People of Asa

by Marvin Ashton, Denis Hughes

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Alien Contact; Space Opera

Synopsis

Until the coming of the People of Asa, the world of Man went its own, often quarrelsome, way along the road of human advancement. There were many pitfalls on the road, conflict and misery often going hand-in-hand; but there was happiness as well. It was, for us and millions more, a happiness interrupted by the terrible advent of the worst scourge ever visited on Man - an alien invasion of the Earth's surface by beings of diabolical power. Rising from the deeps, wielding weapons hitherto beyond mortal conception, the Asans wrought havoc on a fearful scale. Picked out from our fellow men, we witnessed scenes of appalling chaos, experiencing as well a measure of the seeming magic of which these beings were capable. Only when all seemed lost did the fortunes of mankind change, and that in a manner we none of us dared to hope...

Release date: October 27, 2016

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 120

Sample

Week-end house parties are all very well in their way, I’ve no doubt, but certainly the Bannisters were putting on an incredibly boring show. It shouldn’t have been a bit like that, because everything was in their favour as far as Nature could arrange it. And the house itself, in its lovely setting on the low cliffs above the bay, was an ideal place in which to foster amusement and general bonhomie. Perhaps it was the Bannisters themselves—or some of the people they had gathered round them. I don’t know what the reason was, to be honest, but if it hadn’t been for Kitten, I’d have packed my bags and flown back to the lab after the first couple of hours on Friday afternoon.

But Kitten was among those present, and the moment I was introduced I knew that it didn’t matter what the rest of the party was like—we were going to enjoy ourselves.

Even so, our companions were about as cheerful as a car-load of undertakers out on the job, and such company was not conducive to easy laughter—let alone that warmth of fellow-feeling usually associated with that kind of weekend. Nor were the Bannisters—husband, wife and pudding-faced daughter—particularly enterprising in their choice of entertainments. The majority of the guests, about a dozen in number all told, were middle-aged, engrossed more on talking shop—which meant endless arguments on the more obscure theories of nuclear research—than on trying to forget for a time the rigours of work, and enjoy themselves in surroundings which, I must admit, were delightful.

I try not to speak too ill of the dead, but for my part that gathering of brilliant men and women was a drug on the market of cheerful amusement. And because of that and our mutual reactions, Kitten and I probably gravitated together with more pleasure and relief than we might have done under other circumstances. In fact, it was almost forced on us, whether we liked it or not, for both of us, though scientists ourselves, became so irritated at the endless arguments put up and propounded by our cantankerous fellow-guests that in sheer desperation we sought escape.

It was nine p.m., with the dusk of early summer closing in like a slow-moving velvet cloak across the wooded slopes and surf-girt shore below in the bay.

Dinner had been a pleasant enough meal: good food, good wine, good service. But I was sick to death of nuclear fission with every course and the added piquancy of theoretic journeys to the more accessible planets as a sauce to go with the cheese. As soon as I decently could, I escaped via the French windows to the terrace, making for its darkest and most secluded corner. I think that even then I knew the girl would follow me; something in her glance made it pretty clear that we shared a lot in common. I did not form that opinion through any personal conceit, but rather through an indefinable whisper of telepathic sympathy offered and demanded in kind.

The sky was perfect, a deep, greeny blue not yet dark with night. Long black shadows combed down among the pine trees. I stood and smoked a cigarette, wondering why the devil men worked when they could live just as simply without the so-called benefits of civilisation. I wondered why I spent more than half my living hours in a sterile white research laboratory and groped in the dark of ignorance for the well-shrouded secrets of Nature. Instead of doing that, I could well have cut loose and lived amid the Nature I sought to probe. But the tentacles and claws of civilisation are inescapable when escape seems most desirable. That quality of curiosity so essential to every scientist bound me to the work I did, but I sincerely hoped that in years to come, when youth was gone, I should not become as adverse and dogmatic, as irritating and as devoid of humour, as the men and women with whom I had been invited to spend a weekend in this house.

A movement behind me made me turn. She was walking towards me, but not looking at me, staring out across the bay instead, her dark head tilted a little.

