The Werewolf Principle (10 page)

The feet made frantic scuffling turns and white-jacketed internes came boiling through the door.

“Mister,” shouted one of them, “did you see a wolf?”

“No,” said Blake, “I did not see a wolf.”

“There's something damn funny going on,” said another interne. “Kathy wouldn't lie. She saw something. It scared the hell …”

The first interne advanced threateningly.

“Mister, if you're kidding. If this is some sort of joke …”

Panic ran wildly in the other minds, a tidal bore of panic—the panic of minds faced with a threatening situation by aliens in an alien situation. Insecurity, failure of understanding, no basis for the assessment of a situation—

“No!” yelled Blake. “No! No—wait …”

But he was too late. The change already had begun, the mind of Quester taking over, and once that had happened, once the change had been triggered into action there was no stopping it.

You fools! Blake cried in his mind. You fools! You fools!

The internes surged back, jamming through the door into the corridor.

Facing them stood Quester, his hackles raised, the silver-greyness of his coat shining in the light from the ceiling lamp, crouched to spring, his lips rolled back to reveal the gleaming fangs.

14

Quester crouched and growled, fear rumbling in his throat.

Trapped and no way out. No opening behind or on either side. The only way to go was the opening into the outer tunnel and that was jammed with a howling pack of alien things that walked on two hind legs and were draped in artificial skins. They stank of body and their minds were pouring out at him a brain-wave so intense that it was like a moving wall and he was forced to brace his feet against it. A brain-wave of no intelligence that he could sense, but made up of primal fears and hates that were jumbled and chaotic.

Quester took a slow step forward and the pack shrank back and at that backward movement, he felt a sense of triumph go flaring through his body. Inherited from some remote ancestor, an ancient racial memory buried deep inside his mind burst full-fledged into a warrior-pride and the rumble that was bubbling in his throat erupted into a roaring roll of savage sound—a sound that ripped deep into the alien pack and sent it scattering.

Quester moved. His legs blurred with speed as he leaped into the tunnel and made a quick turn to the right. One of the alien creatures lunged out from the wall toward him, a weapon of some sort raised above its head, poised for the downward stroke. Quester flung himself off stride to close in on the creature. His massive head swung, slashing, a swift and terrible slash that struck the flesh and ripped it and left a tottering creature that screamed as it collapsed.

Quester spun around and faced the creatures that were charging him. His toenails clawed great scratches in the floor and he hurled himself full-speed at the pack. His head swung right and left and his teeth met flesh and tore and the tunnel seemed to fill with the red haze of his rage.

The creatures all were fleeing now except for those upon the floor and some of these were crawling while others only lay and moaned.

Quester skidded to a halt and half-sitting, his back legs bent, but his hindquarters not quite upon the floor, threw up his head and bayed—a cry of triumph and of challenge, the old, unknown-till-now ancestral cry of triumph and of challenge, that in olden days had rung across that far-off planet of drifted sand and snow.

The tunnel was blotted out and he seemed to smell again the clean, dry air of home rather than the strange stinks of this place where he found himself. And he was, most strangely, a very ancient Quester, one of the old proud warrior race that in other days had battled far and deadly against the hordes of now almost forgotten scaly things which had contested with the Questers the dominance of the planet.

Then the odor of the place and its closeness and the harshness of the bright lights shattered off the walls, swept away the sense of other time and place and he rose to his feet again and swung about, uncertainly. The tunnel was clear ahead, but far behind there were creatures running and the air was clogged and murky with the fragmented, but massive mind-waves that came from all directions.

—Changer!

—The stairs, Quester. Get going for those stairs.

—Stairs?

—The door. The closed opening. The one with the sign above it. The little square with the red characters enclosed.

—I see it. But the door is solid.

—Push it. It will open. Use your arms and not your body. Please, remember. Use your arms. You use them so seldom that you forget you have them.

Quester leaped toward the door.

—Your arms, you fool! Your arms!

Quester struck it with his body. It yielded on one side and he slipped quickly through. He was in a cubicle and in the floor of the cubicle was a path of narrow ledges that went downward. Those would be the stairs, he told himself.

He went down them, cautiously at first, then faster as he caught the knack. He came to another cubicle and across the short space of the floor, other stairs led downward.

—Changer?

—Go down them. Go down three sets of them. Then go out the door. It leads into a room, a large room. There'll be many creatures there. Go straight ahead until you reach a large opening to your left. Go out that opening and you will be outdoors.

—Outdoors?

—On the surface of the planet. Outside the building (the cave) that we are in. They have caves on top of the ground here.

—Then what?

—Then run!

—Changer, why don't you take over? You can handle it. You are like these creatures. You can just walk out.

—I can't. I haven't any clothes.

—The coverings? The artificial skins?

—That's right.

—But that is silly. Clothes …

—No one stirs anywhere without them. It is the custom.

—And you are bound by custom?

—Look, you'll take the creatures by surprise. For a moment they'll be frozen at the sight of you. Just staring, not doing anything. You resemble a wolf and …

—You said that before. I do not like the thought. There is something dirty …

—A creature now extinct. A fearsome creature that struck terror into the hearts of people. They'll be frightened when they see you.

—O.K., O.K., O.K. Thinker, how about it?

—You two go ahead, said Thinker. I have no data. I cannot be of help. We must rely on Changer. This is his planet and he knows it.

—All right, then. Here I go.

Quester went padding swiftly down the stairs. The thick, metallic sense of fear lay everywhere. The mind-waves pounded on relentlessly.

If we get out of this, thought Quester, if we get out of this …

He felt his own fear creeping in upon him, the descending weight of uncertainty and doubt.

—Changer?

