Джон Кэмпбелл - Frozen Hell

“You mean if we don’t come out?” asked Barclay. “I was wondering if a nice running account of an eruption or an earthquake via radio—with a swell windup by using a stick of decanite under the microphone would help. Nothing, of course, will entirely keep people out. One of those swell, melodramatic ‘last-man-alive scenes’ might make ’em go easy though.”

Garry smiled with genuine humor. “Is everybody in camp trying to figure that out, too?”

Copper laughed. “What do you think, Garry? We’re confident we can win out—but not too easy about it, I guess.”

Clark grinned up from the dog he was petting into calmness. “Confident, did you say, Doc?ˮ

Blair moved restlessly around the small shack. His eyes jerked and quivered in vague, fleeting glances at the four men with him; Barclay, six feet tall and weighing over 190 pounds, McReady, as tall, but slightly leaner, Dr. Copper, short, squatly powerful, and Benning, 5-foot-10 of wiry strength.

Blair was huddled up against the far wall of the East Cache cabin, his gear piled in the middle of the floor beside the heating stove forming an island between him and the four men.

“I don’t want anybody coming here,” he snapped nervously. “Kinner may be human now, but I don’t believe it. I’ll cook my own food. I’m going to get out of here, but I’m not going to eat any food you send me. I want cans. Sealed cans.”

“O.K. Blair, we’ll bring ’em tonight,” Barclay promised.

“You’ve got coal, and the fire’s started. I’ll make a last—” Barclay started forward.

Blair instantly scurried to the farthest corner. “Get out! Keep away from me, you monster!” the little biologist shrieked, and tried to claw his way through the wall of the shack. “Keep away from me—keep away—I won’t be absorbed—I won’t be—”

Barclay relaxed and moved back. Dr. Copper shook his head.

“Leave him alone, Bar. It’s easier for him to cook the food himself. We’ll have to fix the door, I think—”

The four men let themselves out. Efficiently, Benning and Barclay fell to work. There were no locks in Antarctica; there wasn’t enough privacy to make them needed. But powerful screws had been driven in each side of the door frame, and the spare aviation control cable, immensely strong woven-steel wire, was rapidly caught between them and drawn taut. Barclay went to work with a drill and a keyhole saw. Presently he had a trap cut in the door through which goods could be passed without unlashing the entrance. Three powerful hinges from a stock-crate, two hasps, and a pair of three-inch cotter-pins made it impossible to open from the other side.

Blair moved about restlessly inside. He was dragging something over to the door with panting gasps and muttered, frantic curses. Barclay cracked the hatch and glanced in, Dr. Copper peering over his shoulder. Blair had moved the heavy bunk against the door. It could not be opened without his cooperation now.

“Don’t know but what the poor guy’s right at that,” McReady said with a sigh. “If he gets loose, it is his avowed intention to kill each and all of us as quickly as possible; which is something we donʼt agree with. But we’ve got something on our side of that door that maybe is worse than a homicidal maniac. If one or the other has to get loose, I think I’ll come up and undo the lashings here.”

Barclay grinned. “You let me know, and I’ll show you how to get them off fast. Let’s get back.”

The sun was painting the northern horizon in multicolored rainbows still, though it was two hours below the horizon. The field of drift swept off to the north, sparkling under its flaming colors in a million million reflected glories. Low mounds of rounded white on the northern horizon, the Magnet Range, was barely awash above the sweeping drift. Little eddies of wind-lifted snow swirled away from their skis as they set out toward the main encampment two miles away. The spidery finger of the broadcast radiator lifted a gaunt black needle against the white of the antarctic continent. The snow under their skis was like fine sand, hard and gritty in the -40° cold.

“Spring,” said Benning bitterly, “is come. Ain’t we got fun. And I’ve been looking forward to getting away from this blasted hole in the ice.”

“I wouldn’t try it now, if I were you.” Barclay grunted. “Guys that set out from here in the next few days are going to be marvelously unpopular.”

“How are your dogs getting along, Doc?” McReady asked. “Any results yet?”

“In 30 hours? I wish there were. I gave him an injection of my blood today. But I imagine another five days will be needed. I don’t know certainly enough to stop sooner.”

Barclay spoke slowly. “I’ve been wondering—if Connant were… changed … would he have warned us so soon after the animal escaped? Wouldn’t he have waited long enough for it to have a real chance to fix itself? Until we woke up naturally?”

“The Thing is selfish. You didn’t think it looked as though it were possessed of a store of the higher justices, did you?” McReady pointed out. “Every part of it is all of it, every part of it is all for itself, I imagine. That’s—dreams, telepathic communications unconsciously given, shall we say. If Connant were changed, he’d figure, to save his skin, he’d have to—hell, Connant’s feelings aren’t changed, they’re imitated perfectly, or they’re his own. Naturally, the imitation, imitating perfectly Connant’s feelings, would do exactly what Connant would do.”

“Say, couldn’t Norris or Vane give Connant some kind of a test? If the Thing is brighter than men, it might know more physics than Connant should, and they’d catch it out.”

Copper shook his head wearily. “Not if it reads minds. You can’t plan a trap for it. Vane suggested that last night. He hoped it would answer some of the questions of physics he’d like to know answers to.”

“This expedition-of-four idea is going to make life happy.” McReady looked at his companions. “Each of us with an eye on the others to make sure he doesn’t do something— peculiar . Man, aren’t we going to be a trusting bunch. Each man eyeing his neighbors with the grandest exhibition of faith and trust—I’m beginning to know what Connant meant by ‘I wish you could see your eyes.’ Every now and then we all have it, I guess. One of you looks around with a sort of ‘I-wonder-if-the-other- three -are’ look. Incidentally, I’m not excepting myself.”

“So far as we know, the animal is dead, leaving only a slight question as to Connant. No other is suspected,” Copper snapped. “The ‘always-four’ order is merely a precaution.”

“I’m waiting for Garry to make it four-in-a-bunk.” Barclay sighed. “I thought I didn’t have any privacy before, but since that order—”

None watched the little sterile glass test-tube, half-filled with straw-colored fluid, more tensely than Connant. One—two—three—four—five drops of the clear solution Dr. Copper had prepared from the drops of blood from Connant’s arm. The tube was shaken carefully, then set in a beaker of clear, warm water. The thermometer read blood heat, a little thermostat clicked noisily, and the electric hot-plate began to glow. The lights flickered slightly.

Then—little white flecks of precipitation were forming, snowing down in the clear straw-colored fluid.

“God,” said, Connant. He dropped heavily into a bunk, crying like a baby. “Six days—” Connant sobbed, “six days in there—wondering if that damned test would lie—”

Garry moved over silently, and slipped his arm across the physicists back. “It couldn’t lie,” Dr. Copper said. “The dog was human immune—and the serum reacted.”