THIS MUST NOT BE

{Part 1}

Harry S. Logan



Ken Moar had been elected President of Europe at the age of 40. Then he had been the youngest President ever. That had been only four years ago, but those four years had put a decade onto his age. It was a decade that showed in the tired lines around the eyes the receding grey hair, and the little nervous gestures that punctuated his movements. 

Now he stared at Hal Traben, his personal adviser, with undisguised envy. Traben was gone sixty but his calm features showed no sign of approaching old age. Moar looked the older of the two most of the time, in fact. The President ran a hand through his thinning hair and turned slightly in his swivel chair. 

"How soon?" he asked. 

Traben chewed on his pipe. "How soon what," he asked. 

Moar scowled. "How soon till this mess blows up in our faces?" 

The older man scratched a worrisome spot behind his right ear. "Heck, if I knew that I shouldn't be sitting here with you, Ken. I'd be down in some fairground, making a pile telling fortunes." 

"God. You're a precog, aren't you? If you don't know what's in store for us, who does?" 

Traben stared at Moar. "As I've told you so many times before son, I don't like that term. I'm really no more precognitive than you're the cow who jumped over the Moon. I can extrapolate, true, but that's a different kettle of fish, boy. I guess I'm like a computer, in a lot of ways. If I can get hold of all the pertinent facts, then I can predict the probable course of events, but that's not telling the future. F'r instance. I can see that, the way things stand at the moment, you'll still be President in a month's time. Now, you can soon make a real mess outa my predictions by jumpin' off the roof of the presidential palace. Tellin' the future ain't possible, son. Too many alternatives, see. I can just point out the possible consequences of a given course of action." 

"And what are the consequences of the Government's present policies? War?" 

"Atomic war, boy, and that's the messiest kind." 

"But it's insane. They'd be killed too." 

"True enough, but look at it this way. They've been the underdogs before, and they've had a bellyful of it. Now they find out that they've got something that we ain't, and they know we want it, too. But they don't dare let us have it, or their great advantage is gone. So - they'd rather the whole race died." 

"Why couldn't it have been us who got immortality?" 

Traben shrugged. "Genetics, mutations, will of God? Who knows? Anyhow, it ain't immortality. Just longevity. Couple of thousand years maybe." 

"That's immortality, as far as I'm concerned, and as far as the voters are concerned too. They want it as well, and I can't give it to them." 

"Not without war, you can't, son." 

"Well, there's not gonna be a war, Hal. I'll resign." 

"So? All that'll happen is that another president'll get elected, and he'll go to war. The pressure's too great." 

"Are you saying that war's inevitable?" 

"I'm sayin' that no brave gesture of yours'll alter probability. No, what this needs is some real thought. Ain't no future bad enough that a bit of careful probability jugglin' can't affect it. Best of it is, with my gift we can see the result of each of our moves as we make it." 

"All very fine, but what can we do? Tell me that." 

"In good time, boy. In good time. To plan our future course we must first of all get the past in some kind of perspective. Now. when would you say this business started? Where are it's roots?" 

"The Sino-U.S. war?" 

"Check. Almost like a grisly sort of fairy tale, ain't it. Once upon a time there were two guys, one a five star general in the pentagon, the other a yellow skinned guy out to the west of Peking. An' both these darling little fellers had little buttons to press, and so they did. An' whoof, no more America, and no more China." 

"Then, of course, there was the villain of the piece. Radioactive dust. Kinda formed a nice blanket over 95% of Russia, and put paid to their aspirations to get back in a position to threaten global domination. Same fate fell to most of Asia and the rest of North America, too." 

"You're an American, Hal. Why did they do it?" 

"Uh? Retaliate you mean. Had to, son. Death seemed better to them than 'slavery'. Me, I didn't care overmuch for either of those alternatives. That's why I came over to Europe." 

"You saw what was coming, then. Oh.. of course." 

"Yeah, I'm a precog. But you didn't need no precognition to see it. The seeds was sown a long time ago. Just happened that harvest day came along, I guess. I knew that with Europe being swayed by France to follow a strictly neutral line I'd be safe here, and with my ability it was easy to get to the position I'm in now. Men'll pay a lot to know the future, especially politicians." 

"Still, you were analysing the past.." 

"Oh, yeah. Well, with what was most of Asia starving and in turmoil, the pendulum of power swung over to Europe, as I'd known it would. Only there was a wild element that kinda messed up things. Seems that some of that radioactive muck floated down over Africa. And, miracle of miracles, they got themselves immortality all of a sudden. I guess it must have changed their genes a bit. Just a little, that's all it'd take. Anyhow, they've all got two thousand years or so to go yet - that's what it boils down to. In a bizarre way, that AIDS virus did them a favour round about 2010, wiping so many of them out, solved any overcrowding problems now - for a while anyhow. And of course, it wasn't no racialist mutation; whites and blacks benefited alike, so of course, our folk, back here in Europe, found out what was goin' on, and they got kinda jealous - and the pressures have built up until we're in the state we're in now." 

"But look, Hal, this immortality business isn't all one sided. That genetic mutation caused sterility, too." 

"Yep. Guess that's mother nature's way of balancing things out a bit. Loads of them that's immortal, can't have a kid. Just the right amount of births to balance the death rate. But look, Ken. The majority of our voters don't give a damn if they're sterile or not, long as they get their twenty centuries and protection from the radiation. Folks in Europe may have escaped the main holocaust, but there's been more than a good few lost to radiation related deaths here. No one feels safe anywhere. It's creating a madness that is causing people to act right out of character." 

"I'm well aware of that, thank you. What I want to know is this: what's the answer? I can't hold out much longer. Even the cabinet's turning against me." 

"And anyone who looks like they might come from Africa is standing a good chance of getting lynched in the streets. Then, of course, there's a large block who are turning to line up with the Africans. Could be civil war you'll have to worry about before war with Africa." 

"So what do we do?" 

"Far as I can see, there are three main alternatives. One, go to war, and risk Europe becoming another atomic graveyard. Second, ignore the whole business as if it didn't exist: that might be the best way at that, were it not for the fact that if you did, some other guys're gonna push you clean outa office, and start up that war themselves. No, the coward's way out don't work in this case. Then there's a third alternative. Try and develop immortality artificially." 

"Hal, that's easier said than done. We're trying our hardest." 

"I know. What I'm saying is, it would solve all our problems if those scientist boys o' yours were to hit the jackpot. Still looks like best bet outa the three, to me." 

"You've forgotten one way out of this." 

"Oh? What's that?' 

"I'll negotiate." 

"With Mtuba?' 

"He's a human being like you or me. He won't want to see Africa ruined by war." 

"Look, boy. He's got the laugh on us for the first time. War or no war they ain't gonna risk a return to the old days, when we still looked down on them like we was still their colonial masters. Mtuba is ruled by his people, just like you. If he gave up the secret, he wouldn't last a day, and he knows it." 

"But an atomic war would be disastrous for the Africans. With their low birth rate they would be wiped out if their numbers fell below the present level - and a war would decimate them, at the very least." 

"All very true, but they're not that rational in this situation; just like the folk here in Europe aren't rational either. Let's face it, they're enjoying getting one over on us." 

"I've got to try diplomacy." 

"I suppose it might gain us a little time, at that. Time for your scientists to pull off a miracle." 

"Science doesn't deal in miracles, Hal." 

"I know that, son. It's at times like this I begin to wish that there was a God to pray to." 

"What God can do, man can try, Hal." 

"Perhaps. Try, at any rate. It's worth a try." 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

The E-Club, in the heart of New London, existed for the personal purposes of Hal Traben and a few others like him. It's only members were extrapolaters, partly precognitive like Traben himself. They were excellent sociologists, in addition to their mental powers, and the two factors together enabled them to get a good idea of the way the human race would shape it's future. Right now the future looked decidedly black. 

