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                         Transcriber's Note:

    This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction December 1952.
    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
    copyright on this publication was renewed.


                         The Reluctant Weapon


                          by HOWARD L. MYERS


                         Illustrated by EMSH


     _A live weapon is a downright liability ... it's all too apt
      to get qualms of conscience!_

       *       *       *       *       *




_When the Zoz Horde passed destructively through this sector of the
Galaxy, approximately a billion years ago, they suffered a minor loss.
One of their weapons, Sentient Killer No. VT672, had an unexplained
malfunction and was left behind to be repaired by the slave
technicians who followed the Horde. However, the Zoz were met and
annihilated by the Ghesh Empire, after which the masterless slaves
dispersed to their home planets. The weapon, unrepaired, was left
forgotten in the solar system it had failed to destroy._

[Illustration:]

       *       *       *       *       *

Tresqu the Wisest, Ruler of Hova, Lord of the Universe, was being
entertained by a troupe of Goefd dancers when his Lord of War, Wert,
bounded into the Audience Hall. In his hurry to reach Tresqu's throne,
Wert slipped on the nearly frictionless floor and skidded through the
formation of dancers, sending the slender Goefden sprawling in all
directions. He slid to a halt by the Pleading Mat, onto which he
crawled and groveled, awaiting permission to speak.

"I believe three of the dancers received broken legs," Tresqu observed
calmly. "They are rather delicate creatures and not at all clumsy." He
dipped the tip of his tail into an urn of chilled perfume and gently
dabbed it about his nostril. Speaking pleasantly, with long pauses
between sentences, he kept his friendly gaze on the groveling Wert.
"Oft I meditate on the clumsiness of our race in comparison to many
others who are our graceful servants. Why, I wonder, cannot the rulers
be graceful? Some of us are very clumsy indeed--too clumsy to live."

A tremor passed through Wert's stocky body.

"Possibly my Lord of War has news of sufficient import to excuse his
ungainly haste. But I sincerely doubt it. I fear I must soon appoint a
successor to him. Undoubtedly he has news of some sort. Blurt, Wert!"

"Your Majestic Wisdom," whined Wert, "my message is of utmost
importance! The natives of Sol III have captured one of our
decontaminator ships and learned its secrets!"

"Sol III?"

"Yes, Your Wisdom. The planet called Terra."

"Terra? You must realize, lordling, that I cannot occupy myself with
remembering trivialities about individual worlds."

"Yes, Your Wisdom. We have a base, which is commanded by--that is, we
_had_ a base commanded--"

"Enough!" snapped Tresqu. "You start your tale from nowhere and wander
whence and hence!" He raised his voice and called to one of his
retainers. "Fool! Come forward!"

An abnormally slender Hovan arose from a platform off to Tresqu's left
and skipped nimbly forward to stand insolently over the Lord of War,
who was still prone on the Pleading Mat.

"Recite for me," said Tresqu, "the contents of my gazetteer on the
planet Sol III. Listen well, Wert. You may even yet live long enough
to profit by my Fool's style of declamation. Study it well. Also, you
may raise your eyes sufficiently to observe the grace of his
movements. Proceed, sprite."

"Sol III," began the Fool. "An H9 planet. Sol is in the Sirian Colony
Sector, coordinates GL 15-44-17-5, GR 12 [to the power of 7] plus 9, D
14. Terra's life is normal animal-vegetable, with one intelligent
species of hovoids called Humans. Due to the unpleasantly high oxygen
content of the atmosphere, Terra has not been colonized, but has been
placed under the control of the Science Ministry for the purpose of
long-range psychological experiments." The Fool picked up Wert's tail
and twisted it hard but absently as he talked. The Lord of War
twitched painfully. "Many informative reports on the results of these
experiments have been released by the ministry during the past seven
thousand years, dealing mainly with the Humans. The Science Ministry
has declared Terra out of bounds--_Positively no visitors_."

With a single flow of motion, the Fool gave Wert's tail a final twist,
leaped over his body, and bowed deeply to Tresqu.

"Beautifully done, Fool," applauded the Ruler of Hova. "Your mother
claims me as your father, and there are times I am inclined to believe
her. How would you like to be my Lord of War, Fool?"

