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

not quitting ‘til we finish—I’m sure of that.”

      The major went away, looking for someone else in authority.

      Walt, his mutant bridge restored, was inspecting the second signal generator with interest. With it, the technicians would determine the signal that interfered with his frequency. They would set it to throb out that signal.

      One section of the transmitter cable ran to each signal generator. A sergeant had just finished installing a switch that would control the signal being fed into the output line. After the first mutant wave had been captured, the switch would be thrown to the left. The signal covering Walt’s powers would then be transmitted to the same network of radio and television stations that had carried the one covering Julia’s; and the second wave would be reduced to earth normal.

      It was dawn before the first signal generator began operation. It was Sunday.

      Julia sat at a desk, sipping coffee, holding a book suspended in front of her, six inches from the desk top. The last twenty-four hours had left a strain on her face. When the book fell, her mutant powers would be gone.

      Smoking cigarette after cigarette, Dr. Norvel watched. After nearly fifteen minutes, she pleaded, “Drop, damn you, drop!”

      Work on the second generator continued. It was at least half a day away from completion. There was a continual mutter of conversation about it in the background.

      An hour later, sweat covered Julia’s face. The book was still suspended.

      “Put in the next frequency range unit,” Dr. Norvel said wearily.

      A general bustled in. “General Tibbets wants to know how we’re doing here.”

      Silence greeted him.

      “The paratroopers are ready,” the general said defensively.

      *

      Lycan bustled about, making last minute preparations in the larger compartment. His faceted eyes gleamed with excitement. Now and then he spoke to a mutant.

      “You ready, Fred?”

      “Yes, Lycan. I’m nervous, but I’m ready.”

      “It’s natural,” Lycan reassured.

      The mutants shuffled their feet and cleared their throats and wiped their palms. They smiled uneasily.

      “Form a line!” the Elder called. “We’re ready to load you.”

      The mutants complied. They spoke in hushed undertones. Their focus rods, like tall staffs, bristled unevenly above their heads.

      Lycan led them up the ladder to the second level. Led them down the long corridor. Led them past gleaming, whirring machinery.

      In the huge, open launching area, the other aliens made last minute adjustments on the saucer ships.

      The Elder sent the first group forward. They boarded their ships. The aliens withdrew.

      A section of the wall unfolded. Air hissed away, expelling the saucer ships out into space. The mutants worked their simple controls. The saucer ships floated together as if for protection. On signal, they plunged earthward.

      The section of the wall folded back. Air entered. The aliens rushed out and unloaded more saucer ships from the storage compartments.

      Mutants entered and boarded. The aliens withdrew. The wall unfolded. A second group of saucer ships plunged earthward. The wall folded back. It was as if the space station had opened its mouth; as if the mouth had breathed flying saucers.

      Down they came.

      Early Sunday sunlight burst across the eastern part of the North American continent.

      Nearly a thousand saucers, in five compact groups, one group for each continent, slipped one after another into the atmosphere.

      There was no opposition. No planes rose to challenge them. They braked and flattened and skimmed toward their assigned landing sites.

      And they touched down: in the hearts of industrial cities; in farm communities; at military installations. They streaked up from the horizon; they hovered; they settled gently to earth.

      A few surprised early risers saw them flashing across the sky; saw them land; saw the mutants, armed with focus rods, step out and adjust themselves to the openness all around them. Hate was stamped plainly on the mutants’ faces. They took their time, adjusting their focus rods for death and destruction. The few earthlings who saw them waited or fled or advanced with curiosity.

      At the Infantry School at Ft. Benning, Georgia, a saucer landed in the third cortile. The three jump towers to the left were like bony fingers pointing accusingly at the sky.

      *

      The troops, alerted, uncertain as to what they were waiting for, were lounging in the barracks. Their orders had been changed several times in the last few days. An orderly coming from “C” Company rec hall saw the saucer first. He watched the female mutant get out, look around, shudder and shrink upon herself beneath the horrible, distant sky.