Free The Universe Maker by A. E. van Vogt Page B

a hope that had motivated their courage all through the long night—that morning would bring some life to the sluggish motors. The hope died a second later as Cargill eased in the power and pulled it all the way back. The ship did not even stir.
    "We'll try it again," said Lela hi a tired voice, "when the sun comes up,"
    Cargill rejected her hope. "Has your father any influence with the bosses?" he asked.
    The girl shrugged. "Carmean kind of likes him."
    Cargill silently wondered why. He said finally, "Maybe if we talked to them we could find out what they want.* 1
    From the conversation he had heard more than a month ago between Carmean and the Shadow, Grannis, he had a rather sharp conviction they were after him.
    He said, "I think you'd better try to get your Pa on the radio and see if he can come here. We'll try to hold them off until he arrives and then, if possible, you can go with him."
    Lela was pale. "What about you?"
    Cargill did not answer immediately. The feeling of vagueness that was inside him was only too familiar. It was the same kind of blur that had made it possible for him to run up a hill in Korea against enemy fire. With that blurred feeling about his future he had entered all battles in which he had been engaged. He said now, "I'll try to slip away tonight after it gets dark." He was about to elaborate when his gaze strayed past her toward the edge of the clearing a hundred feet away. A Shadow stood there.
    Cargill’s face must have shown that something was wrong, for Lela whirled. Her body grew rigid. The Shadow had been motionless as if observing the scene. Now he began to walk toward the ship. There was a dazed expression on Lela's face. She straightened slowly, settled herself behind the long spit gun and aimed it. Her face seemed bloodless and she sat very still. Twice she seemed in the act of pressing the activator of that remarkable weapon. Each time she shuddered and closed her eyes. "I can't," she whispered at last. "I can't!"
    The Shadow was less than fifty feet away. With a frantic movement, Cargill pulled the girl out of the chair, settled into it and grabbed the gun. A sheet of flame reared up a dozen feet in front of the Shadow.
    The Shadow paid no attention. He came on. Once more Cargill fired. The flame glazed through the Shadow. A score of feet behind him grass and shrubbery burned with a white intensity. Twice more Cargill fired directly into the Shadow shape—and each time it was as if there was nothing there, no resistance, no substance. And the Shadow came closer.
    Cargill ceased firing. He was trembling. There was a thought in his mind—a new overpowering thought. If the Shadow shape were insubstantial, if potent, palpable energy meant nothing to it, then what about steel walls?
    The next instant he had his answer. There was a blur of movement near the door, a swelling darkness. Lela screamed.
    And then the Shadow was in the room.

10
    Cargill had a blank awareness of getting out of the control chair and backing toward the far wall. The act of moving drained the initial sense of shock, and he stopped and stiffened. He saw that the Shadow shape had paused and was studying him. And, momentarily, he had tune for another look at the strange phenomenon of ... shadow.
    In the dawn light that filtered into the room, the Shadow was a transparent, foggy structure, and that was what was so disturbing. This thing had structure. It should have flowed like any gaseous element until it had dissipated into formless mass. Instead, it was definitely human in silhouette.
    He remembered his earlier speculations about the soul, and wondered: Is this it, somehow made visible? He couldn't quite accept that. A manifestation, perhaps, but even this idea seemed far-fetched and unsatisfactory. It was hard to believe that this was what had inspired five hundred centuries of humankind to a sense of spiritual ecstasy.
    His evaluative thought ended abruptly, as the improbable creature spoke: "We meet again,