreaming, forgetful of fear and

danger, of everything except that

somewhere in that music was the

whole secret of creation, and that he

was poised on the very edge of

understanding the subtle secret of that

song.

Song of a newborn universe

joyously shouting its birth-cry, of

young suns calling to each other in

exultant strength, the thunderous

chorus of star-voices and the

humming bass of the racing, spinning

worlds!

Song of life, growing, burgeoning,

bursting, on every world, complicated

counterpoint of a million million

species voicing the ecstasy of being in

triumphant chorus!

Something deep in Simon Wright's

tranced mind warned him that he was

being trapped by that hypnotic web of

sound, that he was falling deeper,

deeper, into the Harpers' grip. But he

could not break the spell of that

singing.

Soaring singing of the leaf drinking

the- sun, of the bird on the wing, of

the beast warm in its burrow, of the

young, bright miracle of love, of birth,

of living!

And then the song changed. The

beauty and joy faded from it, and into

the sounds came a note of terror,

growing, growing...

T came to Simon then that Taras

was speaking to the thing he held,

and that the soft eyes of the Harper

were afraid.

The creature's simple mind was

sensitive to telepathic impulses, and

Taras was filling its mild emptiness

with thoughts of danger and of pain,

so that its membranes shrilled now to

a different note.

The other Harpers picked it up.

Shivering, vibrating together and

across each other's rhythms, the three

small rose-pearl beings flooded the air

with a shuddering sound that was the

essence of all fear.

Fear of a blind universe that lent its

creatures life only to snatch it from

them, of the agony and death that

always and forever must rend the

bright fabric of living!

Fear of the somber depths of

darkness and pain into which all life

must finally descend, of the shadows

that closed down so fast, so fast!

That awful threnody of primal

terror that shuddered from the Harpers

struck icy fingers of dread across the

heart. Simon recoiled from it, he could

not bear it, he knew that if he heard it

long he must go mad.

Only dimly was he aware of the

terror among the other councilors, the

writhing of their faces, the movements

of their hands. He tried to cry out but

his voice was lost in the screaming of

the Harpers, going ever higher and

higher until it wastorture to the body.

And still Taras bent over the

Harper, cruel-eyed, driving it to frenzy

with the power of his mind. And still

the Harpers screamed, and now the

sound had risen and part of it had

slipped over the threshold of hearing,

and the super-sonic notes stabbed the

brain like knives.

A man bolted past Simon. Another

followed, and another, and then more

and more, clawing, trampling, falling,

I

floundering in the madness of panic.

And he himself must flee!

He would not flee! Something held

him from the flight his body craved­

some inner core of thought hardened

and strengthened by his long

divorcement from the flesh. It steadied

him, made him fight back with iron

resolution, to reality.

His shaking hand drew out the little

metal box. The switch clicked.

Slowly, as the power of the thing built

up, it threw out a high, shrill keening

sound.

"The one weapon against the

Harpers!" Curt had said. "The only

thing that can break sound is ­sound!"

The little repeller reached out its

keening sonic vibrations and caught at

the Harpers' terrible singing, like a

claw.

It clawed and twisted and broke that

singing. It broke it, by its subtle sonic

interference, into shrieking

dissonances.

Simon strode forward, toward the

throne and toward Taras. And now

into the eyes of Taras had come a

deadly doubt.

The Harpers, wild and frightened

now, strove against the keening sound

that broke their song into hideous

discord. The shuddering sonic

struggle raged, much of it far above

the level of hearing, and Simon felt

his body plucked and shaken by

terrible vibrations.

He staggered, but he went on. The

faces of Taras and the others were

contorted by pain. The king had

fainted on his throne.

Storm of shattered harmonies, of

splintered sound, .shrieked like the

very voice of madness around the

throne. Simon, his mind darkening,

knew that he could endure no more...

And suddenly it was over. Beaten,

exhausted, the Harpers stilled the wild

vibration of their membranes. Utterly

silent, they remained motionless in the

hands of their captors, their soft eyes

glazed with hopeless terror.

Simon laughed. He swayed a little

on his feet and said to Taras,

"My weapon is stronger than

yours!"

Taras dropped the Harper. It

crawled away and hid itself beneath

the throne.

Taras whispered,

"Then we must have it from you,

Earthman!"

He sprang toward Simon. On his

heels came the others, mad with the

bitter fury of defeat when they had

been so sure of victory.

Simon snatched out the audio-disc

and raised it to his lips, pressing its

button and crying out the one word,

"Hurry!"

He felt that it was too late. But not

until now, not until this moment when

fear conquered the force of tradition,

could Curt and Otho have entered this

forbidden place without provoking the

very outbreak that must be prevented.

IMON went down beneath his

attackers' rush. As he went down,

he saw that the councilors who had

S

fled were running back to help him.

He heard their voices shouting, and he

saw the boy Dion among them.

Something struck cruelly against

his head, and there was a crushing

weight upon him. Someone screamed,

and he caught the bright sharp flash of

darts through the torchlight.

He tried to rise, but he could not.

He was near unconsciousness, aware

only of a confusion of movement and

ugly sounds. He smelled blood, and he

knew pain.

He must have moved, for he found

himself on his hands and knees,

looking down into the face of Dion.

The shank of a copper dart stood out

from the boy's breast, and there was a

streak of red across the golden skin.

His eyes met Simon's, in a dazed,

wondering look. He whispered

uncertainly:

"Father!"

He crept into Simon's arms. Simon

held him, and Dion murmured once

more and then sighed. Simon

continued to hold him, though the boy

had become very heavy and his eyes

looked blankly now into nothingness.

It came to Simon that the hall had

grown quiet. A voice spoke to him.

He lifted his head and saw Curt

standing over him, and Otho, both

staring at him anxiously. He could not

see them clearly. He said, "The boy

thought I was his father. He clung to

me and called me Father as he died."

Otho took Dion's body and laid it

gently on the stones.

Curt said, "It's all over, Simon. We

got here in time, and it's all right."

Simon rose. Taras and his men

were dead. Those who had tried to

foster hatred were gone, and not ever

again would Harpers be brought into

Moneb. That was what the pale,

shaken councilors around him were

telling him.

He could not hear them clearly. Not

so clearly, somehow, as the fading

whisper of a dying boy.

He turned and walked out of the

council hall, onto the steps. It was

dark now.

There were torches flaring, and the

wind blew cold, and he was very tired.

Curt stood beside him. Simon said,

"I will go back to the ship."

He saw the question in Curt's eyes,

the question that he did not quite dare

to ask.

Heartsick, Simon spoke the lines

that a Chinese poet had written long

ago.

"'Now I know, that the ties of flesh

and blood only bind us to a load of

grief and sorrow.'"

He shook his head. "I will return to

what I was. I could not bear the agony

of a second human life­no!"

Curt did not answer. He took

Simon's arm and they walked together

across the court.

Behind them Otho came, carrying

gently three small creatures of silver

and rose-pearl, who began now to

sound ripples of muted music, faint

but hopeful at first, then soaring

swiftly to a gladness of prisoners

newly freed.

They buried the body of John

Keogh in the clearing where he had

died, and the boy Dion lay beside him.

Over them, Curt and Grag and Otho

built a cairn of stones with Harker's

help.

From the shadows, Simon Wright

watched, a small square shape of

metal hovering on silent beams, again

a living brain severed forever from

human form.

It was done, and they parted from

Harker and went down through the

great booming lichens toward the

ship. Curt and the robot and android

paused and looked back at the tall

cairn towering lonely against the stars.

But Simon did not look back.