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    What Hath Me?
    What Hath Me?
    What Hath Me?
    Ebook54 pages44 minutes

    What Hath Me?

    By Henry Kuttner

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    The man running through the forest gloom breathed in hot, panting gusts, pain tearing at his chest. Underfoot the crawling, pale network of tree-trunks lay flat upon the ground, and more than once he tripped over a slippery bole and crashed down, but he w
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStart Publishing LLC
    Release dateNov 23, 2016
    ISBN9781682995655
    What Hath Me?

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      Book preview

      What Hath Me? - Henry Kuttner

      What Hath Me?

      by Henry Kuttner

      Start Publishing LLC

      Copyright © 2015 by Start Publishing LLC

      All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

      First Start Publishing eBook edition July 2015

      Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

      Manufactured in the United States of America

      10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

      ISBN 13: 978-1-68299-565-5

      Table of Contents

      What Hath Me?

      II

      III

      IV

      What Hath Me?

      by Henry Kuttner

      The man running through the forest gloom breathed in hot, panting gusts, pain tearing at his chest. Underfoot the crawling, pale network of tree-trunks lay flat upon the ground, and more than once he tripped over a slippery bole and crashed down, but he was up again instantly.

      He had no breath to scream. He sobbed as he ran, his burning eyes trying to pierce the shadows. Whispers rustled down from above. When the leaf-ceiling parted, a blaze of terribly bright stars flamed in the jet sky. It was cold and dark, and the man knew that he was not on Earth.

      They were following him, even here.

      A squat yellow figure, huge-eyed, inhuman, loomed in his path—one of the swamp people of Southern Venus. The man swung a wild blow at the thing, and his fist found nothing. It had vanished. But beyond it rose a single-legged giant, a Martian, bellowing the great, gusty laughter of the Redland tribes.

      The man dodged, stumbled, and smashed down heavily. He heard padding footsteps and tried, with horrible intensity of purpose, to rise. He could not.

      The Martian crept toward him—but it was no longer a Martian. An Earthman, with the face of some obscene devil, came forward with a slow, sidling motion. Horns sprouted from the low forehead. The teeth were fangs. As the creature came nearer, it raised its hands—twisted, gnarled talons—and slid them about the man’s throat.

      Through the forest thundered the deep, booming clangor of a brass gong. The sound shattered the phantom as a hammer shatters glass. Instantly the man was alone.

      Making hoarse, animal sounds in his throat, he staggered upright and lurched in the direction from which the sound came. But he was too weak. Presently he fell, and this time he did not rise. His arms moved a little and then were still.

      He slept, lines of tortured weariness twisting the haggard face.

      Very faintly, from infinite distances, he heard a voice…two voices. Inhuman. Alien—and yet with a warmth of vital urgency that stirred something deep within him.

      He has passed our testing.

      Then a stronger, more powerful voice—answering.

      Others have passed our testing—but the Aesir slew them.

      There is no other way. In this man I sensed something a little different. He knows hate—he has hated.

      He will need more than hatred, the deeper voice said. Even with us to aid him. And there is little time. Strip his memories from him now, so that he may not be weakened by them—

      May the gods fight with him.

      But he fights the gods. The only gods men know in these evil days—

      * * * *

      The man awakened.

      Trip-hammers beat inside his skull. He opened his eyes and closed them quickly against the sullen red glow that beat down from above. He lay motionless, gathering his strength.

      What had happened?

      He didn’t know. The jolting impact of that realization struck him violently. He felt a brief panic of disorientation. Where—?

      Derek Stuart, he thought. At least it isn’t complete amnesia. I know who I am. But not where I am.

      This time when he

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