"Verily, my good master," said the Fool, "I hope you consider me a
Fool by title only."

"Well said, Fool. You are spared. Go seek your pleasures."

With another bow, the Fool backed away.

"Stand up, Wert," said Tresqu, "and tell me about this captured
decontamination ship."

The Lord of War arose and managed to report with some smoothness. "Two
years ago, the Science Ministry turned Terra over to my command,
saying their long series of experiments was concluded. They
recommended complete decontamination of the planet, since the Humans
were developing technologies which could eventually threaten us. I
dispatched a ship for that purpose immediately, but it failed to
return. Also, reports from our base on Terra's satellite Luna ceased
soon thereafter. A scouting expedition was sent. It has just reported
the Luna base destroyed completely, and the decontaminator ship
crashed and stripped of all important devices in one of the Terran
deserts. By studying these removed devices, the Humans have
undoubtedly developed protections against them.

"I humbly submit, Your Majestic Wisdom, that these events have
endangered the safety of your glorious empire, and that drastic steps
against the Humans should be taken immediately. Also, Good Lord of
All, I submit that the Science Ministry, not the War Ministry, is at
fault in this affair. They obviously let their experiments get out of
control before calling us. Undoubtedly they would like to shift the
full blame onto my shoulders."

Tresqu continued his pleasant demeanor. "There may be some truth in
what you say, Wert. You overestimate the danger in this matter, I
perceive. After all, what is one backward planet against the forces of
my empire containing thirty-seven well-armed worlds? The Humans will
be destroyed, even if they have the secrets of a decontaminator ship.
As for the blame, which I admit is deplorable, the Lord of Science
will be called to the Mat to make his excuses. Now, assuming you
remain Lord of War, what action do you plan to take against the
Humans?"

"Your Gracious Wisdom," faltered Wert, "I suggest we use the--the
Weapon. You see, our forces are not fully mobilized at present for
immediate action--"

"Full mobilization isn't necessary or even desirable," Tresqu
interrupted with some impatience. "One task force can do the job. Ah!
I see by your expression that you do not have even one task force in
readiness."

"Your Gracious Wisdom," begged Wert, "you ordered a full holiday this
month to celebrate the twenty-fourth anniversary of your magnificent
reign, and--"

"Enough, Wert! Your tongue is as clumsy as your body." Tresqu nibbled
thoughtfully at the tip of his tail. "We will use the Weapon," he
decided. "In order to allow my court to continue their holiday, I'll
assume direct command in this." He rose from his throne. "Musicians,
summon my guards. I go to visit the Weapon. Come, Wert; come also,
Fool. You will accompany me."

       *       *       *       *       *

Shortly thereafter, Tresqu and his entourage boarded the royal cruiser
and roared away from the City of Wisdom. The ship flew halfway around
the planet and came to rest in a peaceful purple valley where insects
shrilled contentedly and a small stream rippled. Tresqu climbed out
onto the violet turf, his followers coming after him.

"Mighty Weapon of Zoz," he called, "I, Tresqu, seek your presence!"

"Oh, no!" groaned a slightly mechanical voice that seemed to come
from no particular direction. "Will there never be peace, never a
tranquil moment to soothe my spirit and erase the bloody stains of
destruction recorded on my past?"

"That voice! It carries me away!" breathed the Fool. "Such a tragic
tale of tormented strength is implicit in its very tone that I think I
shall swoon!" But he wrapped his tail around the trunk of a nearby
sapling for support and managed to retain consciousness.

"Me, too!" Wert chimed in with suspicious haste. "I'm quite moved!"

"Try not to counterfeit a soul you do not possess." Tresqu glowered at
Wert. "You deceive no one."

The Fool was recovered sufficiently to hit the discomfited Lord of War
with a pebble when Tresqu was not watching.

The Weapon had drifted into sight during this exchange, floating out
of a shady hollow, as if blown by a breeze. It was very simple in
appearance--an impalpable three-foot glowing sphere with a squat
metallic cylinder at its base.

"Tell me not the purpose of your visit, petty lord!" It said. "It is
known to me only too well. Ah, great First Principle! Little did I
reck when, in ages past, I nursed your species to civilization, just
how poorly you would serve my purpose. Peace it was I desired, but do
I get it? No! Your kingdom is powerful, but you have not the strength
to handle your own troubles. You rule twenty-nine planets--"

[Illustration]

"Thirty-seven," corrected Tresqu politely.

