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Authors: Brian Lumley

The Source (48 page)

BOOK: The Source
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“And what about them?” Luchov's voice was colder than ever. “Do they know they can't come back?”
“No, they don't,” Khuv's response was immediate, “and they can't be told. You'd better understand that: they can't be told. I have instructions for you on that matter, and on other matters …”
“Instructions for—” Luchov sucked in air implosively.
“You
have instructions for
me?”
Khuv was impassive. “From the very highest authority. The
very
highest! Where those soldiers are concerned, Direktor, I am in charge.” He produced and handed Luchov a sealed envelope stamped with the Kremlin crest. “As for not coming back: no, they won't, not immediately. But eventually …”
“Eventually?” Luchov glanced at the envelope, put it away. “Eventually?” he snorted. “How long do we need, man? This Gate has been here for over two years —and what have we learned about the world on the other side? Nothing! Except that it's home for … monsters! We've never even communicated with the other side.”
“That comes first,” said Khuv. “Field telephones.”
“What?”
“We know sound travels through the sphere,” said
the other, “and light—
both
ways! However warped the effect, men can talk and communicate with each other in there. These men will lay a cable as they go. It can be tested after they've travelled no more than a few paces! And if that doesn't work they'll set up temporary semaphore stations. At least we'll get to know what it's like through there. What it's like on the other side.”
Luchov shook his head. “That still won't get them back,” he said.
“Not yet, not now,” Khuv grated, losing his patience. “But if there is a way back we'll find it.
Even if it means building another Perchorsk!”
Luchov took a pace backwards, was brought up short when the small of his back met the handrail. “Another Per—?” His jaw fell open. “Why, I hadn't even considered—”
“I didn't think you had, Direktor.” Now Khuv grinned, his face a grim, emotionless mask. “So
now
consider it. And stop worrying about these men. If you must worry, then worry for yourself, and, for your staff. You'll find
that
in those orders, too. Once the bridgehead is established—you're next!”
Luchov tottered where he stood grasping the rail. He was furious, but shock had made him impotent as Khuv turned away. Then he found his voice, called out: “But oh how neatly you've escaped the net yourself, eh, Major?”
Khuv paused, slowly turned to face him. He was as pale as Luchov had ever seen him. “No,” he shook his head, and Luchov saw his Adam's-apple working, “for that, too, is in the orders. You'll be happy to know that in just ten days time we part company, Viktor. For when they go through, I go with them!”
At the other end of the shaft to the magmass levels, out of sight round the corner, Vasily Agursky had been privy to all their conversation. Now, as Khuv's footsteps sounded on the boards, he turned and ran silently for the upper levels. He wore rubber-soled shoes, moved
with the litheness of a cat. No, like a wolf! He loped, and revelled in the strength of his thighs as they effortlessly propelled him. Strong? Even in his youth he'd never known such strength! Nor such passions, desires, hungers …
But for all Agursky's speed and stealth, still Khuv caught a glimpse of him before he could pass out of sight. It was only that, a glimpse, but it caused the KGB Major to frown. On top of all his other worries, now there was this thing with Agursky—whatever it was. Khuv hadn't seen much of him lately, but whenever he had … he couldn't put his finger on it but something was wrong. And there he went, swift as a deer, head forward, silent as a ghost and just as weird.
Khuv shook his head and wondered what was ailing the strange little scientist. Wondered what had got into him …
 