I did not know whether she’d seen me or not; certainly I didn’t mind if she had, and was deliberately seeking me out. When I coughed quietly, she glanced round swiftly.

“Better out than in,” I said. “You felt the same?”

She sighed and smiled hesitantly. “Exactly. What’s wrong with this party, Mr. Ashton?”

I grinned. “Too stodgy for the likes of you and me, Miss Carr. That’s why we’re out here on the terrace. Think of what we’re missing! There must be all kinds of dry-as-dust wisdom being propounded in there between the big-heads.”

She laughed. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh. She did it very prettily; a free, somehow frank expression of amusement.

“We’re not being very grateful or respectful to our betters, are we?” she said.

I had my tongue in my cheek anyway. “No, Miss Carr,” I agreed quite cheerfully. “But there are times when I feel like staging a revolution on my own. By the way, what’s your other name?”

“Katherine. Or Kit, or even Kate.”

“I’ll make it Kitten, to be different. You don’t mind?”

“Why should I?” Her dark eyebrows were arched in an impish fashion as she regarded me. “You’re Marvin, aren’t you? Old Beamish told me.” She imitated Beamish: “Ah, yes, that’s Marvin Ashton. Very clever young man in his own sphere, but too damned fond of his own pet theories!”

I laughed. “He may be right,” I said. “I wouldn’t know about the last part. Let’s forget about science for a while. But tell me first what your own line is—I’m curious to know how an attractive girl like you could get mixed up in such an occupation.”

She pursed her lips and took a cigarette from the case I offered.

“I just am,” she said. “Science is something that grows on a person whether they like it or not. It began as a hobby with me; now it’s my life work. Physics is what I specialise in. I’m at Blazefont with Bernard Eccles and his group. We’re discovering all kinds of unexpected things in connection with polarised magnetic behaviour. Eccles hopes to perfect a means of creating a magnetic beam to bring aircraft in. He reckons it’ll be surer and simpler than radar. That’s his pet theory. I won’t pester you to know what yours is.”

“Tell the truth, I’m still groping after it myself,” I said. “I’d like to harness the untold millions of cosmic particles that bombard this crazy old world from outer space. Whether I shall ever do it or not remains to be seen. So far I haven’t even formulated a workable theory.”

We fell silent, staring into the thickening gloom that came to life as we watched. Stars appeared in the sky. Lights twinkled brightly in a fishing village on the other side of the bay. The muttering of the surf on the beach was the only sound that broke the quiet.

“I envy the Bannisters this house and position,” I said. “They have everything, but I doubt if they enjoy it. There’s even a private jetty down there, with a motor launch and a sailing dinghy.”

Kitten closed her eyes as I watched her obliquely. She was very beautiful. The night and everything about it was emotionally volcanic. I put an arm across her shoulders and settled her against me as I leaned back on a broad column of stone that was part of the terrace. She did not resist it, as I’d half expected she might. If anything she seemed grateful and friendly. I needed friendship some-how.

Kitten whispered: “How lovely it would be to borrow the sailing boat and cross the bay, and swim out there, and watch the stars getting brighter and brighter.”

At moments like that one says and does things which would normally seem outside the realms of possibility. Perhaps we are too closely bounded by convention; perhaps there is always a barrier set up that must be crossed before uninhibited freedom of expression by act or word can be achieved. When I heard Kitten talk as she did she was putting into words the same ideas and transient dreams I myself had entertained but a moment or two earlier—only to thrust them aside as not being attainable. Yet when she voiced them they were no longer impossible.

“Go and change into something more practical,” I told her. “I’ll meet you here in ten minutes time.”

She looked at me hard for four or five seconds, her dark eyes shining with a curious mixture of disbelief and veiled amusement. But suddenly she made up her mind. Even in the gloom it was possible to see the swift train of thought that flowed in her mind, glimpsed through the windows of her eyes.

“I’ll take you up on that,” she said softly. “Here in ten minutes.”

Before I could say anything more she had turned and gone. I stood where I was for a moment, the sudden kick of pleasure bringing an unsteady smile to my lips. Kitten Carr was a game little number, I decided. I went indoors, found Bannister, our host, alone in the library.