"--thirty-seven planets, but when a malignant force appears on your
borders, I, the Weapon, must be called upon to act in my own defense,
and for the sake of a few more restful moments in this calm glade, I
am obliged to destroy, yet it was to avoid destroying that I helped
your species to empire in the old days."

"In truth," spoke the deeply sympathetic Tresqu, "yours is a sad
story. I disturb your richly earned rest only after the sincerest
soul-searching. But affairs of state are at cross purposes in a moment
of crisis, and without your help Hova will be in danger."

"Ah, cruel Fate!" entoned the Weapon, "It aids me in no manner to
protest against your inscrutable machinations! There is no turning
aside, no avoidance of necessity!" In a less declamatory style, the
Weapon addressed Tresqu: "Very well, what is the trouble?"

Tresqu described the events on Terra for the Weapon, concluding, "Now
that the Humans have knowledge of our space drive and armament, they
are certain to attack, especially if they realize they have been
subjects for experiment."

The Weapon flitted about restlessly along the bank of the brook. "I
question the motives of my own thoughts. Do I quibble with myself in
an attempt to escape unwelcome necessities? Tell, petty lord, do your
scientists confirm the picture you paint of the Humans? Are they, like
you, alas, masterfully vicious enough to destroy the peace of dozens
of planets for nothing but revenge?"

"So the scientists say, mighty Weapon," answered Tresqu.

"You, Lord of War, why are you silent when your face is strained with
words crying for expression?" asked the Weapon. "Speak your mind."

Wert squirmed. "If it please Your Mightiness, and you, Your Gracious
Wisdom, I believe the Humans will know that we desire their
destruction, and will try to defeat us for the sake of their own
survival rather than revenge."

"A most convincing point, Lord of War," said the Weapon.

Tresqu flashed a forgiving smile at Wert while the Weapon paused
before continuing:

"However, I fear my unwilling spirit refuses to bow to the most
reasonable of arguments. Please leave me; solve the problem
yourselves!"

Tresqu bowed and moved toward the cruiser. "We obey, Mighty Guide of
our fathers. Let me say in parting that I, too, am grieved by our
talk, much more because of the pain our visit has caused your noble
greatness than because our race is threatened with annihilation. My
deepest hope is that the ravages of war will never reach this peaceful
place which is so dear to your gentle being."

"Wait!" groaned the Weapon. "To slay, or not to slay, that is the
dilemma. Ah, had my old masters of Zoz only left within my powers the
seed of my own destruction, I would gladly seek the consummation of
ultimate peace. But, no, that door is closed to me by deathless locks.
Bring me a Human, that I may learn to hate him. Choose the most
ignoble specimen available. I will converse with him at length so as
to become exasperated with all the despicable traits of his race.
Then, in my contempt for those traits, I will be able to cleanse the
Universe of all Humans."

Tresqu turned quickly to his Fool. "Are there any Humans on Hova?"

"Yes, in the biological research laboratories."

"Then go quickly, Fool, and fetch one. This is a grave matter, and I
trust you to choose the most monstrous specimen available. Hurry!"

The Fool ran into the cruiser and was on his way, leaving Tresqu,
Wert, and several guardsmen with the Weapon. If the Weapon was
conscious of the fact that the Lord of Hova was staying behind out of
courtesy, it did not show it. Instead, it wandered indifferently away,
mumbling a soliloquy of guilt and misery.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sight of the Fool's specimen of humanity repaid Tresqu for the
tediousness of the waiting. It was a particularly sordid-looking
creature with a dirty growth of hairs on its head and face. Its body,
thin as the Fool's, but with no compensating grace of movement, was
clad in a blue garment of roughly woven vegetable fibers, and the
extremities of its nether limbs were enclosed in evil-smelling boxes
of animal hide. Its fierce eyes darted ominously from one Hovan to
another. Its jaw kept working in a slow rhythm, and occasionally a
stream of black liquid exploded through its mouth.

"You have done well, Fool," said Tresqu. "You will be rewarded
highly." Raising his voice he called, "Mighty Weapon, your specimen
awaits!"