Traben stood at the head of a long table and stared at the fifteen other most powerful Es. Because of his position as adviser to the Government, he had been elected the E's leader. 

"Do you all agree with my assessment of the situation?" he asked, his voice almost totally devoid of the southern drawl that he used when in the company of the European President. 

A grey haired E near the top of the table nodded. "I think you can take it that we are all in agreement that the situation is desperate," he said. "What we want to know is - what can we do about it?" 

Traben nodded. "I'm gettin' on to that," he stated. "A lot depends on the attitude of our fellow Es in Africa. Has their immortality turned them against our common bond, or will they join with us to try and find a way to forestall this war." 

"I wouldn't count on their support too much, if I was you," one of the younger Es put in. "They are too concerned about themselves to worry about a little thing like an atomic war." 

Traben sighed. Prejudice was already ingrained in his own rank, then. He could hardly expect anything different from the African side of the E organisation. "I thought we were here to try and solve this crisis," he snapped. 

"Bomb Nairobi," muttered the young man. "That'Il put some sense into them." 

Traben's eyes blazed with fury. "You bloody fool," he spat at the other. "Don't you realise that they've got bombs too. If Nairobi goes, so does London.. Paris.. Berlin." 

The E sank back into a sullen silence, shaking his head angrily. 

"Now," rapped Traben, anxious to distract attention from the other's outburst. "Are there any practical suggestions?" 

"If the worst came to the worst we could always seize power in Europe, to avoid the present administration going to war," someone suggested. 

Traben sighed. "Yes, and at the last resort we may be forced to do just that," he acknowledged. "But do you realise just what that action would entail? We should certainly be forced to maintain our rule against an almost entirely hostile population. Even if we could seize power, I doubt that we could hold it more than a week or two. What good would that be?" 

"Then your own suggestion might be the only answer. We must somehow find a method of gaining immortality artificially." 

"Yes. But the point is: how? I've tried, with the resources of the President and all the laboratories of Europe behind me, without success." 

"Can't we discover just what caused the mutation in Africa and duplicate that factor artificially?" 

"Brave words, friend. They've tried doing it that way, of course. They've even tied down just how the chromosome was altered. Trouble is, when they studied the changed cells, a peculiar effect showed up." 

"This is something you haven't told us before. What happened?" 

"The cells died." 

"Eh?" 

"Yeah, died. I know what you're going to say. There's a few hundred million immortals on the continent of Africa that are the living proof that the effect didn't arise in their case. Why it didn't is what our scientists are trying their hardest to discover." 

"What's the President doing about all this ?" 

"He's just about given up hope on the scientific angle. He's flown out to Nairobi to try and negotiate with Jason Mtuba." 

"He must be mad." 

"Don't underestimate Ken Moar. In his way he's a good statesman. If anyone can negotiate a settlement, it's him." 

"Now be frank," one of the other E's chimed in. "What are his chances of success;" 

Traben's face fell slightly as he answered. "I guess it's about a hundred to one against." 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Nairobi airport was bathed in the light of the African Sun as Ken Moar stepped from the hypersonic jet that had carried him from London. A tangle of white buildings on the far edge of the field marked the position of the new African Union H.Q., where he and Mtuba would decide the future of humanity. The African Leader was there, waiting to greet him, beads of perspiration glistening on his ebony skin. He stepped forward and shook Moar by the hand as he stepped onto the tarmac. 

"Greetings to New Africa, Mr. President," he said. His palm was clammy with the heat as Moar grasped it. 

"Thank you," replied Moar. "I hope my visit will have the result we both hope for, and that this absurd talk of war will be stopped for good." 

Mtuba nodded, but his smile had grown taut. Moar realised that this was an indication of how tough the negotiations that were to follow would be. 

"Shall we get into my car?" Mtuba suggested. "It is a little hot out here in the open." 

So even immortals were not immune from fleshly discomfort, Moar reflected, as the car sped across the wide expanse of the airport, flanked by hovercyclists, four to each side. Moar noted the huge new blocks that were springing up in the African capital. There was no doubt that the Africa was changing. Of all the continents this was the one that had had the least disruption in it's steady upward progress. The war had not affected Africa, even indirectly, as it had done Europe - except, of course, to grant to it's inhabitants the boon of immortality, that same boon that now threatened the world with the ghastly spectre of further nuclear holocaust. 

In the African Leader's private study Ken Moor faced Mtuba squarely. "You know why I have made this trip," he started. 

The African nodded. "Your people are jealous of us." 

"Insanely so. They condemn you for withholding the secret of immortality from us. They call your actions inhuman." 

"Not as inhuman as what your people did to us in the past? The people here are glad to have a chance to take some revenge." 

"But surely you - a statesman.." 

"Oh, I feel sympathy with my people's views, Mr. President. It is not hard. In the world that existed before the war we were still at a disadvantage in the world economy. Africa has seen many false dawns. But now we are making real progress. It is as though this immortality of ours has given us psychological impetus." 

"But your people's immortality is not immune to the blast of hydrogen bombs, is it?" 

"That sounds like a threat." 

"Oh no. But we are heading that way. I don't think I can control the emotions of my people much longer. You must believe me. Why do you think I have taken this extraordinary step of meeting you face to face, just you and me, without my army of advisors and strategists?" 

"Well .. what do you expect me to do about it?" 

"If I was to return with an assurance that you would share the secret of longevity with us.." 

Moar paused then because Mtuba was laughing gutturally, but there was something else in that laugh. A sort of choked despair, deep, deep down. He stopped laughing abruptly, and faced the European. 

"Tell me, Mr. President. Have your scientists not studied this phenomenon?" 

"Of course." 

"With what results?" 

"Why .... a total lack of success of course. I would not be here otherwise." 

"Did you think our scientists would have succeeded where yours have failed?" 

"What?" 

"Mr. President, we don't know why we're immortal. As far as my people are concerned, it was a gift from God. Maybe it was. That explanation makes as much sense as any." 

"You don't know the secret?" 

"No. We thought you realised." 

"My people assumed you were holding out on us." 

"You assumed this too?" 

Moar nodded, shamefacedly. "Yes, I'm afraid I did." 

Mtuba shook his head slowly. "Be assured of this," he said. "If I had the secret I would make sure that it was released to your scientists - at a price of course. Do you think I want to see my people vanish in a puff of radioactive dust?" 

Moar nodded. Then his face grew grim again. "I believe you," he said, "but my people will not. The old prejudices have grown inflamed beyond all reason." 

Mtuba looked sad. "Then there is nothing more that we can do. We are in the hands of fate." 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

In the basement of the E-club in central London, stood a powerful and immense machine. At the foot of the machine was a seat, and a tangle of wires and electrodes led to a large helmet like device positioned above a chair. Higher up, above the main bulk of the machine, was a great crystal screen. It flickered with light, illuminating the faces of the three man that stood before it. All three were full fledged Es. Hal Traben was there, and Sean O'Rourke, who had designed this mechanical leviathan, and also Traben's deputy, Peter Straker. 

"We are agreed then, that this case is extreme enough to warrant use of the machine?" Traben asked. 

Straker nodded. "Yes. But I still think that you should let me be the one. It's too dangerous to risk you. If you were to die we should have lost the most powerful of our group." 

"Yes. And that is why I must go through with this myself. The stronger the participant, the greater the chance of success. I think that Sean will confirm that." 

The Irishman nodded unhappily. "You are right, of course," he conceded. "But don't forget that there is a grave risk attached." 

Traben smiled. "I'm not likely to forget that. But if we don't try it, there'll be a grave risk to the whole human race, in the shape of another mushroom cloud." 

