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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
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Fantastic Adventures, April 1945,
with "The Change for the Bitter"
"You are destined to be Earth's true supermen," the angel said.
Goering and Hirohito dreamed—and each be-
lieved it meant that he was the man of destiny.
HIROHITO sat in the small hut atop the mountain and waited. In a way, he could not bring himself to regret, completely, what had happened. Armadas of American B-29s had laid waste to Tokyo, Yokohama and the cities to the north and south. A great seaborne army then caught Japan's shores unprotected, as they had never been prepared for such an invasion. The war-lords had fled, but most of them were caught and treated none too gently by the Americans. Smoke still drifted up from the valleys, and the groans of dying Japanese soldiers still echoed in Hirohito's ears.
Yet he wasn't entirely dissatisfied, the Son of Heaven told himself.
The reason for that frame of mind was clear to him. For he had named himself, now, the Immortal One of the Future.
After a while the Americans would go away. The women and children and a few of the old men would be left. Then Hirohito, self-chosen to the task, would build again—build for another war.
He caught sight of the gross figure of his companion, struggling up the steep trail toward the hut, and his lips pressed together a little more tightly.
Hermann Goering, the only German leader to escape when the Reich had fallen, had sought refuge with Japan's former emperor atop the silent mountain. And both were sure of what lay ahead, for both had received similar messages in their dreams.
Naturally neither had confided in the other.
The Voice had spoken to Goering in his dreams. "You are destined to be Earth's true superman," it informed him. "But first you must slay the one called Hirohito. He dreams of having all power. Your future plans depend on his death."
Next, the Voice spoke to Hirohito while he slept. "The yellow race will rise again," it whispered. "Hitler is dead by his own hand. You must kill the pig Goering if your plans are to be successful."
THUS the days passed on the slopes of the great mountain. Each
of the two men knew that destiny looked upon him as a favorite
son. Each waited for a favorable opportunity to kill the
other.
Today, Hirohito was standing at the door as Goering entered. The German dropped wearily down on the couch. He was careful to keep his hand close to the gun in his belt.
"How are things in the valley, today, Hermann?" asked the Japanese.
Goering sat up with some difficulty and looked warily at his companion.
"Very bad," he admitted. "I was forced to hide in a muddy ditch to evade an American patrol."
Hirohito thought of what the Voice had told him. He said: "Oh, yes; I have been meaning to ask you what your plans are once it is safe for you to leave this place."
Goering, too, was thinking of his own message from the Voice.
He said: "I shall find a boat to take me back to Germany. There I shall make plans for another war... one that my country will win."
Hirohito's fingers stroked the hilt of the ceremonial dagger at his waist. "We are both old men and the world believes we are harmless. We alone escaped the wrath of the Allied Nations. They do not suspect that we have a purpose to fulfill."
Goering's hand closed on the butt of his gun. He said: "Someday the world will again feel our feet on its neck!"
THE night was still and dark.
Hermann Goering stood just outside the hut's door, staring at the red glow in the sky that marked what was left of Yokohama. No sound drifted up from the valley. Wind swept against the mountain's summit.
Hirohito had gone to the spring for water.
Goering removed his gun from its holster, examined the chambers carefully, then turned and walked silently down the trail.
HIROHITO was tired. He dipped the wooden bucket into the clear
waters of the spring and lifted it out again, setting it on the
ground near his feet. Then, with a sharp decisive nod of his
head, he pulled the heavy dagger from his belt and ran his thumb
gently along the razor-like edge.
"A single plunge of this into the fat one's belly," he mused, "and my first problem is solved."
He moved stealthily up the trail.
THEY met in the darkness of the narrow trail. Neither had
given his foe credit for being prepared; each was sure of his
quarry. But Hirohito was the quicker of the two.
Hermann Goering uttered one startled grunt and toppled to the ground, the ceremonial dagger buried to its hilt in his sagging paunch. With most of his remaining strength, he managed to pull out the blade free of his own flesh.
He caught a glimpse of a polished boot as Hirohito turned to flee. With every ounce of energy left in him, Goering lifted his revolver and fired. His aim, even in the darkness, was perfect; the gaunt Japanese sank to his knees, blood spurting from the back of his neck. Goering fired again, and Hirohito fell face forward into the dust of the trail. A last convulsive shudder shook his gross frame, then he moved no more.
Goering tried to sit up. A red stain poured from between his lips and he fell back and was dead.
But Hirohito and Goering would have their reward. They would live again, the Voice had promised, as supermen.
GOERING opened his eyes slowly and a grin of triumph spread
across his broad face.
He was not dead after all!
He felt quickly for the deep wound in his belly. It was not there. He was whole and well and very happy. He knew now what the Voice had meant. He could not die. In truth, he was a real superman.