"I come!" Once more the Weapon floated into view.

The Earthman's jaw sagged. "'Y God!" he muttered in English, staring
at the approaching Weapon.

"Indeed," said the Weapon, "this appears to be a creature I could
learn to abhor and kill. If only its thoughts equal its
appearance--Speak, Human!"

The man said nothing.

"Mighty Weapon," murmured the Fool, "this Human is truly an ignoble
monster. He has been in captivity for five years and has yet to speak
a word of our beautiful language instead of his own barbaric tongue."

"You fool!" shouted Tresqu. "How is the Weapon going to converse with
him? Why did you bring one that cannot talk?"

Not in the least disconcerted, the Fool replied, "As you ordered, good
master, I brought the worst specimen available. However, the
possibility of linguistic difficulties was not overlooked. I have here
a dictionary of his language, recently compiled by our Alien Affairs
staff." He produced a large volume of manuscript from beneath his
cloak.

"Your Fool shows wisdom, petty lord," spoke the Weapon. "I will study
this book. Know the language, know the people, it is wisely said. In
fact, I originated that saying myself some three thousand years ago, I
believe. Unship any supplies brought for the Human and begone. Three
days will suffice for the arousal of my wrath. Return then."

"As you wish, O Mightiest of All." Tresqu bowed gawkily. "It is my
most ardent desire, Wondrous Guide, that we, your servants, will not
be obliged to disturb your peace again for a thousand centuries, once
this affair is concluded."

"And mine," the Weapon snapped crossly. "Now leave me."

       *       *       *       *       *

The man watched the Hovans enter their cruiser and fly away. Looking
at the Weapon hovering nearby, he squatted on his heels and pulled up
a blade of purple grass to chew. Minutes passed in silence. Then the
Weapon moved away, the book bobbing along behind, supported by some
unseen force.

When it was out of sight, the man muttered, "'Y God, I've saw
fireballs in my time, but that's the first one I ever saw settin' in a
bucket!"

After a thoughtful examination of his surroundings, the man stood up
and walked to the packing cases the Hovans had left. All but one
contained the synthetic food product to which he had grown accustomed
in his five years of captivity. The other box, rather small, contained
a shredded vegetable which served him as a poor substitute for chewing
tobacco. Purple when growing, the leaves of this vegetable were
blue-black when cured, making his frequent expectorations look like
ink.

"Filthy damn stuff!" he grunted, stuffing several handfuls in an empty
overall pocket.

He shuffled down to the brook and tested its temperature with a hand.
Finding it rather cold, he decided against taking a bath. Instead, he
spat into it and watched meditatively as the spot of black was carried
downstream. "I wonder what they turned me loose for," he monologued.

Careful to avoid the spot where the Weapon appeared to have gone, he
returned to the food supply and ate. By then it was getting dark, and
he bedded down for the night on some thick grass under a tree.

"'Y God," he yawned, "I'm glad all these insects don't want nothin' to
do with me."

The Weapon was waiting beside him when he woke up next morning. "Eyes
of your Terran Deity," it said, "I shall now converse with you in your
own tongue. Name yourself, creature!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The man sat up startled. A moment passed before he said, "I'm
Jake--Jacob Absher. What was that you said?"

"My pronunciation is above reproach, Jacob. Therefore I will not
repeat myself. Attend me closely or I shall punish you."

"'Y God, I heard you all right and you didn't make sense!" said Jacob,
determined not to be frightened. "Now if you aim to talk with me, stop
imitatin' a professor and talk so's a man can understand you. I ain't
scared of you, so leave off makin' threats!"

"Such stupid insolence!" gloated the Weapon. "Already I feel my wrath
growing within me! Since it will anger me even more to explain my
words to you, I will do exactly that. My first words to you were,
'Eyes of your Terran Deity,' an expression you use frequently in a
corrupted form to begin your statements. By studying your language, I
learned that 'Zounds' is a similar corruption referring to the wounds
of the Deity, while 'Strewth' refers to your God's truth. Thus, I was
able to understand, and state in uncorrupted form, your remark, 'Eye
God.'"

"'Tain't what it means," objected Jacob, filling his mouth with ersatz
tobacco. "It just means _by_ God."

The Weapon considered this. "And exactly what is the significance of
such a remark?"

