None But Lucifer

Chapter IX

It was a beauty. There were other yachts in the basin, but Hale saw only the long, slim white ship with polished brass shining in the spring sun. Even when Johnson said, "It cost you only forty-six thousand, my boy," Hale scarcely heard him.

"She's mine!" he breathed.

"Feels pretty good, eh?"

That wasn't exactly the word for it. But Hale couldn't find the word for it, either, so he kept silent. There was no thrill like it. The yacht was just what he needed to make him happy. Even when a sailor handed him down into a sleek launch and they sped toward the gangway, he was grinning vacantly. The ship expanded almost to liner proportions.

"Hundred and eighty feet long," said Johnson.

"Boy!" said Hale.

They climbed. The crew and officers were on deck, saluting sharply.

"Welcome to your ship, sir," said the captain.

Hale gulped and looked around helplessly at Johnson, who was still climbing.

"Where away, sir?"

"What? Oh, I don't know. I hadn't thought —"

The captain smiled tolerantly. "Might I suggest, sir, considering the cold weather —"

"Of course," Johnson broke in, panting. "South toward Hatteras for a day, then back. What do you say, William?"

Hale agreed quickly. The crew saluted again and fell out. Hale rested his hands sensuously on the cold, polished rail and watched trunks and suitcases come aboard. For a while the captain and Johnson stood quietly beside him, evidently respecting his thrill of ownership.

Then the captain asked: "Would you care to inspect the ship, sir?"

Everything filtered through Hale's consciousness through a haze of delight. The fact that the ship had Diesel motors, that it was seaworthy enough for a round-the-world cruise, and so on, contributed very little to his enjoyment. The only fact he could comprehend was that the whole beautiful ship was his.

"Not bad, eh?" said Johnson.

And Hale, lingering in his gorgeous stateroom, grinned blindly at his partner. Johnson seemed to have acquired the habit of slapping him on the back and saying: "Feels pretty good, eh, William? And to think it set you back only forty-six thousand dollars!" Somehow it didn't irritate Hale. And even Hamilton's frozen expression showed traces of a sympathetic smile.

The engines throbbed. Hale stood on the bridge happily watching the New York and New Jersey shores slide past. The fixed smile seemed to have become a permanent fixture. In a dazed sort of way he was running over his possessions in his mind. Only recently he had seemed doomed to a forty-a-week job for life — well, perhaps sixty if he behaved himself — an utterly glamourless wife, and all the other trimmings. More recently he had been ill in a flophouse.

But now!

The yacht nosed out of the Narrows into the deep swells —

Down, with a swift rush, into the troughs —

Up, laboriously, over the caps —

He swallowed desperately and hung on. It became impossible. He clutched for support and staggered below. When he told Hamilton to leave the stateroom, he seriously thought he was hiding all outward signs of seasickness. Hamilton got him to the bathroom just in time.

While he lay flat, with his eyes strained wide, he could just barely tolerate the downward rush of the ship. But his eyes ached and his heart raced painfully. When he tried closing his eyes to rest them, his sudden nausea made it the logical moment to think about death. He felt nothing remote and impersonal about the subject just then. If he didn't die of seasickness, he was sure a storm would sink the ship, or it would hit a submerged object.

He sat up, sweating, and instantly fell back. His heart was stopping! Be sure of it.

So that was the idea! He cursed. Lucifer probably strutted around the deck, gloating pompously, boasting about the number of people this small coup would affect.

But Johnson was standing quietly at his side. "Do you want the lights on, William?" he asked solicitously.

Hale managed to shake his head. As he did so, several old-fashioned cannon balls that seemed to have gotten loose inside his skull went slamming around it.

"Do you want anything at all — some lemons, perhaps? I understand they're very good for seasickness."

Hale groaned. "No ... I don't mind —"

"What is it then, my boy?" Johnson dragged up a chair and plumped fatly into it. "Are you having mental disturbances, too?"

"You know, don't you?" Hale cried. "You did it, damn you — you flabby devil! You tricked me into it! Very neatly, too?"

"Whatever are you talking about, William?"

Hale lay and glowered impotently in the dusk. "You know damned well what I mean. When I was poor, I didn't even think about dying. When I did, there was nothing terrible about the idea. I wouldn't be giving up much — lousy little job, two-by-four home, the subway whenever I wanted to travel —"

Johnson interrupted thoughtfully: "The slave doesn't fear death."

"Right, you slimy double-crosser! Sure, you gave me the partnership and all that goes with it — except one thing."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, William. The partnership was your idea, you know. You forced me into it. Haven't I kept my part of the bargain?"

"Yes, you have. But the more you gave me, the more I stood to lose. For the first time in my life I have something to live for: money, cars, a horse, and power. That's what hurts most." He pulled at Johnson's sleeve. "You can't kid me into thinking it's a long way off yet. I probably won't die tonight; but you'll go on, immortal, and I'll kick off in a few years!"