The others nodded. "Very well." 

Traben nodded. "Let us make the necessary preparations." 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Moar, now back in the cool of his own office in London, laid down the paper with a sigh. It was the same story all over again. Prejudice, jealousy, all on a national scale, leading the world down a slippery path to destruction. Already the rioting was increasing in violence. Students were on the march - young men, they thirsted after immortality with the eagerness and violence of purpose that only youth could achieve. But the old folk too were in revolt. For a lot of them death was near - a few months, a couple of years or so, as opposed to the prospect of thousands of years stretching out before them. 

"Good God," Moar thought suddenly, "I've got twenty - maybe thirty years left, and then I shall die. The best part of my life is gone." He felt the sudden chill realisation that death was the one absolutely inevitable reward for life. He tried to imagine being dead, and, of course, he failed. No man could imagine the dark oblivion of absolute nothingness. Would his spirit live on? Was there life after them after the great dark claimed them? But religion had tried that, and it had failed. Decaying churches testified to this fact all over the continent. 

All faith had failed, and that might have been the root cause of the unrest in the world. Someday humanity would be mature enough to exist without the prop of spiritual guidance. But man was not ready to be independent yet. His prop had been taken away, there was nothing to fall back upon. The race must work out it's own destiny. If it could. Despair settled over Ken Moar. As he sat in the quiet of his sanctum it was almost as though he could hear the sounds of rioting, conflict and fury from here. He wished Hal Traben was here now. The man exuded an aura of calm and confidence. But he was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared. Had he run out on his responsibilities just when he was needed most? Against his own feelings, Moar had to admit that it certainly looked like it. 

But somehow he could not believe this. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

The creature in the cage gibbered silently to itself. It could have been a nightmare image of all that was horrible in the human race. A drug addict's vision. A monster from somewhere beyond the stars, where creation had somehow gone astray. But it was none of these things. 

It had been born four thousand miles from the London basement where it now crouched. It's parents had been human - but it was not. At once more and less than those which had given it birth, it had been born from a holocaust of radiation and destruction. Furious, hard atomic particles, spawned from the destruction of a giant city had bombarded the genes of its parents - altered the DNA. Its parents had survived, after a fashion, the destruction that had wiped out ninety nine per cent of their fellow humans on the continent of America. They had bred, and this had been their offspring - a mutation. 

Horrible he was to look at, but nature worked both ways. Research had divulged that this mutant possessed powers far beyond the imagination of the human race. 

The E organisation, hoping to serve mankind to the best of it's ability, had organised several secret expeditions to the North American continent, in the hope of being able to rehabilitate some of it's territory. A sight of the fearful destruction that had been wrought was enough to disillusion them on that score, but they had picked up half a dozen mutants, for scientific study. This creature had been one of them. Upon study it had revealed the amazing talents that the Es now intended to make full use of. 

Traben watched the mutant, as it lumbered about it's compound. He turned to O'Rourke. "Perhaps you'd better fill in the outline of this business once more," he said. 

The Irishman nodded. "Well, we discovered that Jasper, our mutant friend here, possessed a fantastic power. He could visualise the atomic structure of matter, the wave form of light. He could gather the impulses that the atomic structure of an object left behind. He could sense the presence of an object, even when that object had been removed. To a limited extent, he could, in effect, see the past. 

"An immediate analogy struck me here between his ability and that of us Es. He saw the past, and we did our best to see the future. I wondered if the two might not be combined in some advantageous fashion. 

It was obvious at once that the brain of an E was more powerful than that of the mutant. I set to work to design a method whereby the E brain could merge with the mutant's mind. I theorised that in this way our power of time prediction might be altered to am ability to actually see the future, as it will be. My machine is the outcome of that project. Theoretically, it should enable you to merge your mind with that of Jasper, and use his ability to see, not how the atoms were arranged in the past, but how they will be arranged in the future. In theory, one should be no more difficult than the other." 

"I wonder, in that case, why Jasper cannot see the future himself." 

"Probably he can't even grasp the concept of a future. To a primitive mind like his, nearly all his experience must be rooted in the present. The little left over is an awareness of the past. He knows that that existed, because he himself experienced it. But he knows nothing of the future, and therefore it does not exist for him." 

Straker nodded. "If we are underestimating the power of Jasper's mentality, it could lead to your conscious personality being submerged. You would become a catatonic." 

"I realise the risk." 

"Very well. When shall we carry out the experiment?" 

"As soon as possible." 

"I can have the machine ready in half an hour." 

"Okay." 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Ken Moar packed up his briefcase, stuffed in a few secret discs, turned out the light in his sanctum, and strode out of the door. It had been a long day. A long and unsatisfactory day. There seemed to be no answer to the dilemma that he found himself in. He had half made up his mind to resign and let the world look after itself. But that would be wrong, the action of a coward. But what could he do? 

His mind seethed with unanswered questions as he strode from Government building with his bodyguard, into the waiting car, saluted by the ever present police officers. A crowd had gathered in the street outside, as it always did, but this time there were no cheers for President Moar. No booing either. In a way he wished there was. At least it would bring the subliminal emotions that seethed in the minds of these people to the surface. Instead there was only a sullen silence. They were waiting - pent up emotions held back by a veneer of civilisation, like an atomic pile that wasn't quite at critical mass. Another ounce of fissionable material and .. whoof .. up in smoke. It was the same with this crowd. All it needed for violence to erupt was a catalyst. It could come at any moment. 

He waved to the crowd as he climbed into the car. Almost at once he realised that it had been the wrong thing to do in these circumstances. The people didn't want waving politicians at a time like this. They wanted results. 

A rumble of discontent from the crowd told him that his action had somehow managed to inflame the situation. A wave. A little thing like a wave of the hand had done this. The bodyguard whispered to the driver, "move forward slowly." 

As the car edged away from the kerb the crowd pressed forward against the cordon of police holding them at bay. Perhaps it had just been a desire to get near to him - to see at close quarters the man who they hoped was going to give them immortality, perhaps their motives were more sinister, he never found out. But all it needed was for one policeman to get angry at being shoved, and push back. That was the catalyst. 

Pandemonium broke loose as the crowd's pent up emotions were released in a burst of fury. Policemen went flying, as what had been a mere crowd, but was now a mob, surged forward. 

Moar heard shouts of rage. The bodyguard leant forward to his driver. "Let's get out of here quick," he urged. 

The car leapt forward, just at the same instant as the crowd finally broke through. Faces leapt momentarily in front of the windscreen, then they were gone. At the same instant there was a crunching sound from beneath the car and a thin scream. As his vehicle turned out into the main road Moar looked back through the rear window and tried hard not to be sick as he saw the bloody, twisted bodies lying in the street behind him. The police were using truncheons aimlessly now. Moar reflected that they didn't have much of a chance. The scene was blocked by a building as the car swept around the corner. 

"I couldn't help it," the driver said. "They leapt right out in front of the car. It was them or us." 

"Yes," Moar whispered. "Them or us." Was this how bad it had become? Did folk like those people in the street have to turn on their own kind? What good did it do? London would be in turmoil tonight. He must get away - out into the country. He reflected that any Africans in London would be well advised to do the same. Mob violence would rule the capital unless the police could swiftly restore order. 

Was civil war better than an atomic conflict with Africa, he wondered, and why did it have to be either of these? Was human nature this inflexible? Did mankind learn nothing from the past? Had two continents died in agony for nothing? The car sped on, away from the turmoil, towards the solitude of his country residence. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

A quiet hum of power suffused the basement of the E club building as the machine ticked over. In a chair to the side, held down by powerful straps, electrodes bristling from his body, sat the mutant. Straker gazed pityingly at him, then back at Traben. 