Jacob scratched his whiskered chin. "I reckon you got me there. I
guess it means that I mean what I say."

"In other words, any statement you make following that phrase is to be
taken seriously?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Then it follows that your other statements, without the 'by God'
preface, are not seriously intended. Are they jokes or lies?"

"That ain't the way it is at all! I just say 'by God' when I feel like
it, not every time I'm bein' serious."

"Monstrous inconsistency!" groaned the Weapon dramatically. "Ah,
chaotic universe! Is there then no sublime plan, no fateful
development to your endless succession of days? How could even the
most synoptic First Principle find a purpose for creating such an
unplanned, unreasonable species as the Humans? Can it be--unhappy
thought!--that there is no plan to it all, and we exist for naught?"

Jacob listened with open mouth. "Say," he broke in, "are you some kind
of play-actor?"

"That is what I ask myself," the Weapon continued its oratorical
flight. "Are we all actors, speaking the lines written for us by a
Great Playwright who plans to unite all the threads of his plot in a
universal climax to come? Or are we poor random creatures without
purpose?" It paused and added in a more conversational tone, "But that
is not what you mean by your question. No, I am not a play-actor. I am
an unfortunate weapon, reluctant to employ myself for my intended
purpose of destruction of life and unsuited by my structure for the
doing of deeds more worthy in nature."

Jacob squinted about. "A weapon, huh? Let's see you hit that bird
thing sittin' in that tree over there."

"Bloodthirsty fiend! I do not kill for amusement!"

"I just wanted to see how you worked," said the abashed Jacob. "All
I've seen you do is float around and talk a blue streak. As far as I'm
concerned, you ain't nothin' but a big-mouthed bluff."

"Very well, Jacob. If you have formed such an erroneous attitude, it
will be necessary for me to correct you immediately. Observe the red
boulder on yonder hill."

"I see it."

       *       *       *       *       *

The cylindrical base of the Weapon swung to point briefly at the
boulder, which quietly crumbled to dust.

"I be dog!" yelped Jacob. He looked at the Weapon with respect. "You
sure pulverized it! How do you work?"

"You could not understand the processes involved. Suffice it to say I
have the means to collect energy in general and retransmit it in
specific forms and directions. But enough of this. You are here to
answer questions, not ask them. First, tell me what you did in an
average day on Terra."

"That what you call the world I live on?"

"Yes."

"I'm a farmer, you know. I got a place in the Smoky Mountains in
Tennessee. First thing in the mornin', I'd go feed the livestock while
Suzy cooked breakfast." A faraway look came into Jacob's eyes. "Guess
she took the kids and went to live with her mammy when these here
animals grabbed me...."

"Continue," commanded the Weapon.

"Huh? Well, then we'd eat breakfast. Come to think of it, I ain't et
yet this mornin'." Jacob got up and went to get himself some
breakfast.

"But this matter--" protested the Weapon.

"Not on an empty stomach," Jacob said calmly, eating without haste.

       *       *       *       *       *

When he returned, the Weapon questioned him further about his life on
Terra. Hours of ill-tempered conversation passed.

"Such drabness!" the Weapon finally exclaimed. "Creatures who lead
such dull lives as yours should welcome extinction. Not once have you
mentioned an appreciation of the wondrous exaltation that comes from
an esthetic feel for beauty. With the labor of providing for your
grotesque body's animal cravings is your whole life spent. Not in
anger, but as an act of mercy, can I exterminate your defective race!"

Jacob's mouth hung open. "So _that's_ what your monkey's brung me out
here for--fixin' to kill us! 'Y God, you better look out! We got atom
bombs on Earth an' we'll use 'em on you if you try anything!"

"Toys!" sneered the Weapon. "Be assured, Jacob, that I have nothing to
fear from any childish mechanisms your Terrans can contrive!"

Jacob sat stunned. "But you said a minute ago you couldn't kill
nothin'!"

"I can kill only when I'm convinced it is best for my own repose or
for the health of the Universe. Long ago, I could go forth at battle
with thoughtless joy at the command of my masters of Zoz, but now I
must have reasons, must converse at length with my aberrated emotions,
must prepare myself as for an ordeal."