Johnson put his hands on his knees and looked at Hale for a while. At last he asked gently: "Are you suggesting that I make you immortal, William? Is that it?"

"Huh?" Hale sat up, heedless of the stab of pain in his head. "You mean you could? You would?"

"I have no objection to doing so, if you want it sufficiently, and you've thought of its consequences."

"What do you mean, consequences? It's easy for you to be cool about it. You're not going to die, so you can afford to weigh the advantages and disadvantages, if any."

"But, William, there are disadvantages, you know. I have often been able to sense your hostility to me when we attended the theater. Why do you think I'm not interested in those affairs? To me there's no such thing as a new joke or a new plot. As for music, I've heard every old masterpiece a thousand times, and all the new music I find to be merely a slightly different aspect of the old. Times change, new generations arise, but it's always the same in a different guise. I get new problems, but somehow the old methods of solving them still work very efficiently.

"When you've lived as long as I have, business is the only thing that can interest you. Luckily I still find the business of running Hell extremely fascinating after all these years. That is my only amusement, and I admit it's enough."

Hale answered: "I don't care. I still don't see you giving up your immortality. Anything is better than this horrible fear. I've got too much to lose. I don't want to die!"

"Then you mean you have decided that you want immortality?"

"Yes. If you can like it, I can."

"Very well, partner." Johnson stood up and shook Hale's hand. "Since you want it, it's yours."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. You're immortal."

"I'm im — Just like that? I mean, don't you do anything?"

"That's all. I assure you you're immortal. I admit it may seem odd, from your point of view. But you should realize by now that I work by everyday, matter-of-fact methods."

"Huh, I still don't get it. How does it work?"

"Immortality? By what is commonly regarded as luck. In our cases, a never-ending series of fortunate accidents. Guns pointed at us happen not to go off, or something happens to the gunners. Accidents occur a moment after we are safely out of the way. We happen not to contract fatal illnesses; our systems happen not to age or deteriorate. There is really nothing magical about it."

"Yeah. On the surface."

"Quite so." Johnson smiled through the gloom. "On the surface."

Hale's first demonstration of his immortality was his quick recovery. He could sit up without vertigo. Johnson turned on the lights and resumed his seat. Before Hale could reopen the subject of immortality, he said: "I understand your swimming pool will be completed when we get back. Have you thought of any ceremony in opening it?"

"I've been wondering about that. Just taking a swim doesn't sound so good. There ought to be some kind of blow-out, only the people I used to know wouldn't fit in."

"Don't you know anybody at all?"

"Just about nobody. Of course, I could invite the superintendent and his wife, or the girl friend I gave the air to. They'd fit in nicely."

"Come now, William. I'm entirely serious. I know I'm not much company for a lonely young man. And you have been lonely, haven't you?"

Hale had to realize that that was the fact, despite his lavish possessions. He now knew that that was the reason for his restlessness. He hadn't been seeing anybody but Johnson and his servants.

"Well," Hale admitted, "I was sort of playing around with the idea of inviting Banner. But he'd turn me down cold after the dirty trick I played on him."

"Banner? Oh, yes, the advertising man who gave you the ... uh ... job. He has a daughter, hasn't he? Why don't you ask them?"

Hale shook his head. "They wouldn't come."

"They might. Ask them to bring their friends. All they can do is snub you. And the daughter — she gets her pictures in the papers quite often. Pretty, isn't she?"

"A pip!"

"I agree. A very appealing girl indeed. If you're interested in meeting her, I believe it's worth the risk of a snub."

"Yeah. I suppose it is."

"Is there anything you want before I go, William?"

"No, thanks. I'll be all right."

Johnson left. Hale lay looking up at the softly illuminated ceiling. Damn it, he thought, there's always something to take the kick out of life, and it's always the reality that does it. Who would have thought that he could get tired of his apartment? Like everyone else he enjoyed elbow room but, except for purely functional reasons, there was no incentive for going from one room to another. Or take his horse and cars. Riding had degenerated into routine. And now the yacht. He had imagined himself riding around grandly, taking long cruises when he felt like it. Possibly the papers would have pictures of him and his yacht, and the thought of making other people envious was an added satisfaction. He hadn't thought of the inconveniences.

Damn reality! First he'd been seasick and afraid of death. Both had vanished; but now he realized that, besides having had the zest taken from sailing by his sickness, he had transferred his loneliness from the city to the ship. For the whole week end he would eat, sleep, look at the water, and listen to Johnson orate. That was reality.

But it all stemmed from his loneliness, he knew. Once he met Gloria and her friends, everything would be all right. There was the kind of girl he'd always wanted to know — glamorous, beautiful —

On the first day of his cruise, he was impatient to be home.