Fantastic Stories Presents the Imagination (Stories of Science and Fantasy) Super Pack. Edmond Hamilton

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СКАЧАТЬ thought. Things are going all wrong.

      I’ve . . . I’ve got to learn to depend on myself.

      I’ve always depended too much on Forential.

      I’ve always been told what to do, he thought. It’s time for me to begin telling myself what to do.

      He nodded his head at the truth of this. I’m on my own, he thought. Well, by God, it’s time to face that! I’ll stop her some way.

      Forential is depending on me!

      At last it occurred to him to try to locate Julia. He concentrated. He formed Julia’s pattern in his mind. He sought to equate it with reality. For a moment of bleak despair, he felt nothing. Then the pattern and reality overlapped. He fixed her in space. He had her. She was fleeing in an automobile.

      And—she had changed! She was now—as she had been once before—as impotent as an earthling.

      He sprang to his feet. Elation filled him. A rising tide of confidence swept over him.

      Damn, damn, damn! he thought in excited delight. She’s mine now!

       Julia, oh Julia, can you hear me?

      She couldn’t.

      He could feel her fleeing.

      I’ll show her now, he thought with savage satisfaction.

       Wait’ll I catch you!

      There’ll be no nonsense about privacy this time! he promised himself. I’ll kill her where ever I find her. Forential may not like it as well as—to hell with Forential!

      *

      Outside the hotel, in the crisp, fresh night air, Walt plunged into the crowd emptying from a theater, whose marquee, “Junkeroo”, flashed lonesomely above the sidewalk.

      I’ll need a car to overtake her, he thought.

      He remembered back to his first ride. I can operate one, he thought, if I can start it. It’s easy.

      Julia lies in that direction. I’ll catch her in no time.

      He heard a car door open behind him.

      He spun on his heel and walked back to the car. The driver, settled behind the wheel, was just depressing the light stud when Walt cut in front of it and came abreast of the driver’s side.

      “You’re the one I’m looking for,” he said.

      “Eh?”

      “Move over!”

      The owner was a heavy, middle aged man; he snorted and narrowed his eyes. “What’s this baloney?”

      “I’m taking this car.”

      “The hell you say!”

      Walt pulled the door open, grabbed the man by the shirt and twisted. He set his feet and the man came sprawling out into the street.

      Holding him, Walt slapped his face.

      The man flailed wildly. He tried to jerk loose. His shoulders twisted. He tried with a knee, and Walt threw him to the pavement. A few startled passers-by turned to watch.

      Walt picked the man up and thrust him into the car. The man’s face was purple with rage. He tried to scream.

      Walt displaced the air from his lungs. The man collapsed, gagging.

      “Don’t make any loud noises,” Walt said.

      The man choked and gasped with suddenly restored breath.

      “ . . . what . . . what do you want?”

      “How do you start this car?”

      The man started to protest; the look on Walt’s face made him think better of it. He told Walt how to start the car.

      Walt followed instructions. He listened to the purr of the motor.

      “What is the power? What makes it run?”

      The owner wiped blood from his face. Sullenly, through swelling lips, he said, “ . . . it’s a combustion engine . . . like all cars . . . .”

      Cautiously maneuvering the car into traffic, Walt said, “Tell me what you know about combustion engines.”

      Walt displaced air again. He put it back. “I asked you to tell me what you know about combustion engines.”

      The man kept dabbing at his lips.

      Gasping, the man began to explain. He did not seem too sure of himself. Every other sentence, he faltered, and Walt had to prompt him sharply.

      “This fuel . . . this gas . . . . When the supply is used up, how does one obtain more?”

      “From a . . . gas station . . . .”

      I’ll have to watch the fuel supply, Walt thought.

      “They’re . . . they’re on nearly every corner,” the man said.

      Walt nodded. I’ve got all I can from him, he thought. “Do you have a small, heavy object?”

      The man licked his cut lip. His eyes were wide with terror. “Y—ye—yes.”

      “Produce it!”

      The man brought out a cigarette lighter.

      Teleporting, Walt jerked it from the man’s hand and hit him behind the ear with it. With a sigh, the owner collapsed unconscious.

      I’m doing all right, Walt thought. Now, if I can just find the right road to follow.

      He concentrated on Julia.

      He began to drive very fast, slipping in and out of traffic recklessly.

      Six blocks later, he picked up the police car.

      And three blocks after that, the police car was abreast of him, forcing him to the curb.

      Annoyed, Walt brought the car to a stop. The police car angled in ahead of him. Walt waited confidently.

      “Okay,” the policeman said wearily, taking out his book of tickets and putting one foot on the running board. “Where’s the fire?”

      Walt said, “Fire?”

      “Yeah. The speed limit in this town is thirty miles an hour. Where’s the fire? Let’s see your license.”

      Walt considered this information. He removed the air from this policeman’s lungs; from the lungs of the policeman in the car. When they were very unconscious, he СКАЧАТЬ