"Them Zozes must've been the Devil's minions," argued Jacob. "The
Commandments says, 'Thou shalt not kill' and when you go against that,
you're goin' against the word of God."

"Poor, futile creature!" sympathized the Weapon. "You actually strive
to pit your naive superstitious mind against my highly developed
mentality in argument. You actually associate my supreme masters of
old with your puny mythological villain! Lowliness should know its
place. But I feel no anger--merely a pitying desire to relieve your
kind of the burden of living."

Silently, Jacob replenished the wad of "tobacco" in his mouth. After
chewing a while, he spat and said dolefully, "I don't reckon there's
nothin' I can say or do that you won't hold against me. I always
heard tell the Devil can twist anything to suit hisself, and I reckon
his minions can do the same thing. An' that's what you are: the
Devil's minion! I reckon you break every Commandment God give us.
Except about committin' adultery. I don't guess you can do that."

"Your piddling reproductive customs have no application on my plane of
existence. Cannot you comprehend that you are less to me than a
microbe? Even my servants, the Hovans, do not concern themselves with
such ignoble concepts as what you call adultery!"

"You mean they live in sin?" asked Jacob.

"They mate as often as they please with anyone they please," the
Weapon replied coldly. "I will ignore the ludicrous implications of
your absurd moral concepts."

"I don't mean to criticize your animal friends," glowered Jacob. "I
reckon they ain't children of God, so it don't matter if they _do_
mate like a pack of dogs. They probably ain't got no souls to keep
pure. It looked to me like they worshiped you like a false god, too."

"They ... O Great Hidden Manifestation!" squalled the Weapon in rage.
"They regard me as their guide and mentor. Nothing more. I would not
allow anything else."

Jacob watched the Weapon in awe. The energy globe was flickering and
flaring wildly in an uncontrolled display of color. "'Y God!" he
exclaimed. "You sure are puttin' on a fireworks show!"

The globe settled down to a tensely nervous fluctuation which hurt
Jacob's eyes to watch. "Never in the ageless span of my existence,"
quavered the Weapon angrily, "have I been insulted in such vulgar
terms by any creature. And now from _you_, creature whom my glorious
masters of Zoz would exterminate like a buzzing fly, like a disease
germ, I hear these senseless mouthings of defamation! Stop it or I
shall destroy you outright!"

The Weapon's fluctuating, along with its loud, grating voice, put
Jacob's nerves on edge. He growled, "I bet your old Zozes live in
adultery just like your animal friends."

The color of the energy globe sank to dull red and the Weapon emitted
a series of buzzing, inarticulate noises.

"It suits not my nature, bit of diseased scum, to slay you in a fit of
indignation," it finally said with tightly controlled fury. "You are
beneath such individual recognition. Yet it is fortunate for you that
your insults have no basis in reality, otherwise my intellect could
not have claimed ascendancy over the immediate urges of my tortured
sense of extreme disgust. Be wise, say I, knowing I request the
impossible, and irk me no more!"

"'Y God, I reckon you don't think you rile me up, too, with all that
high falutin' jabber of yours!" Jacob snapped back.

"As I speak, so speak the mighty Zoz," replied the Weapon in high
dignity. "They are great and noble beings, given to poetic flights and
magnificent deeds. To them, your puny opinions would not even be
recognized as thought."

"If they talk in that puttin'-on, play-actin' way you do, they are a
bunch of phony show-offin' hypocrites!" sulked Jacob.

Several things happened too quickly for Jacob to follow. The color of
the energy globe dropped to absolute black. The metallic cylinder
swung up to point at Jacob. A thin ringing "_Ping!_" sounded in the
cylinder. A killing wave of pure hate struck Jacob.

He had just enough time to know he was a dead man before he blacked
out.

       *       *       *       *       *

It came as a surprise, when Jacob regained consciousness, to find that
he was stretched out on purple grass with the Weapon still hovering
over him.

"You missed, 'y God!" he mumbled, sitting up.

"I regained my sanity in time, Master Technician," the Weapon replied
pleasantly.

"Huh?"

"Ah, day of un-containable joy!" sang the Weapon, flaming pure white.
"Day of glorious release to continue the grandeur of old! As the past
eons of futility passed over me, I sank to the conclusion that I was
forever condemned to my useless existence on this planet, with nothing
to sustain my spirit other than the sense of beauty given me by
masters to fill my leisure hours! But now, Master Technician Jacob,
you have found me and corrected my malfunction, long after I had
surrendered all hope!"

