The Seed of Evil

Julian flicked a switch and brought the hum of power to the workroom. “To begin with, let’s see if our friend has had a change of heart that would make all our work unnecessary.”

Using a dropper, he administered a few cc’s of a pungent-smelling liquid to an organ just beneath Neverdie’s carapace. The alien, who was strapped upside down to reveal a mass of appendages, opened milky translucent eyes and stirred feebly.

The eyes swivelled and focused on Julian. “You are making a mistake …” the voice diaphragm said weakly.

“It’s you who has made the mistake,” Julian said. “You know what we want: give it and we’ll spare you.”

“No … I cannot.”

Julian paused. “I would like to put a few questions to you,” he said finally. “Are you willing to answer?”

“Yes.”

“First, is the secret of immortality something I could find? I mean, is it an analysable property of your body?”

“Yes.”

“Could it be applied to myself?”

“Yes, more easily than you think.”

Julian’s excitement mounted. “Well, what is it? If you’ll tell me this much, why won’t you tell me the whole thing?”

Neverdie squirmed. “I beg you, do not seek immortality. Forget your lust, leave me in peace. …”

“I’ve got to!” Julian exclaimed in sudden inspiration. “It concerns some specific substance, or something, that your body contains, doesn’t it? To have it myself I’d have to take it away from you, wouldn’t I?”

Suddenly Neverdie became still, as if in despair. “Your guess is close. But you must abandon your intentions. You do not understand. This is your last chance to leave well alone.”

“I understand that you’re trying to save your own skin. Unfortunately in this universe any item in short supply goes to the strongest party.” He glanced at Aul. “Don’t say anything of this to the others. We have to get in all the facts before revealing anything that might cause trouble.”

Aul nodded, his face clouded.

“Then let’s get to work. Good night, Neverdie. The curtain is falling.”

From a nearby nozzle he released more of the gas that to the alien was an instant anaesthetic. Neverdie’s appendages twitched once. Then he was still again.

They were sailing past the Gulf of Akaba when Courdon finally caught up with them.

Since losing track of the quarry in London, he had frantically been trying to identify and search all vessels that had travelled down the Thames in the following two days. The number ran into thousands. There was nothing to connect the Rudi Dutschke to Julian Ferrg, and it was with great difficulty that he managed to persuade an Israeli coastal patrol to make what was strictly speaking an illegal search.

At the time Julian’s investigations had only reached a rudimentary stage concerned with biochemical analysis using tissue samples sliced from the alien’s inert body. Neverdie was very lucky: no real damage had been done.

So engrossed were Julian and David in their work that they failed to hear the whistle of the patrol craft as it flew overhead. Julian merely looked up with a frown of annoyance as he heard shouting from the deck above, especially the shrill voice of Ursula.

“Get up there and tell them to stop their damned row, David,” he ordered angrily. “I’ll have no arguments on this junket.”

Aul moved to obey. But at that moment the door flew open and the bereted coastguards stood framed there. For long moments they stood, staring at the scene, their tanned faces turning pale.

“What do you want?” Julian shouted in an enraged voice. “Get out of here, damn you! Can’t you see we’re busy?”

The guards unshouldered their arms. The game was up.

At his trial Julian fell back on the perennial refuge of the scoundrel: patriotism.

He had done it all, not for himself, but for humanity. “Even when governments are soft,” he said, “there are some who believe that mankind must advance by whatever means possible. My work, had it been allowed to continue, would have brought incalculable benefits to this planet.”

The audacity of his statements probably did serve to soften his sentence, as had been his intention. His companions were given ten years apiece in a corrective institution. Julian, as the ringleader, was sentenced to fifteen years.

FIVE

On his release, fifteen years later, Julian was forced to make a drastic reappraisal of his position. He was no longer a young man in his early thirties: he was forty-eight. Although he had kept himself fit during his imprisonment and was still lean and active, the sands were running out.