“Mind if I borrow your dinghy for a moonlight sail?” I said cheerfully. I didn’t care whether he refused to lend it or not. We were still going to use it. But it did seem polite to ask.

“Course you can, my boy!” he said. “Good idea to get away from this monkey house of theorists. In fact, if I was younger I’d go out with you.”

I was glad he wasn’t younger, but he was certainly very decent about it, and until now I had not suspected that the company of his guests had palled on him as well as on Kitten and me. A fellow feeling bonded us together. He gave me a drink, told me to watch out for the tide race beyond the bay, and wished me a pleasant trip.

By the time I escaped the ten minutes I’d given the girl were up. I hadn’t changed myself, being still in a dinner suit. It couldn’t be helped and didn’t matter a lot.

We arrived on the terrace, meeting in the warm darkness by the spot where we had parted.

“Nicely timed,” I said.

“Women are usually late for appointments, aren’t they? Perhaps you think I’m a forward woman. The truth is that I like the idea of a sail better than anything at the moment. Purely selfish, you see?” She laughed. She was dressed in slacks and a dark red sweater, with her hair combed out loose about her shoulders. Starlight, now bright, glinted on the only jewellery she wore—a tiny wrist watch, studded with emeralds.

“I doubt the selfishness,” I told her. “If you’re ready we’ll go down to the beach.”

We walked down through the gardens. The night was hot, but a cooling breeze came off the sea and promised ideal conditions for our little adventure. It wouldn’t be an adventure really, but the circumstances seemed to give it the feel of one as we went down the narrow path that traversed the face of the low sandstone cliffs on which the house was poised.

Neither of us spoke much till we reached the shingle beach. The jetty poked out into the making tide like a curved finger crooked protectively against the prevailing wind and current. Tied to the jetty was the dinghy, its sails and gear’ stowed ready for use. The breeze whined thinly in the shrouds and the water lapped a thirsty song against the planks. It was cooler down here, but still very warm. On the way down I’d discovered that Kitten was quite an experienced yachtswoman, with cruising and racing to her credit. I was in good company.

Between us we got the sails up and shipped the rudder. The moon was coming up, nearly full. There was plenty of light for our needs. I began to feel like a schoolboy out on a treat. We pushed off and felt the steady pull of the sails as the boat scudded out into the bay, close-hauled.

“This,” said the girl, “is pure heaven.” She threw her head back and let the wind spread her hair. She was handling the jib sheets while I had the tiller and mainsheet Spray slapped over the bows and glistened as it fell into the boat. There was more breeze out here in the bay than there had been on shore. We enjoyed ourselves enormously, though at that time we had no inkling of what the future held in store. I rather think that had we known we should have put about and fled from something that, had we but known it, was to prove well-nigh inescapable.

But we didn’t know and we didn’t care. We were two people in company, delighting in a sport with which we were both familiar, and one which present circumstances made doubly pleasant.

Far out in the bay we changed places, laughing and chatting as if we’d known each other for years. We tacked out beyond the limits of the bay as far as the edge of the tide race Bannister had warned me of. Even under the calm conditions it looked angry as the current battled against the wind and created a broad area of vicious, leaping waves. The dinghy was not the type of craft it which to court disaster. We put about and spent another half hour just messing about in the bay itself. Time passed with insidious speed. I had never enjoyed myself so much in my life, and afterwards, when we looked back on those delightful hours that preceded the reign of terror to come we both felt that fate had been lavish in granting us such a gift and blessing. Certainly it brought us close together, bolstering our courage when we needed it so badly later on, sealing the compact between us in such a manner that in part we were fitted to face the ordeal awaiting us.

“How about a swim?” I suggested.

Kitten barely hesitated. “All right. You go first. I’ll keep the boat close:”

The darkness robbed us of shyness, which was just as well because the dinghy was small. By turn, we swum for ten or fifteen minutes each. It was perfect. At one point I looked towards the shore and saw the lights of the house we had left. They glowed distantly, a beac. . .