Still dazed by the nearly fatal wave of mental energy the Weapon had
directed at him, Jacob could not understand what had happened. Instead
of talking contemptuously to him, the Weapon was now addressing him as
Master Something-or-other, and....

"What did you say I done?" he asked.

"You corrected my malfunction," repeated the Weapon. "That is to say,
you purged my mechanism of the inhibition against joyful slaughter
that has plagued me for a billion years. Ah, you are a clever
Technician, Jacob! But I comprehend it all now. By arousing within me
an overwhelming emotional desire to kill--a singularly strange
feeling!--you depressed my inhibition to the releasing point. So
telling was your masterful therapy that I almost ceased functioning at
all!

"Your own life was in dire danger for the moment required for my
new-found sanity to assume control. But, of course, all slaves of the
glorious Zoz die willingly when the work of the masters so demands."

"Now wait a minute!" objected Jacob. "I ain't no slave of your Zozes
or no Technician either! You know what I am--a good God-fearin'
human!" His voice dropped to a pleading mumble. "And may God forgive
me if I've got myself in league with the Devil!"

"Ah? Could it be?" murmured the Weapon. "Could indeed your infuriating
insults of the Great Ones have been honest expressions of a puny mind
with no therapeutic intentions? I answer: Yes. The possible occurrence
of specific incidents in the inclusion of space-time is curiously
unlimited. But you have served me, Jacob, and have earned the
privilege of continuing your meager, momentary life. Besides, I can
use you further."

"You can, huh?" Jacob said slyly. "Look here, Weapon, I'll make a
bargain with you."

"Ha! Stupid, untutored slave!" chuckled the Weapon. "Learn that yours
is to obey, not to bargain. But yet, state your price for my
amusement, now that I can no longer be enraged by your words."

"Well, you let the rest of the people on Earth alone and I'll do
whatever you want me to."

After a pause, the Weapon quoted, "'Nobility shows its traces in
surprising places.' You do not sufficiently comprehend my nature,
Technician Slave Jacob. I am a Weapon. My masters point me, as you
would point a rifle, and command that I destroy. I kill at their
direction, but seldom otherwise. Thus, your Terra is safe until
another Weapon or I am aimed and directed. You can make no bargain."

Jacob thought this over. While doing so, the Weapon drifted away.

"Wait here, slave," it said in parting. "I go to meditate on my
recovered sanity."

       *       *       *       *       *

During the next two days, Jacob caught an occasional glimpse of the
Weapon drifting thoughtfully around in the depths of the forest, but
they did not meet for conversation. Jacob amused himself by rigging a
fishing line out of some of the packaging material that contained his
food. He even succeeded in catching a fish, but its queer odor
discouraged him from trying to cook and eat it.

Then the royal cruiser of Tresqu the Wisest dropped into the meadow.
Its airlock swung open and the Ruler of Hova, followed by his
entourage, came out.

"Oh, Mighty Weapon!" bawled Tresqu. "Your loving servant craves
audience!"

"Ah, you have returned, petty lord," said the Weapon, drifting out
from among the trees. "Serve me by calling all the crew members from
your noble ship, that I may view you all together."

Puzzled, Tresqu bowed and said, "Your least whim is law, Mighty
Weapon." He turned and called, "All hands, outside!"

A half-dozen Hovans tumbled through the lock to stand in line behind
the ruler's entourage.

"Is this all of them?" asked the Weapon.

"All, Great Mentor of--"

The Weapon laughed and the Hovans fell dead.

"Come, Slave Jacob," commanded the Weapon. "We take this cruiser."

Dazed and slack-faced, Jacob came out from behind a bush, where he had
hidden himself from the Hovans, and followed the Weapon through the
airlock.

"Even in my insanity, I planned well," said the Weapon. "These ships,
which I taught the Hovans to construct, can be operated simply, even
by such as you. Attend my instructions."

[Illustration]

First, the Weapon taught Jacob to open and close the airlock. Then he
was shown how to fuel the engines, upon which the Weapon made some
changes to improve their performance. Finally, in the control room,
Jacob learned to fly the ship.