"We shall have to strap you up like that, Hal," he warned. "When your mind merges with Gasper's we don't know what you might do." 

Traben nodded. "Yeah, I think you are wise there. Well, let's get it over with." 

He sat in the seat, beneath the main bulk of the vast machine. The other two men hurried about, making the final adjustments and clipping electrodes to various parts of Traben's body. Finally, Starkey stood back to survey the result. 

"Well, that's it, Hal," he decided, satisfied with his inspection. "Are you ready." 

Traben nodded. "Might as well get it over with. Death or glory, brothers." 

"It had sure better be glory, for our sake and humanity's" Starkey mumbled in reply as he pulled hard on the activator switch. 

As the current flowed between his own mind and that of the mutant, Gasper, Hal Traben was first of all conscious of an instant's intolerable pain, as though his brain was being torn from his skull. But, almost as soon as he felt it, it was gone, without leaving even so much as a memory of it's presence. Then he felt a vast extension of his consciousness. It was as though he was flowing along a long pipeline towards... There was something dark in the distance, not the dark of emptiness, but an absolute malignant darkness, that seemed to throb with evil purpose. It must be the mind of the mutant, Traben realised. The conflict between them was yet to come. 

He swept on towards the dark, formless mass. God alone knew what was going on inside that warped inhuman brain. What was it like to be a mutation, something alien, and apart from the rest of one's race? There could be no comradeship between the two of them; only conflict until the stronger mind would emerge in control of both their mental faculties. Starkey had said that there was no doubt that his mind was the stronger, but now that the moment of truth was near, Traben was horribly doubtful. If the mutant had the power to see atomic structure, and it's effects on the space-time continuum, who knew what other abilities it might possess, abilities lying latent until the moment that they were needed, such as a conflict with another mind. Oh well, death or glory he had said, and death or glory it must be. There was no turning back now. 

These thoughts flashed through Traben's mind in the few split seconds that the black mentality of the mutant rushed to meet him. 

Their minds clashed. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Ken Moar's car sped through the countryside to the south of London heading for the country residence in Wrotham. Moar's scrambled communicator used for contact between himself and his London HQ, was alive with news of chaos, rioting and destruction. It seemed that the melee outside his offices, had inflamed the crowd to further violence. They had marched on other government buildings, and in the end the police had been forced to open fire in order to disperse them. As always, violence had begat violence, and the rioting had spread through the capital into the suburbs. Probably he had got away just in time. He was even beginning to doubt the wisdom of travelling to his Wrotham home - the mobs would be sure to gather there. They might even be lying in wait for him. He flipped on the intercom that connected him with the driver. 

"Change of plan, Jack," he said. "We'll give Wrotham a miss today. Take me to Charing - my sister's house." 

The driver nodded his assent and stepped on the accelerator. The Charing hideaway was known only to Moar's inner sanctum and personal security guards; as far as the people knew, it didn't exist. It was far enough out of the town and off the main road to be secluded, large enough to house his secret underground bunker, but not large enough to be conspicuous. His sister, a high ranking Euro official, had maximum security clearance. 

The trouble with the human race, Moar reflected, was that it was too aggressive; it had to be, of course, or it would never be at the top of the evolutionary tree, where it now stood unchallenged. All the same, it was a pity that this aggressiveness could not be somehow channelled into a more useful field. There ought to be some method of utilising these animal instincts. Some creative method. Yes, it might work at that. Still, all this was for the future - if there was going to be one. At the moment he was not even sure of that much. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

When the final conflict between the mind of the mutant and his own mentality came, Hal Traben was surprised at the swiftness of it's conclusion. He had not really believed what Starkey had said about his own vast mental superiority, but now it seemed that his fellow E had been right. As soon as his mind touched the outskirts of that black mental cloud, it dissolved and fell away. For a moment Traben was shattered by the swiftness of his victory, and then he realised that it was not victory after all as the mutant communicated with him. 

Their communication was not speech, nor telepathy either. It was direct plugging in of one brain to another a the realest form of contact that there could be. 

"Not fighting" the mutant transmitted. "If fight .. much hurt .. maybe minds wrecked. Instead .. work together .. maybe what happened me .. not happen world." 

Traben's brain filled with a euphoric joy. The mutant - this loathsome creature that they had so despised, was offering to co-operate. He quickly communicated his assent with it's plan. 

As soon as this was done, the black cloud formed again, and swept over his mind, merging, coalescing. This was the vital moment of truth, Traben reasoned. If the mutant was not sincere in it's desire to co-operate, if it should overwhelm him .. but no. Their minds merged. 

Traben at once entered a state of complete mental sympathy with the mind of the other. He saw the Universe through it's eyes, sensed with it's strange senses, and he knew that it was doing the same with his. Their existences were not alien to each other he quickly decided, but, in some strange fashion, complementary. Had Jasper known this then he offered co-operation. 

With his new senses, Traben began to search his surroundings. Using a new never dreamt of power that was possible, he freed his mind from it's body, and soared away into space, where he could get a clearer picture of the larger scale of things. 

When he was about two hundred thousand miles out Traben-Jasper stopped and gazed back at the Earth. Using strange powers of sight he concentrated his vision on one small sector of the vast bluish globe that hung in space before him. London. It was a London torn with riots and violence. Destruction and looting were widespread. 

"God," he whispered. "Is this the London of the future?" 

"This now," Jasper replied. 

"Now?" Traben was shocked. Locked away in the E club basement he hadn't realised the turn that events in the outside world had taken. 

"Let's look at the future," he muttered mentally to his symbiotic partner. "Go forward a year." 

The globe that was Earth dimmed for a brief instant as the mutant used his powers of time vision in conjunction with Traben's precognitive gift. 

"One year, future," Jasper confirmed. 

Traben again used his magnifying vision to concentrate on London. 

But this time what he saw was so great a shock that his mental symbiosis was almost severed. There was no London; no great buildings soared into the air, no busy streets thronged with people, no lines of jammed cars, hooting furiously. Just a hideous mess of jumbled rock and mortar, with a few, ragged, stumbling figures foraging amongst the ruin. Over the dark horizon a blue, eerie pall hung, giving the scene a quality of unreality. London was dead. 

"No," Traben whispered. "No. This cannot be. This must not be." 

But he stared back at the death and destruction and it was unchanged. 

The mask of death grinned in his face. 


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^


THIS MUST NOT BE

{Part 2}

Harry S. Logan



Traben sat in the E-club basement, his head sunk in his hands. "Destruction," he whispered. "It was a hell of destruction. All that was left of our greatest cities were piles of glowing rubble. African was the same - the great jungles were stripped and smashed into the soil. Craters of death dotted two continents." He shook his head slowly. "If this mutant can see the future as clear as you say it can, then we've had it." 

Straker bit his lip. "Things have turned nasty outside since you left," he said. "There's a lot of rioting and looting going on. The police aren't doing all that much about stopping it, either. I think that they're half in sympathy with the looters." 

Traben nodded wearily, "Yeah. I saw the looting when my mind was linked with Jasper's, before we went futureward. But how did it all start?" 

"Well, things are a bit confused," O'Rourke muttered. "But some reports say that the President's car ran down two demonstrators outside his office." 

"What? Where's Ken now?" 

"No idea. He drove away out of London, and hasn't been seen since." 

Straker pondered. "Could he be heading for his country residence." 

"Hmm. Mebbe, but I doubt it. He must realise that the mobs would be there, waiting for him. And without adequate police protection he wouldn't have a chance. No, my bet is that he's gone into hiding somewhere." 

"Supposing he has, Hal. Where does that leave the country politically?" 