—Go ahead. You're doing fine.

He went down the third flight and faced the door.

—This one?

—Yes, and be fast about it. Your arms this time, remember. Your body bumping the door might not open it wide enough. It could fall back and catch you.

Quester squared off, extruding his arms. He bunched his body and flung himself at the door.

—Changer, to the left? The opening on the left?

—Yes. About ten of your body lengths.

Quester's outstretched arms struck the door and slapped it open. His body catapulted out into the room. He had a confused sense of startled screaming, of open mouths, of creatures moving swiftly and there was the opening to his left. He pivoted and plunged toward it. A pack of creatures, he saw, were coming toward the opening from the outside—more of the strange creatures who peopled this planet, but draped in different kinds of artificial skins. They opened their mouths to shriek at him and lifted their hands, which held black objects which belched sudden flashes of fire, emitting bitter stenches.

Something smashed into metal very close to him and made a hollow whining sound and something else chewed with a crunching sound into a piece of wood. Then Quester, unable to stop even if he had wished, was among the creatures and the old war-cry was thundering through his body, his head jerking and slashing, his hands striking out. In among them for an instant, then through them and away, streaking along the front of the great cave which reared into the sky.

From behind him came sharp reports and some small, but heavy objects which traveled very fast gouged into the floor on which he ran, throwing up fragments of the material of which the floor was made.

It might be night, he thought, for there was no great star in the sky, although there were many distant stars shining in the sky and that was well, he thought, for it was unthinkable for a planet not to carry with it a canopy of stars.

And there were smells, but now the smells were different, not as acrid, not as sharp or harsh as had been in the building, but more pleasant, gentle smells.

Behind him the popping sound continued and tiny things went past him, then he was at the corner of the cave that went up into the sky, and around the corner, still running, remembering that Changer had said that he must run. And enjoying the running, the smooth, sleek slide of muscles, the feeling of the floor on which he ran, solid underneath his pads.

Now, for the first time since it all had started, he had the chance to gather in the aspects of the planet and it seemed, in many ways, a very busy place. And in other ways very strange, indeed. For who had ever heard of a planet that was floored? The floor ran out from the edge of the cave that reared up into the sky—out into the distance as far as he could see. And everywhere he looked there were other caves, stretching upward from the surface, many of them shining with yellow squares of light, and in front of many of them, and in little areas fenced in on the floor were metallic or stony representations of the planet's residents. And why, Quester wondered, should things like this exist? Could it be, he wondered, that when these creatures died, they were turned to metal or to stone and left standing wherever they had died? Although that did not seem reasonable, for many of the creatures turned to stone or metal seemed larger than life size. But it was entirely possible, of course, that the creatures came in many different sizes and perhaps only the larger ones were metamorphosed into stone or metal.

There were not many of the planet's living residents in evidence, and all those a distance off. But moving on the surface of the floor, and very rapidly, were metallic shapes that had glowing eyes on the front of them and that made a whooshing sound and sent out a blast of air as they streaked along. From these metallic shapes came brainwaves, the sense of a living thing, but a living thing that in many cases had more brains than one—and the brain-waves were quiet and gentle, not loaded with the hate and fear that he had sensed back there in the cave.

It was strange, of course, but Quester told himself, it would be unusual if one met only one kind of life upon a planet. So far there had been the things that walked on two hind legs and were protoplasmic, and the metallic things that moved very rapidly and purposefully and shot light from their eyes and had more brains than one. And there had been that other time, he recalled, on that wet, hot night when he had sensed many other forms of life that seemed to hold either poor intelligence or no intelligence, beings that were little more than bundles of matter which held the gift of life.

If only, he thought, this planet were not so hot and its, atmosphere not so heavy and oppressive, it might prove very interesting. Although it all was most confusing.

—Quester.

—What is it, Changer?

—Off to your right. The trees. The large vegetation. You can see them against the sky. Head for them. If we can get in among them, they will help to hide us.

—Changer, asked Thinker, what do we do now?

—I don't know. We'll have to think about it. All three of us together.

—These creatures will be hunting us?

—I presume they will.

—We should be one mind. Quester and I should know everything you know.

—We will, said Quester. There has been no time. There has been too much happening. The distractions have been great.

—Reach the trees, said Changer, and we'll have the time.

Quester swerved away from the side of the mighty cave that rose into the sky, cutting out across the wide strip of flooring, heading for the trees. Charging out of the darkness, its two eyes gleaming hard, came one of the metallic creatures, with the soft sighing of its windstorm. It swerved and headed straight for him and Quester flattened out. His legs blurred and his body hugged the gleaming surface of the floor, his ears laid back, his tail pointed straight behind him.

Changer cheered him on.

—Run, you mangy wolf! Run, you haggard jackal! Run, you frantic fox!

15

The chief of staff was a calm and officious man. He was not the kind of man one would expect to bang his fist upon a desk.

But now he banged his fist.

“What I want to know,” he bellowed, “is what stupid knothead phoned the police. We could have handled this ourselves. We needed no police.”

“I would imagine, sir,” said Michael Daniels, “that whoever might have called them thought they had some reason to. The corridor was littered with people all chewed up.”

“We could have taken care of them,” said the chief of staff. “That is the business we are in. We could have taken care of them and then proceeded in a fashion far more orderly.”

“You must realize, sir,” said Gordon Barnes, “that everyone must have been upset. A wolf in the …”

The chief of staff waved Barnes to silence, spoke to the nurse.

“Miss Gregerson, you were the first to see this thing.”

The girl still was pale and frightened, but she nodded. “I came out of a room and it was in the corridor. A wolf. I dropped my tray and screamed and ran. It was a frightening …”