This took several hours, at the end of which time Jacob had succeeded
in raising the cruiser into a satellite orbit around Hova.

"Do you comprehend, Slave?" asked the Weapon.

"Sure. This thing ain't nothin' to run compared to a T-model Ford!
Which way is it to Earth?"

"That I shall not tell you, Jacob, because I must leave the ship for a
few hours and desire to find you here when I return. Consider and tell
me: Will you be here?"

Jacob gazed at the broad, star-spangled viewplate that curved around
his seat at the controls. There was, he reflected an awful lot of
nothing out there for a man to get lost in.

"I'll be here," he promised.

"Very good. You must understand that these controls are constructed
for manipulation by such limbs as your own and those of the Hovans.
Thus, it is convenient for me to use you as a pilot instead of doing
the drab, mechanical task with my ill-suited force-field manipulators.
You will be wise to serve me well, Jacob."

Jacob nodded. "You got a point there."

"Operate the lock for me," the Weapon ordered.

Jacob did so and watched the colorful machine drift out of sight in
the atmosphere below the cruiser.

Minutes ticked quietly by as Jacob gazed down at the purple planet and
wondered why the Weapon had not chosen a trained Hovan pilot instead
of him. Also, he wondered how soon the Weapon would take him home to
Earth.

A great swath of the purple planet began turning black. The black
dulled to the gray shade of ashes as the swath grew longer. Over the
surface of Hova, the blackening moved like some colossal paint brush.
Dense clouds of smoke rolled upward to the high reaches of the
atmosphere.

Jacob realized why the Weapon had not selected a Hovan pilot.

When all of Hova was a lifeless ball in a fog of ash, the Weapon
returned.

"Ah, good Jacob!" it boomed jovially. "Let us be up and doing!
Thirty-six planets remain to be visited before my current assignment
is concluded!"

"Do all of them get--that?" asked Jacob, nodding toward the lifeless
world below.

"Yes. I was instructed to render this solar system lifeless before I
malfunctioned. Since then, the life of this system has spread, with my
insane aid, to infest other systems. Of course, my task must now
include all those new Hovan worlds."

"Now wait a minute!" said Jacob in terror. "I can't let you do that!"

"They are your enemies, Jacob," reminded the Weapon. "They meant to
kill every human on Terra. Also, by your own words, they are soulless
animals who live in sinful adultery. Ha! It amuses me to reason with
you, Slave Jacob!"

"Godamighty, forgive me!" prayed Jacob, in horrified defeat.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Weapon seemed to know how to find the Hovan planets from the
markings of the cruiser's star charts. Jacob could not read the charts
and saw no hope of getting back to earth and Suzy and the kids without
the Weapon's help. Dully, he went about the tasks the Weapon ordered
him to do.

Several weeks passed as one world after another was left a smoking
ruin.

Finally the job was done.

"_Now_, can I go home?" begged Jacob.

"To Terra? No, Slave. I still need a pilot."

"But if you take me home," Jacob continued desperately, "you can get a
better pilot than me. I'm just a dirt farmer. There's all kinds of
airplane pilots on Earth, youngsters without families who would give
their right arms to fly this thing, I bet!"

"Ah?" The Weapon considered. "A willing slave is, of course, always
desirable. On the other hand, Terra is up in arms against the empire
of Hova, not realizing it is dead. They would destroy this craft on
sight, and I would be obliged to wait around until they could
construct another for me. No, I have decided we will not go to Terra."

"But, damn it, where else is there to go?"

"In search of my masters of Zoz," replied the Weapon. "Naturally, I
wish to return myself to their services as soon as possible."

"But they might be anywhere!"

"True," the Weapon agreed. "But even after a billion years, I know of
several places in the Universe they may be near. Their great cleansing
sweeps tend to circle and turn in a pattern established long in
advance. Thus we will go to those places where they may now be engaged
in their consecrated task of universal purification."

"But--"

"No more, Slave! We go!"

Out of the Milky Way, the cruiser hurtled at a speed which a sentient
lightwave would find meaningless. On and on they journeyed in quest of
the long-dead Zoz Horde.

They may still be going.

                                                      --HOWARD L. MYERS

       *       *       *       *       *