"Heck, Pete, I don't know. Strictly speaking, he's still President of Europe, but it looks like he's gonna be a President without the support of his electorate. I've got to find him. But where? If he can't gather together some sort of government about him, this is the beginning of the end." 

O'Rourke was looking glum. "Is it worth the trouble, Hal?" 

"Eh? What are you getting at?" 

"Well, if what you saw when you were linked to that mutant's mind is the future, is it any use trying to alter it, or is it fixed?'' 

"God alone can answer that one. I prefer to think that it's not too late to try and get a bit of sanity back into the minds of our citizens. If we fail, then, well, I guess I'll meet the end as well as anyone, but I sure as hell don't believe in sitting about waiting for a hydrogen bomb to fall into my lap. That's too fatalistic an attitude by far for me. I'm going to try and track down Moar." 

"Okay. It's your neck. What do you want us to do?" 

"Keep experimenting with that mutant. It's a lot more intelligent than we gave it credit for. It may be able to throw a bit of light on just why the future's gonna turn out to be the way it is." 

"A slim hope, Hal." 

"Sure, but a slim hopes better'n none at all. This calls for a 'precognitive' assessment of the facts to deduce the outcome." Traben took the lift up from the basement into the heart of the E club building. The other Es who had been at the conference had long since left, and apart from a light down the corridor in the janitor's apartment the building was in darkness. 

As Traben moved towards the door he heard a slight sound from the shadows behind him. Some sixth sense, maybe his extrapolative ability, told him to drop. He fell to his knees as a sharp report sounded and a bullet whanged through the air above his head. 

There was a curse from behind him. He spun around, but could see nothing in the darkened room. Obviously one of the mob had got in via a window. They knew that Moar's adviser was an E, and that immediately made all Es their enemies, Traben doubted whether the sniper knew just whom he was firing at, but that wouldn't make any difference to his motives. 

Another bullet sang past him, but Traben suspected that the gunman was just as handicapped by the dark as he was. Certainly the second bullet had been further from the mark. Doubtless the noise of his moving around had prompted the first shot, and revealed his position. Now, all he had to do was creep up ... 

Stealthily and silently, Traben crept in the direction from which the shots had been fired. All at once he saw the man. He was silhouetted for a moment against the window, as he crept from one hiding place to another. Traben smiled grimly. Obviously the would be assassin had realised that his position had been revealed, and was getting away from it as fast as he could quietly do. But not quite fast enough, Hal Traben thought. 

He leapt out at the figure that crept through the room. Although he was getting old, Traben had always been a firm believer in regular exercise to keep his body in good shape, and this policy was vindicated now. The gunman turned as Traben leapt, a curse on his lips. But it was never uttered, for the E cannoned into him, sending him crashing against a heavy table. The intruder dropped his gun as he lurched back. Traben realised that he wouldn't have time to pick up the weapon, but he sent it skidding across the floor out of reach, with a well aimed kick. A second kick landed in the assassin's midriff as he ran forward, arms flailing. A heavy blow on the back of the neck knocked him unconscious. No time for fair play here, Traben reflected when the other man had already tried to kill him and was twenty years or more his junior. 

The American looked about the dark chamber. His eyes were adjusting swiftly to the gloom. He walked over to a cupboard, from which he pulled a long length of rope and an old rag. He tied the gunman, gagged him with the rag and shoved him into the cupboard, which he then locked. 

Panting with exertion, he rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. He took one last glance about the room, then, convinced that no more killers lurked in the shadows, he opened the door and strode out into the London streets. 

There was no immediate sign of the conflict which was tearing the capital apart, except for a faint glow towards the west, which might have been a huge fire raging in the suburbs. The streets were curiously deserted. The majority of the populace had obviously decided that on a night like this discretion was the better part of valour, Traben decided. He slunk along the only partly-lit streets, to the side street in which his car was parked. He hoped the mobs hadn't smashed it or set it on fire. 

Traben smiled with satisfaction as he turned the corner and saw his car still where he had left it, untouched. This reinforced his view that the gunman who had entered the E club was an isolated fanatic, and not a part of any mob. If the rioting had spread to this part of the city, it was unlikely that there would be so little evidence of damage. Shaking his head, he climbed into the driving seat and switched on the ignition. The car slid away from the kerb and accelerated down the empty street. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Ken Moar paced up and down in his sister's living room. "But I should be back in London, trying to sort out this mess," he said. 

His sister, Valerie, looked up at him. "Look, Ken, you've done as much as you can," she said softly. "You've contacted the key members of your inner war cabinet; they're coming down here as fast as they can. For you to go back to the capital would only make things worse." 

"But - the police - the army - they're doing their best to contain the crowds. But I can't contact them. Hell, Val, without first hand information, I don't even know who's winning up there. There are men dying to try and preserve a semblance of order. If only Hal was here, he'd know what to do. But I think he's gone." 

His sister shook her head. "Not if I know Hal Traben," she said. "I only met him twice, but I don't think that he's the sort of man to desert a friend in a crisis." 

"You may be right. I don't know. I wish I knew what was going on." 

"Be patient. It'll all turn out right in the end." 

"But even if we manage to stop the rioting and calm the population, the old problem of Africa will still remain. The pressure will build up again. I haven't got the answer to it, Val." 

"I don't think anyone could have done better, you know." 

"Maybe not." Moar sunk into silence. Dark thoughts crept through his mind. He had never felt so alone, so vulnerable. If there was just one person that he could talk to, reason this thing out with. That was where Hal had always been a comfort. But he wasn't here. 

Moar waited for the rest of his key cabinet and his political advisers to arrive. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Hal Traben's eyes slitted as he saw the dark bulk of a barricade looming up ahead. So that was why this area of the city was so quiet; the authorities had cordoned it off. He wondered for a moment whether the barricade up ahead might not be the work of the mobs, and not of the police at all. If that was the case, and he was recognised, he doubted that he would come out of it alive. But then he saw the uniformed troops standing guard. They turned as he drove up to the barrier. 

"What are you doing out on the streets," a harassed looking lieutenant rapped as Traben peered from the car window. "Do you know we've got orders to shoot anyone breaking the curfew?" 

"Curfew?" said Traben dumbly. 

"The capital's been placed under martial law," the soldier said grimly. "Didn't you know? Where have you been?" 

Traben was tempted to say that he had been a year in the future, seeing a glowing crater where the capital now stood, but he said nothing, merely flashing his identity card at the soldier. 

The lieutenant saluted. "Sorry, sir, I didn't recognise you," he said. "Can I help you?" 

"What news of the President?" 

"All I know is he left the city sir; publicly, there's no word on where he's gone and no news on the grapevine either; he's not shown at any of his official residences." 

Traben's mind was working overtime - Ken's sister. She lived in Kent somewhere. Yes, that was the sort of place that he might have gone. There were few secrets Moar kept from him, and the President had confided in him that he did have an ultra secret bunker beneath her house. Traben remembered Ken's sister -Valerie. Where was it that she lived? He must remember. He had been there once, though not into the underground 'inner sanctum'. A small town - somewhere near Maidstone. Charing. That was it. He turned back to the lieutenant. 

"I think that I know where I can find the President," he said. "Is there any information that I can pass on to him from here on the ground?" 

"Sure. You can tell him that we could do with reinforcements," the soldier said. "I don't know how long my men can hold back the mobs, if they make a determined move. Some of them have got more sympathy with the mobs than they have with the President." 

Traben's eyes narrowed. "And you?" 

"Hell, for myself, I guess that I don't really want an atomic war. That's what it'll mean if an extremist got into power, isn't it?" 

Traben nodded soberly. "Yeah," he muttered. "That's just what it would mean. Remember that, son, if the mobs charge. It might help a little bit to realise that you're savin' their lives by what you're doin' here." 

