The Eater of Souls
from Robert A. Heinlein's Glory Road
(1963)
"Once there, in that world--Hokesh it is called, or Karth--in
Karth-Hokesh we shall be close, too close, to a tall tower, mile high, and, if we win to it, our troubles start. In it is the Never-Born, the Eater of Souls."
"Star, are you trying to scare me?"
....
I sat heavily down and looked at the arras covering the rat hole at the
end of the room and wondered why Star and Rufo hadn't come out. All
that clashing steel and talk--I thought about walking over and shouting
for them. But I was too weary to move just yet. I sighed and closed my
eyes--
Through sheer boyish high spirits (and carelessness I had been chided
for, time and again) I had broken a dozen eggs. My mother looked down
at the mess and I could see that she was about to cry. So I clouded up
too. She stopped her tears, took me gently by the shoulder, and said,
"It's all right, son. Eggs aren't that important." But I was ashamed,
so I twisted away and ran. Downhill I ran, heedless and almost flying--then was shockingly aware
that I was at the wheel and the car was out of control. I groped for
the brake pedal, couldn't find it and felt panic . . . then did find
it-- and felt it sink with that mushiness that means you've lost
brake-fluid pressure. Something ahead in the road and I couldn't see.
Couldn't even turn my head and my eyes were clouded with something
running down into them. I twisted the wheel and nothing
happened--radius rod gone. Screams in my car as we hit! --and I
woke up in bed with a jerk and the screams were my own.
I was going to be late to school, disgrace not to be borne. Never born,
agony shameful, for the schoolyard was empty; the other kids, scrubbed
and virtuous, were in their seats and I couldn't find my classroom.
Hadn't even had time to go to the bathroom and here I was at my desk
with my pants down about to do what I had been too hurried to do before
I left home and all the other kids had their hands up but teacher was
calling on me. I couldn't stand up to recite; my pants were not only
down I didn't have any on at all if I stood up they would see it the
boys would laugh at me the girls would giggle and look away and tilt
their noses. But the unbearable disgrace was that I didn't know the
answer!
"Come, come!" my teacher said sharply. "Don't waste the class's time,
E.G. You Haven't Studied Your Lesson."
Well, no, I hadn't. Yes, I had, but she had written "Problems 1-6" on
the blackboard and I had taken that as "1 and 6"--and this was number
4. But She would never believe me; the excuse was too thin. We pay off
on touchdowns, not excuses.
"That's how it is, Easy," my Coach went on, his voice more in sorrow
than in anger. "Yardage is all very well but you don't make a nickel
unless you cross that old goal line with the egg tucked underneath your
arm." He pointed at the football on his desk. "There it is. I had it
gilded and lettered clear back at the beginning of the season, you
looked so good and I had so much confidence in you--it was meant to be
yours at the end of the season, at a victory banquet." His brow
wrinkled and he spoke as if trying to be fair. "I won't say you could
have saved things all by yourself. But you do take things too easy.
Easy-- maybe you need another name. When the road gets rough, you could
try harder." He sighed. "My fault, I should have cracked down. Instead,
I tried to be a father to you. But I want you to know you aren't the
only one who loses by this--at my age it's not easy to find a new job."
I pulled the covers up over my head; I couldn't stand to look at him.
But they wouldn't let me alone; somebody started shaking my shoulder.
"Gordon!"
"Le'me 'lone!"
"Wake up, Gordon, and get your ass inside. You're in trouble."
I certainly was, I could tell that as soon as I stepped into the
office. There was a sour taste of vomit in my mouth and I felt
awful--as if a herd of buffaloes had walked over me, stepping on me
here and there. Dirty ones. The First Sergeant didn't look at me
when I came in; he let me stand and sweat first. When he did look
up, he examined me up and down before speaking. Then he spoke
slowly, letting me taste each word. "Absent Over Leave, terrorizing and
insulting native women, unauthorized use of government property .
. . scandalous conduct . . . insubordinate and obscene language .
. . resisting arrest . . . striking an M.P.--Gordon, why didn't you
steal a horse? We hang horse thieves in these parts. It would make it
all so much simpler." He smiled at his own wit. The old bastard always
had thought he was a wit. He was half right. But I didn't give a
damn what he said.
I realized dully that it had all been a dream, just another of those
dreams I had had too often lately, wanting to get out of this aching
jungle. Even She hadn't been real. My--what was her name? --even
her name I had made up. Star. My Lucky Star--Oh, Star, my
darling, you aren't!
He went on: "I see you took off your chevrons. Well, that saves time
but that's the only thing good about it. Out of uniform. No shave. And
your clothes are filthy! Gordon, you are a disgrace to the Army of the
United States. You know that, don't you? And you can't sing your way
out of this one. No I.D. on you, no pass, using a name not your own.
Well, Evelyn Cyril my fine lad, we'll use your right name now.
Officially."
He swung around in his swivel chair--he hadn't had his fat ass out of
it since they sent him to Asia, no patrols for him. "Just one thing I'm
curious about. Where did you get that? And whatever possessed you to
try to steal it?" He nodded at a file case behind his desk. I
recognized what was sitting on it, even though it had been painted with
gold gilt the last time I recalled seeing it whereas now it was covered
with the special black gluey mud they grow in Southeast Asia. I started
toward it.
"That's mine!"
"No, no!" he said sharply. "Burny, burny, boy." He moved the football
farther back. "Stealing it doesn't make it yours. I've taken charge of
it as evidence. For your information, you phony hero, the docs think
he's going to die."
"Who?"
"Why should you care who? Two bits to a Bangkok tickul you didn't know
his name when you clobbered him. You can't go around clobbering natives
just because you're feeling brisk--they've got rights, maybe you hadn't
heard. You're supposed to clobber them only when and where you are told
to." Suddenly he smiled. It didn't improve him. With his long,
sharp nose and his little bloodshot eyes I suddenly realized how much
he looked like a rat. But he went on smiling and said, "Evelyn my
boy, maybe you took off those chevrons too soon."
"Huh?"
"Yes. There may be a way out of this mess. Sit down." He repeated
sharply, " 'Sit down,' I said. If I had my way we'd simply Section-Eight you and forget you--anything to
get rid of you. But the Company Commander has other ideas--a really brilliant idea that could close
your whole file. There's a raid planned for tonight. So"--he leaned over, got a bottle of Four Roses and two cups out of his desk, poured two drinks--"have a drink."
Everybody knew about that bottle--everybody but the Company Commander,
maybe. But the top sergeant had never been known to offer anyone a
drink--save one time when he had followed it by telling his victim that
he was being recommended for a general court-martial.
"No, thanks."
"Come on, take it. Hair of the dog. You're going to need it. Then go
take a shower and get yourself looking decent even if you aren't,
before you see the Company Commander."
I stood up. I wanted that drink, I needed it. I would have settled for
the worst rotgut--and Four Roses is pretty smooth--but I would have
settled for the firewater old--what was his name? --had used to burst
my eardrums. But I didn't want to drink with him. I should not
drink anything at all here. Nor eat any--
I spat in his face.
He looked utterly shocked and started to melt. I drew my sword and had
at him.
It got dark but I kept on laying about me, sometimes connecting,
sometimes not.
....