The next morning, early, Khuv jerked awake to the clamour of alarms. In the moment of waking his heart almost stopped—tried to tear itself free and leap up into his throat—until he realized that these were only the general alert alarms, not Luchov's damned failsafe. Thank God—whom Khuv didn't really have any faith in, anyway—for that!
A moment later, as he hurriedly dressed, came the hammering on his door. He opened it to let in the unctuous Paul Savinkov; except that apart from the sweat on his fat, shining, frightened face, there was nothing at all slimy about him now. He smelled now not of grease but fear!
“Major!” he gasped. “Comrade! My God, my
God!”
Khuv shook him. “What is it, man?” he snarled. “Here, sit down before you fall down.” He shoved Savinkov into a chair.
The fat esper was trembling, wobbling like a jelly. “I … I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just … just …”
Khuv slapped him, backhanded him, deliberately
slapped him again. “Now perhaps you'll tell me what's wrong!” he growled.
The white burn of Khuv's slim fingers came up like long blisters on Savinkov's face. His eyes lost their glaze and he shook his head, as if he was the one who had just woken up and not Khuv. Then—Khuv thought the man was about to burst into tears. If he did, Khuv knew he would hit him right in the teeth! “Well?” he rasped.
“It's Roborov and Rublev,” Savinkov gasped. “Dead, both of them!”
“What?”
Khuv knew he must be imagining this; it had to be some crazy dream. “Dead? How, for the love of—? An accident?” He finished dressing, slipped into his shoes.
“Accident?” Savinkov grinned like an idiot, but his features quickly melted into a sob. “Oh, no—no, it wasn't an accident. When it happened, their thoughts woke me up. Their thoughts were—
awful!”
“Thoughts?” Khuv's mind, still not fully awake, sought for an explanation. Of course: Savinkov was a telepath. “What about their thoughts?”
“Something … something was attacking them. In Roborov's room. I think they'd been playing cards, gambling, and that Roborov was a heavy loser. He'd been to the toilet. When he came out … Rublev was nearly dead! Something had him by the throat! Roborov tried to pull it off, and … it turned on him! Oh, God
—I felt him die!
Huh … huh … he …”
“Go on, man!” Khuv gasped.
“He grabbed the thing and turned it around, and he saw it. He was thinking: ‘I don't believe this! Oh, mother, help me! Sweet God, you know I've always loved you! Don't let this happen!'”
“Those were his thoughts?”
“Yes,” Savinkov sobbed. “The rest of it was just background stuff, but it was Roborov's thoughts that really woke me up. And as he died—
I saw it too!”
“What did you see?” Khuv took Savinkov's face between the flats of his palms.
“God, I don't
know!
It wasn't human—or maybe it was? It was a nightmare. It was … its shape was all
wrong!
It was like … like that thing in the glass tank!”
Khuv's blood ran cold. He gulped air into his lungs, released Savinkov's face. He grabbed his lapels and dragged him to his feet. “Take me there,” he snapped. “Roborov's room? I know it. Were you there? No? Then who is there? You don't know?
Fool!
Well, we're going there right now!”
On their way, the alarms stopped clamouring. “Well, let's be thankful for that, anyway,” Khuv grunted. He jostled Savinkov ahead of him. “At least I can hear myself think! Now, are you sure you can't remember who you told? I mean, did you simply forget
all
the procedures and come running straight to me? God, but if this is a wildgoose chase I'll—!”
But it wasn't.
Outside the door of Roborov's room a sleepy, nervous soldier stood on guard. He saluted sloppily as Khuv and Savinkov came into view. They rushed by him. Inside were two more espers, and a KGB man named Gustav Litve. All were whey-faced, shaken to their roots. Crumpled on the floor, there lay the reason. Or reasons.
Nikolai Rublev could be Savinkov's twin!
thought Khuv, grimacing at what he saw. They were, or had been, much of a kind. But now there were differences, the main one being that Savinkov was still alive. And he was also intact.
Whatever it was that had killed Rublev, it had taken half his face from him. The fleshy part of the left side of his face was missing, flensed from the bone, from his ear to his nose and down to his chin. But it wasn't the work of a scalpel or knife. The flesh had been ripped off. In addition his throat was torn—
torn
, as by
an animal—with the main arteries severed and exposed. Khuv thought:
where's all the blood?
Perhaps he'd said something out loud, for his underling Litve said: “Sir?”
“Eh?” Khuv looked up. “Oh, nothing. Fetch Vasily Agursky, will you, Gustav? Bring him here. I want to know what kind of animal could do this, and he might be able to tell me.”
Litve gratefully made for the door, called back: “The other's not much better, sir.”
“Other?” Khuv's mind still wasn't on business.
“Roborov.”
Khuv realized he'd been wandering. To make up for it he snapped. “He was your colleague, wasn't he?”
“Was, sir, yes,” Litve answered. He went out.
Behind an overturned table, amidst a litter of bloodied paper money and cards, lay “the other,” Andrei Roborov. The two espers were standing looking down on him. Khuv shoved them aside, took a look for himself. Roborov's face was a mask of sheer horror. His dead eyes bulged; his jaws gaped in a frozen rictus of terror; his tongue projected, blue and glistening. Mainly cadaverous in life, he was totally grotesque in death. From the ears up his thin head looked like it had been trapped in a toothed vise and crushed. The skull had caved in, and blood and brain fluid seeped from the cracks and the deep punctures of … teeth marks?
“Good Lord!” said Khuv; to which one of the espers added:
“Something bit his head like it was a plum! Major, look at his arms.”
Khuv looked. Both arms were broken at the elbows, bent back on themselves until the bones had parted at the sockets. Whatever it was, it had found a simple and effective way of stopping Roborov from fighting back.
Khuv shook his head, felt his gorge rising. He could almost feel the pulse of the Projekt quickening as morning came and the place started to wake up. There was a
faint throbbing underfoot, like the heart of a great beast. And within the beast, a lesser beast: the one that had done this. Or perhaps, a greater beast? What
sort
of beast? Not human, surely. But if not human …
There was a telephone out in the corridor. Khuv ran to it and called the Duty Officer at Failsafe Concen. He didn't let the man speak but rasped: “Have you been sleeping?
Have you been asleep on duty?”
“Who is this?” came a wide awake, alert voice from the other end. Khuv recognized the voice: a senior scientist on Luchov's team. A very responsible person.
“This is Major Khuv,” he lowered his voice. “It seems we may have an intruder. Certainly we have a murderer in the place.”
“An intruder?” the voice on the other end hardened. “Where are you, Major?”
“I'm in the corridor close to KGB quarters. Why?”
“Do you mean an intruder from outside, or from the Gate?”
“Well, obviously that's why I'm on the ‘phone!” Khuv snapped. “To find out!”
Now the other came back just as venomously: “In which case it should also be obvious that your intruder is from outside! If it was anything else—by now you'd be burning, Khuv!”
“I—”
“Listen, I've got the screens right here in front of me. Everything is normal down there, except they're all a bit nervous because of those bloody alarms. Nothing, repeat
nothing,
has come through that Gate!”
Khuv slammed the ‘phone down. He stood glaring at it. Something was loose in here. Maybe it had been
let
loose in here. By whom? British E-Branch?
He ran back into Roborov's room, told the two espers: “Out, leave all this. If you come up with something let me know. But until then leave this to my investigators.”
Savinkov was making himself as small and insignificant as he could in a corner. “You,” Khuv said. “There
are three more KGB men stinking in their beds just down the corridor, a stone's throw from the scene of a double murder. Go wake the idle bastards up. Wake them
all
up! Tell them I want them here, now.”
Savinkov went.
Khuv ushered the espers out into the corridor and closed Roborov's door. Viktor Luchov had just arrived, looked bewildered, only half-awake. “Don't go in there,” Khuv warned him, shaking his head. Luchov took one look at the KGB Officer's face and was sensible enough to take heed.
BOOK: The Source
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