The soldier nodded and stepped back as the barrier was moved aside for Traben to pass. He accelerated away from the roadblock with the lieutenant's voice calling out after him: 

"Be careful, sir. The mobs are still on the rampage out there." Traben pressed the accelerator down to the floor. He must get out of the danger area of the city as quickly as possible. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Peter Straker stepped back from the machine and ran his hand through his hair. "So that's the answer," he muttered, half to himself. 

O'Rourke stared puzzledly at him. "What?" he asked. 

"I know now why Hal saw a vision of disaster when he linked his mind with that of the mutant." 

"What are you driving at?" 

"Look, Sean. I've just been doing what Hal told me to. I've made a close examination of Jasper's brain, using all our modern psychoanalytical equipment. He was quite co-operative once he realised that we were not going to harm him." 

"And what did you find out?" 

"Apart from his psionic powers, the mind of this mutant isn't normal." 

"How so ?" 

"Well, he survived - after a fashion - the worst atomic war that the world has ever known. His country was virtually wiped out by that war, most of his friends, his family, all killed. We could hardly have expected him to have come through an experience like that unscathed." 

"Wait minute, I think I begin to see what you're getting at." 

"Yes. Word association and inkblot tests are out. We can't confirm it that way, because Jasper can't communicate with us that well. But my machine acts in somewhat the same fashion. Every image in Jasper's mind is the same. Overlaid and distorted by visions of radioactive destruction and ruin." 

"So what Hal saw wasn't the future after all?" 

"Hmm. I wouldn't be that definite. It might have been. However, it's more likely that it was just one of Jasper's traumas breaking through to the surface." 

"So - there' s still hope. The future might not be a radioactive ruin after all?" 

"Yes. Hope at least. But perhaps not much of that. It all depends on Hal and the President now." 

O'Rourke walked across to the lift. "I'm going up top to get some air," he called out to Straker. 

Once in the main hall of the E club building he walked to the door and glanced outside. Dawn was breaking over the capital. If he listened carefully he could hear the crackle of small arms fire in the distance. There was at least a chance now that this business could be settled without mushroom clouds blooming over Europe. But only if Ken Moar and his adviser could use all their brilliance in devising a solution that would satisfy the population. He shrugged and closed the door. They still had a tremendous task ahead of them. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

In the dim light of the dawn, Hal Traben saw the first signs of trouble. He had carefully avoided the areas where fires glowed and pistols crackled, and it had led him miles off his intended course, out into the straggling south-east suburbs of London. Now he peered anxiously ahead at a group of men who formed a knot of humanity stretching across the road. They looked as though they might have been students a few days before. There had always been a hard core of the youth of Europe who were ready to join in any form of protest, about anything at all. He decided not to stop. 

As he approached, one or two of the youths stepped out into the road and waved him down. Traben noted grimly that a few of them held sticks and lumps of stone. Knives and guns were probably there too, hidden for the moment. He was definitely not stopping. 

He shot past the group of students, scattering them with the speed of his passage. One of the men who had stepped out into the road was knocked sideways by the car's wing. Through his mirror Hal saw him sent reeling across the pavement, where he lay, writhing. Traben drove on hurriedly as lumps of stone were flung after him. A shot rang out, but he was too far away by that time for it to have any effect. But the incident served to warn him that he must on no account stop for anything until he had reached his destination. It was a good thing that his tank had been full when he had left the E club. He headed out into the country. 

Twice more as he sped along the narrow side roads he saw groups of dissidents, but they made no determined attempt to stop him. He guessed that by avoiding main roads he had also avoided the worst of the trouble. But taking the lesser roads also had it's disadvantages. He wasn't sure that he knew the way. At length he found himself cutting across the main London-Maidstone road, and decided that, as he was now quite a way from the capital, it would be safe to take the main road. There was very little traffic about, and what there was seemed to be heading away from the capital. He joined it. 

He progressed without further incident until he neared Maidstone. 

He had guessed that the rioting might be worse in the more populous areas, and it seemed that he had been right, for a pall of smoke hung over the county town. Traben nibbled at his lower lip as he accelerated along the by-pass route, hoping that the mobs hadn't realised as yet that the object of their hatred was only a few miles away. 

On the far side of Maidstone all was quiet, and he was at Charing within twenty minutes. He strained his mind trying to recollect which house belonged to Ken Moar's sister. If he remembered correctly, it was a largish property, standing by itself, down a secluded drive, somewhere just outside the main town. He drove on, watching the roadside carefully. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Valerie Moar watched her brother as he resumed his pacing. 

"Calm down, Ken," she advised him. "They won't get here any quicker for you worrying about it." 

"They should have been here long ago," Moar replied, glancing anxiously at his watch. "We might all be part of a united Europe, but there's still plenty of big cracks we choose to politically paper over. There was one hell of a fuss when I had central controls brought to London from Brussels. There's plenty of my continental comrades who are just itching for a chance to depose me and return control back to the European mainland, preferably in their own country." 

"Don't be so pessimistic." 

Moar opened his mouth to retort, but his words were cut off as he spun around. "I hear a car," he said. 

Valerie, got up. "I'll go and see who it is," she said. She glanced over her shoulder as she went through the door. "See. I told you they'd be here soon." 

Moar listened intently as the front door opened. He heard a low voice talking to his security man who had travelled here with him. It was a voice he ought to know. Whose...? 

"Hal!" he exclaimed, as Traben followed Valerie into the living room. "Where on Earth have you been?" 

"Had a little trouble finding you, buddy," drawled Traben. 

"How are things up in London?" 

"Rough, boy. Rough. I think I got out of there just in time." 

Moar sank back into his chair. "What are we going to do, Hal? What are we going to do?" 

"Dunno yet. I want a few hours peace and quiet to think. Have you contacted your war cabinet?" 

"Yes, the key players are supposed to be on their way out here now. Some of them should have arrived by now. One or two at least. Well, that's if they're coming." He repeated the fears he had expressed to his sister. "You can just bet right now they'll be using this crisis to undermine my position and try and get their own man in." 

"Maybe," Traben agreed, "but don't forget, there are armed gangs out on the streets in London and the suburbs. If they get hold of a member of the government I hesitate to think what they might do." 

Valerie stood nervously by the door. "I'll get us a cup of tea," she said, summoning her maid. 

Moar laughed nervously as his sister left for the kitchen. "A cup of tea," he laughed. "The English cure for everything." 

"If it'll clear our brains it'll be welcome," Traben replied. "I could do with a cup, anyhow. Since I've been here, I think I prefer it to coffee. Now there's a thing for an American to admit!" He paused and became more serious. "Have you had any more thoughts about this immortality business?" 

"No. Even the Africans don't know why they're immortal. They can't pin the genetic change down." As he finished speaking there was a knock at the door. 

"Sounds like the first of your cabinet boys arriving," Traben remarked. 

It was the French minister, Jean Decaud. He shook Moar's hand nervously. Of all those in his cabinet, Decaud was the one he trusted least. 

"Did you run into any trouble getting here, Jean?" Moar asked. 

The Frenchman nodded. "Oui, a little. My plane was scheduled to land at Heathrow, but the pilot got word that there were rioting mobs on the runways, so we were switched to a military airfield. It was quite quiet there. We came across country to get here, so we didn't have a lot of worry there. We did see one or two isolated groups of troublemakers, but we just drove right by them before they had a chance to stop us." 

Traben nodded. "Same here. It's a good job that there's no organisation in the mobs as yet. How are things in France?" 

"Oh, nothing like over here. But the unrest is growing, and the situation over here is bound to affect the position in my country, one way or another. If trouble starts, it'll be with the students." 

"Can't we close down the universities?" 


