Eando Binder - Anton York, Immortal

York shuddered himself.

“But I’ve got to find out about the ship and journey,” he insisted. “I’ll try telepathy.”

His brow furrowed as he concentrated on projecting a telepathic message. Within his left ear reposed a tiny instrument that could amplify brain waves enormously, his own or those of others. Sometimes he and Vera, for long periods of time, had communicated solely by telepathy, though it was mentally tiring.

York looked up at his wife after a moment, shaking his head.

“He doesn’t respond coherently. His thought waves are completely disorganized. All I could pick out was some mysterious reference to the Three something. The Three Eternals, it sounded like.”

Suddenly the gibbering of the resurrected man stopped. A look of sanity and awareness stole into his eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked quite clearly.

York had understood, though the man’s accent was queer, the product of a thousand years of language evolution since York had last been on Earth. He bent over the man eagerly.

“I’m Anton York,” he returned, projecting the mental thought also, lest his archaic accent were not understood.

“Anton York!” The man’s eyes widened, as a train of thought instantly followed that name.

The legendary Anton York! Two thousand years ago, in the Twentieth Century, he had been born, grown to the prime of life, and stayed there deathlessly; preserved by his father’s life elixir. He had set out to solve the secret of gravitation, in three lifetimes of research. He had succeeded, but in the meantime the secret of his father’s virus had been stolen.

York had fought and defeated fifty other Immortals before Earth was safe from their would-be overlordship.

Then he had gone out into space, he and his immortal wife, like gods.

They had returned. A thousand years before, in the Thirty-first Century, they had come back to find themselves again pitted against an Immortal who had survived York’s vengeance against dictatorship. Before this renegade scientist had been sent to the death he deserved, York had performed the greatest man-made feats in all history.

Since the Thirty-first Century, Venus had a moon, also Mercury, and Mars had a third. York, world-mover, had done that, he had also formed rings for Jupiter, given Mercury a period of rotation, and relieved the harshness of most of the planets by suitable manipulations of heat, water, and gigantic natural form. He had prepared the Solar System for mankind’s dominion.

Then he had gone out into space again, drawn by its grandiose lure. A thousand years again he had not been heard from.

Now he was here once more, and the eyes of the revived man showed sceptical disbelief. Many there were, among Earth’s people, who openly denied that any such man as Anton York had ever lived. It might well be, they said, an accumulative fable, involving the careers of dozens of mysterious scientists.

York caught all this from the man’s startled mind. He smiled slowly.

“I’m Anton York and I’m not a myth,” he said quietly. “I’ve revived you from death, to find out about this mad journey you are making. Why were you going to Alpha Centauri, without adequate preparations?”

A look of horror suddenly flooded the man’s eyes, as if just their recalling something.

“Civilization is doomed!” he said, his voice a dry croak. “There will be holocaust, destruction, all over Earth! The Three Eternals are doing it! We found out, tried to warn Earth. No one believed—we couldn’t prove it. We hoped to reach Alpha Centauri, find planets to migrate to, save the race. Three Eternals—vicious demons—destroy civilization—doom—”

The voice became incoherent again, as though the ominous news he told had again driven his mind under. York shook his shoulder.

“Tell me more!” he demanded: “Who are the Three Eternals? Where are they? Exactly what are they doing?”

“Three Eternals—gods of Mount Olympus—destroy all mankind—”

His voice trailed off into pure gibberish. A moment later his eyes glazed. His head dropped back and he fell into a second death, one from which even York’s super-science could never rescue him.

Anton York and his wife arose, sadly.

“Gods of Mount Olympus destroying mankind!” Vera murmured. “It must have been some hallucination of his broken mind.”

York turned a grave face.

“Maybe not though! Civilization on Earth might really be in danger. The faster we get there and find out—”

In the following twenty-four hours that it took them to reach the Solar System, even at ten light speeds, the immortal pair were plagued by unrestful anticipation. They almost dreaded arriving now, perhaps to find some holocaust in progress on Earth, or already finished. The ship they had encountered had left Earth months before. What had happened in that time?

Sol, a comparatively mediocre yellow star in the hosts of heaven, became a sun. They swept past the dark outer planets. It thrilled them to see the splendour of Saturn’s rings, unmatched in all the galaxy. Jupiter’s rings, mark of York’s last visit, thrilled them still more. Then past garnet Mars toward the green globe of Earth.

Familiar it all was to the two cosmic wanderers, but they hardly noticed. Earth occupied their thoughts—and the mysterious prophecy of doom on that planet. Yet nothing seemed amiss when they had dropped into the atmosphere layer.

A mile high, York halted his ship. Below them spread Sol City, the greatest metropolis of all time, with its fifty million inhabitants, the nerve center of the Solar System. It sparkled brightly in sunlight. Aircraft and space ships rose and descended from its many ports ceaselessly. It was bustling, vibrant, symbol of a busy, prosperous civilization.

There was nothing wrong here! York and Vera looked at each other in relief.

There was an interruption in the sanctorum of the Solarian Council chamber, in the capitol of Sol City. A dozen gray-bearded men, executive ruling body of the Solar System, looked around in annoyance. Who had dared disturb them?

Through the opening door, strode a tall man of erect bearing ignoring the protests of a clerk.

“We couldn’t stop him, sirs!” stammered the clerk. “Not even the guards. He has some strange power!” The clerk bolted, as though unnerved.

The intruder walked boldly up to the council table.

“I wanted to see you gentlemen,” he said calmly. “It’s urgent. When the guards resisted me, I used certain telepathic powers that I have.’

“Who are you?” demanded the president of the council, glaring.

“Anton York!”

The councillors smiled.

“Strange,” mused the president, “how parents with the family name. York have always baptized their sons Anton. It’s a great name to carry through life.”

“No, I’m the real Anton York. I came out of space a few hours ago.”

The councillors looked at him narrowly. They started a little at his smouldering eyes. Insane! The asylums were filled with those who imagined they were the almost mythical Anton York as in an earlier age so many had identified themselves with Napoleon.

“Yes, of course,” said the president gently, tapping his forehead for the benefit of his colleagues. “Now you just come with us—”

York could not blame them for not believing. But as they all converged on him, with the intent of hustling him out, he set his lips a little grimly.

“Sit down, all of you!” he commanded.

The men all stopped. Their faces were puzzled. Nothing tangible opposed them, yet they could not go on. Rulers of the Solar System, they turned back and sat down, impelled by a subtle force that could not be resisted.

“My mental commands must be obeyed, though I’m sorry I had to use them with you,” York said firmly. “You must listen to me, whether you want to or not. I am the Anton York. I have the lore of the stars, and of two thousand years of time. I have some questions to ask.”