He stared about him, startled by the change that had taken place on the world.
The trail was gone. The mountain had disappeared. He was sitting in the depths of a strange, vine-clad jungle. The vines were close together and deep-rooted in coppery, pitted soil.
He rose to his feet. His body reacted sluggishly, as though a great change had taken place within it. Yes, the world was certainly different, but he could not complain about that. Perhaps the Voice had seen fit to send him to rule a strange unsettled planet. He tried his feet and, although the earth beneath them trembled at times and winds blew strong in the black forest, he managed fairly well.
In the days that followed, Goering was to experience a great loneliness and, with it, a new power. It seemed that he was alone on this world. He, Goering the superman, was at last king of his own realm.
Storms came and often floods swept over him. Still, the waters that forced him to cling desperately to the vines about him did not discourage the German. For was he not a superman?
HAD he known that Hirohito was also alive and close by,
Goering would not have been so content. Hirohito had the same
satisfaction, as of Paradise found. He had gradually grown to
love the strange land on which he had been placed. He experienced
the same adventures that befell Goering. He learned that by
digging into the coppery earth, he could find a strange red fluid
which gave strength to his body. He, too, clung to the vines when
the floods came, and felt cleansed after they had passed. The sun
warmed his body and he grew fat and complacent.
Earthquakes shook his world but he ignored them, holding firm to the vast pitted land that was his to rule as he saw fit.
IT was inevitable that the two would meet again. This happened
early one morning after Hermann Goering had been forced to cling
to a sturdy vine and wait for a very bad storm to pass. The
flooding waters almost drowned him. When at last the rain
subsided, he dried himself and moved around for a while,
beginning to wonder if he was going to enjoy living alone in this
strange world.
Then he saw Hirohito. Hirohito, in going through the processes of death and rebirth, had changed a great deal. Goering, too, was different; but each recognized the other at once.
Hate and lust for murder swept over Goering. He saw now that one or the other of them must rule this land, that he must kill or be killed.
They circled about with great care, then Goering plunged forward suddenly, depending on his greater weight to overthrow Hirohito. To his surprise, the Jap turned and fled with blind haste. With a roar of triumph Goering set out in pursuit. He felt new strength surging through him at this evidence that Hirohito did not dare to fight him.
They ran swiftly, both taking advantage of the rough terrain, and at last Goering saw that they were leaving the forest and coming out onto a wide plain which was free of vegetation. Now he could overtake the Japanese. He puffed mightily, trying to shorten the distance between them.
Suddenly Goering came to a halt and stared, wide-eyed, at what lay ahead.
And then a strange thing happened. Hirohito reached a series of high mounds rising from the level plain. On the summit of one of these mounds, a slim round tower lifted its crest into the air. Sunlight glinted from the surface of the tower. And Hirohito was running toward that tower.
He reached the base and started to climb, like a small boy scuttling up the trunk of a tree. Goering watched in fascination as Hirohito neared the top of the tower.
The Japanese reached the incredibly sharp tip... then flung himself, face down, upon it. The point pierced his body easily, protruding from his back. Then he lay very still, his legs and arms hanging on either side of the tower.
Hirohito had been a coward. He had committed hara-kiri!
GOERING had never before ventured from the forest. Therefore
he could not dream of the terrible fate that awaited him on the
wide plain. As he stood there, smiling grimly at the thought of
Hirohito's death, a red glow appeared in the misty sky. He
strained his weak eyes to watch it. The smile left his face. He
dropped to the ground and sought to burrow into it. It was
useless.
The glow grew larger as it came closer. Goering felt the heat of it—the heat of a strange, falling sun.
A scream of fear broke from his lips. The fire scorched his blubbery body. He screamed again as the breath-taking agony of the fire bathed him from head to foot. Still screaming, he rolled over, just as the full heat of the glow crushed against him.
Hermann Goering's rule of the strange world was ended.
PRIVATE BEAM watched Corporal Wanger, Beam's buddy during the
assault on Tokyo, remove the glowing end of the cigarette from a
smooth spot on his bare midriff.
"Funniest thing I ever saw," Wanger said, his blue eyes twinkling. "Two cooties come out of the hair on my chest. One of them commits suicide on the point of this needle and I get the other one with my cigarette before he could get back into the hair."
Beam snorted. "Once lost in that jungle of hair and he'd have been safe, all right. Hurry up with that button, will you?"
Bill Wanger removed the dead cootie from the tip of the needle and resumed his task of sewing a button on Beam's shirt. He was still smiling.
"Funny thing about cooties," he mused. "I don't know how they can look at one another, being so ugly."
Beam grinned.
"I guess a cootie doesn't realize he looks different from anyone else," he said.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.