"We could, but that'd just give them something to beef about," Moar put in. "God knows, we don't want to aggravate the situation further." 

"Are we any closer to a solution of this immortality problem?" Decaud enquired. 

Moar shook his head. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a container. He unscrewed the top of the refrigerated unit and pulled out a tube that contained clear liquid. 

"What is that?" the Frenchman demanded. 

Moar smiled sardonically. "That," he said, "is the cause of all our troubles. It's a sample of human genetic plasma, from an African. Mtuba gave it to me. I think he's hoping that we'll find the secret. He doesn't want war any more than we do." 

Traben rubbed his chin. "Why bring that along?" 

"I forgot it in the chaos. My meeting with Mtuba was a strictly one to one affair, so he gave it to me personally. I was going to send it along to the research boys in the hopes that they might dig up something new. I forgot." 

The American looked thoughtful. "I wonder whether we might do anything with it. I used to be a biochemist myself, back before the war, in the U.S. Something - my gift - tells me it might be worthwhile me taking a look at that stuff." 

"But our scientists have studied such plasma before." 

"Yes. But this is more recent. It's been in the body of an immortal several years. Perhaps the missing factor will show up more clearly." 

Moar shook his head. "Yes. All that might be true, Hal, but we haven't got any facilities. You'd need access to a huge biolab." 

Valerie had re-entered the room while he was speaking. "Biolab?" she said. "Are you talking about the new one that's opened up about a mile down the road?" 

Traben whirled. "What?" 

"The new research place. Only opened a few months back. All very modern. Surely you know the one, Ken. Biosynthetics Ltd. own it." 

Moar nodded slowly. "Yes, that's right," he breathed. "I remember now. The government gave them a huge development grant." 

"Seems to me, boy," Traben drawled, "that if we gave 'em a grant we're entitled to use the place. Do you think the boss out there will co-operate?" 

"I think so," Valerie nodded. "I know him quite well, having met him at numerous official functions. He has often told me how he admires Ken's method of government." 

Moar grimaced. "His views may have changed of late, but it's worth a try. Come on, Hal. We'll drive down in your car." He turned to Decaud. "Hold the fort here, Jean," he said. "Explain where we are if anyone else turns up." 

The Frenchman grimaced. "You are joking surely," he responded. "You are the President - you can't just rush off on a wild goose chase and a dangerous one at that." 

"Watch me, monsieur," Moar responded. "I'm going to be a hands on President, not a pen pusher. He took a steaming cup of tea from his maid who had just entered the room and pushed it into his colleagues hands. "You're in charge until I get back," Moar continued, "that's what you've always wanted isn't it?" He paused. "I'm leaving my security man here by the way. As you know he outranks your entourage, as does my team down in the basement, so don't try anything innovative while I'm gone." With that warning, he headed for the door. 

It was only after a heated exchange with his security team, and the President issuing a direct order to them, that they reluctantly agreed to stay in the house, while he went off with Traben, who now drove him swiftly down the Ashford road towards the new biolab. As he drove, Moar twisted his hands nervously. "How can you hope to find something in the short time we have left, Hal?" he asked. 

"I don't know that I will," the older man replied, "but my senses tell me if I try I just might succeed. Is that the place, up ahead, do you think?" 

Moar peered through the windscreen. "Yes, I think it must be." 

Traben pulled the car up at the main gate. An overalled assistant was strolling through the laboratory grounds. Moar called him over. 

"I want to see the director," he stated. "Can you help me?" 

The assistant nodded. "Sure," he said. "Come with me." As they stepped from the car, his eyes widened, and his brow creased in puzzlement. "Oh, isn't it President Moar?" 

Moar nodded, a sick feeling rising in his throat. If this man was on the side of the mobs he was finished. But their guide just nodded gravely, and led them through the modern buildings to an office marked: H. Merriton. Director. 

Moar knocked and went in, Traben close at his heels. Merriton rose in astonishment as they closed the door behind them. 

"President Moar," he gasped. "This is an honour. But why did you come unannounced. What... ?" 

Traben cut him short. "As you know, buddy, there's a bit of trouble up in the capital," he drawled. 

The director nodded. "Yes. Riots, so they say. Terrible, terrible. But why are you here?" 

"We want to try and stop those riots,'' Moar explained. "It might be of the greatest importance for Mr. Traben here to have access to your most modern lab. Can it be arranged?" 

Merriton looked startled. "Why, I suppose so," he said. "How long will you want it for?" 

Traben shrugged. "I can't say at the moment. Certainly not more than three or four hours. By that time I shall know whether or not I can achieve my goal." 

"Lab no. 3 is not in use at the moment. You are welcome to use it for as long as you like." He licked his lips nervously. "Does .. er .. anyone know you're here?" 

Moar shook his head. "No, and we'd rather it stayed that way." 

Merriton smiled uneasily. "Oh, I see. Yes, quite. I don't want mobs rampaging through my new building, wrecking my equipment." He got up. "Now, if you'd just follow me." 

He led them down a long, clean, corridor, to a glass door marked with a number three. "This is it," he stated. 

The E entered the laboratory, with Moar close behind. Merriton closed the door on them and retreated back down the corridor towards his office. 

"I'm not sure I trust him," Moar said doubtfully. 

Traben laughed. "He won't tell the mobs. Not while there's a risk of his precious equipment being smashed." Moar took the container that held the tube of liquid that the African leader had given him from his pocket and handed it to the American. Traben peered at it. 

"Is there any risk of infection, do you suppose?" Moar asked. 

Traben clapped him on the shoulder and guffawed. "What's up son, afraid of catching immortality," he said. "Still, you're right, of course." He glanced around the lab. "Ah. There we are. Hand me over that plastic smock affair. You'd better wear that spacesuit-looking gear over in the corner. Nothing can get at you through that." 

They both hastily donned the protective clothing. Traben's smock was more like a tent, and hung in loose folds about him as he sat at the bench. Moar, on the other hand, looked like an astronaut in a tight fitting green suit of tough cloth. Air hoses and power lines hung from the suit, obviously for use when the helmet was connected, but Moar decided to leave it off so that he could hear what the other was saying. Traben likewise discarded the metal headpiece that went with his gear. 

The President of Europe watched intently as his E adviser placed the small tube of plasma in the laboratory centrifuge. Traben flipped a switch and the machine whirred into life. 

A minute or two went by before Traben again unhooked the machine door and removed the phial. It was now divided distinctly into two parts. A greyish solid had settled to the bottom, on which floated a clear, colourless liquid. Traben removed the liquid portion carefully, diluting it in a number of jars of solution that he had prepared while the centrifuge was in operation. 

Then he donned rubber gloves and unhooked a pistol-like device from the wall. He plugged a long flex into it, the other end of which disappeared into a wall socket. "What's that?" Moar asked. 

"An electric gun," Traben replied. "This substance would, in the human body, from where it came, be acted upon by a number of reactions, chemical and electrical. The solutions I prepared mock the chemical reactions. This pistol will provide the electricity." He picked up the jars of solution one by one and fired the electric gun into them, jotting down his results carefully on a sheet of paper. Moar watched as the other man worked, feeling helpless, unable to do anything. He had a feeling that this was their last chance. If Traben didn't turn up anything now, the country, and probably the whole continent, was doomed. Traben ran a gnarled hand through his hair as he set aside the last of the jars that he had treated. He sat back in his chair and let out a sigh. 

"Well," Moar enquired urgently. "Have you found anything out?" 

"Mebbe," he said thoughtfully. "But I can't be sure yet. Pass me that solid that settled in the tube. I want to compare it with this stuff I've treated." 

"Are you on to something then?" 

"I could be. It's no credit to me though. This stuff you brought back has been affected by the reaction brought on by the radiodust for a longer period than that we'd examined before. It's had more time to develop. The effect's more noticeable. If the African scientists had equipment as sophisticated as this; and my special abilities to guide me into using potentially illogical testing procedures, they'd've discovered it as well." 

"What?" 

"I'll tell you after I've studied this other lot. If it compares as I think it might do, then...." The American paused. 

"Then what?" Moar asked. 

"Oh, nothing." Traben turned to the electron microscope. He tipped a small amount of the solid onto the plate, spreading it thinly as he did so. The screen cleared after a few seconds of greyness. Traben focused it carefully. Long, stringy objects came into view. Moar realised that these were chromosomes, the tiny intercellular objects that contained the blueprint of all life. Traben fiddled with the controls, increasing the magnification so that he could study the DNA more closely. After much deliberation, he switched off the machine and turned back to Moar. 

"Well?" the President asked anxiously. 

Traben nodded. "Yes. It confirms what I thought. Your troubles are over .. in a way. In another way, they're only just starting." 

Moar frowned. "I don't und.." he began, but stopped abruptly as the E grabbed his arm. 

"Listen," he hissed. 

Moar now heard what the other's keener ears had picked up an instant sooner. A sound of shouting and cursing was echoing through the building. 

"A mob," cursed Moar. "And they're heading this way, by the sound of it." 

"That director must have tipped them off," Traben cursed. 

Moar shook his head. "No, I doubt it. More likely it was that fellow who showed us to Merriton's office. I thought he took it all a bit too calmly." 

Traben thought furiously. "Let me deal with this," he said, picking up the electric gun from the table. 

"They're here," Moar cursed, as the door burst in. A mob of people poured into the room, waving and shrieking. More were pressing forward from the corridor outside. They were out for blood. 

"There they are," a swarthy looking individual in the front ranks spat. "Let's tear 'em apart." 

"Stand back," Traben shouted, waving the pistol. 

"You don't scare me," the man sneered, lurching forward. 

A bolt of electric flame shot through the air and hit him full in the chest. He arched backwards and was thrown against the far wall of the laboratory. A tinkle of broken apparatus sounded, and then there was a shocked silence. An angry mumbling ran through the mob. 

Moar stood in silence. The electric gun wouldn't hold them back for long, he knew. The ones at the rear would start to push, knowing that they were safe, and then the mob would be forced forward, and they would be overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. He hoped Traben had something up his sleeve. They were going to need it. He realised that the American was speaking again: 

"What do you want?" Traben roared at the crowd. 

"We want protection from the radiation; we want immortality," shouted back a voice from the rear. Traben recognised it as the man who had met them when they'd arrived at the lab. So Moar's guess had been right. It had been him who had betrayed them. The American smiled sardonically. 

"So you want eternal salvation?" 

"Yeah. Damn right." This time it was a voice from the front of the crowd that answered him. 

"Just like the Africans?" Moar realised with a shock that the American was mocking them. That was a dangerous game to play. But then he knew something that they didn't. But what was it? 

The voice of the laboratory assistant came back, but there was an edge of uncertainty. "Yeah. Why shouldn't we have it?" 

"Do you know what it'll do to you?" Traben, was using all the skills he possessed as an E, to work the crowd to his advantage. Moar marvelled at the man's skill, he now had them hanging onto every word. He had transformed them from a mob into an audience. Despite the danger of the situation, Moar allowed himself a wry smile as he imagined what a successful politician Traben could make himself. 

The technician responded. "It'll save us." 

Traben laughed bitterly. "Yes. That's what the Africans thought. But shall I tell you what it really does?" He paused, and the silence in the lab was so absolute that Moar could hear his heart pounding. Traben continued: 

"When the radiodust floated down over Africa, it altered the genetic structure of the human cell. Everyone knew that. What they weren't sure about was just what the effect was. The first indications suggested that it made the cells inherently self repairing, which it did. From this, the scientists of Africa and Europe assumed that the Africans had immortality. I now know better. I have had a chance to study a recent sample of plasma from Africa, and I can now foresee the end result of that cellular change. Death and soon!" 

A wave of astonishment swept through the crowd, and Moar felt it too. Was Traben serious? The American went on: 

"When our scientists tried to induce the change automatically the subjects died. But our scientists didn't have it quite right. There is a way that the change can be brought about more slowly. At first the cells are stronger; they repair themselves, and, although this reaction causes near total sterility it is still beneficial. But - you can never get something for nothing. This process wears out the cells. It takes a good many months - years - but it is inexorable. In due course the cells collapse. Death is instantaneous." 

The crowd looked numbed. One of the ringleaders moved forward. "I don't believe it," he muttered. "It's a trick." 

Traben looked at him pityingly. "I will inject you with the serum, then," he said, "and, if you are right, you will be immortal. Do you wish to risk it?" 

The man mumbled something and shuffled back. That was the sign for the crowd to move back and start breaking up. Traben's performance had been impeccable. Suddenly the lab had taken on an evil significance for them. They looked disillusioned, broken; they began to disperse until soon not one of the rioters was left. 

"Was that the truth, Hal?" Moar asked breathlessly when they were alone again. 

"God's own," the E replied 

"But - the Africans. It's been years. How long before ..." 

"Six to nine months. In a year's time there won't be one African who was affected left alive unless we can find an antidote." 

"Eight hundred million of them. All doomed!" 

Traben nodded. "I know how it feels to see your continent's population wiped out. Poor bastards," he mumbled softly. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Ken Moar stood on the tarmac, listening to the sound of the huge plane's motor warming up. He turned to Hal Traben. 

"You are going, then." 

Traben nodded. "Over there's my home," he said. "There must be some parts of it that are habitable by now, areas that missed the worst of the bombings. That's where we Es will settle. It will be our new home." He glanced at the mutant, Jasper, who stood by his side on the cold runway. "There are thousands over there like him. They'd be a race of supergeniuses but for one thing. The memory of the war has left a dreadful scar on their minds - inhibited their reasoning processes. Perhaps if we can build anew .. they might recover. I've got a feeling that between us, we and them, we can do great things with that continent, Ken. America will be a powerful force again." 

"In a way, Hal, I wish I was coming with you." 

"Sure. I know, boy, but you've got work of your own to do here." 

"Yes. Our scientists are working like mad to find a cure for Africa. I only hope to God we can save them in time. There are already thousands and thousands of fatalities. The only saving grace is that it's put paid to the doubters who refused to accept the scientific evidence; their movement has collapsed right across Europe." 

"Let's hope that we can now build a world where there'll never be the need for another war." 

"Mmm. You said it, Hal." 

"One good thing. You've got the wholehearted support of your electorate now. Your friend the French Minister had shown a bit too much support for the immortals movement, obviously hoping to ride to power with their support. Now he's totally discredited." 

"Too true. How fickle humans are. A few months ago everyone was after my blood. Now I'm praised for saving them from war and death." 

"People are like that, son. Well, the pilot's wavin'. I guess it's time for me an' Jasper to go. I might be back to see you someday, when we've got things settled over there." 

"Sure, Hal. Goodbye, and all the luck in the world." 

"You too." He paused, then smiling, lapsed into an exaggerated southern drawl, "good buddy." They walked side by side to the plane, the E and the mutant, and Moar realised that it was, in a way, symbolic of the world that was to come. 

It wasn't a happy ending, he reflected. Millions more may die, and none were better off than they had been. But, in real life, it was this way. Overall, there were no happy endings, nor unhappy ones. There were no endings at all, just the completion of chapters. Where one road stopped, another began, and the horizon was always just as far away as it had ever been. 

He sighed deeply, and walked back across the airfield to where his presidential car awaited. 

There was work to be done. 






  
 