Hunt the Space-Witch! Read Online Free PDF

emitted an uproarious chuckle, and his soft, pale belly jiggled obscenely. “Of course you don’t know! How could you be expected to know?”
    â€œI don’t like riddles,” Harkins said, feeling angry and sensing the strange unreality of the conversation. “What are you?”
    â€œI was a man, once.” Suddenly the mocking tone was gone. “My parents were human. I—am not.”
    â€œParents?”
    â€œThousands of years ago. In the days before the War. In the days before the Star Giants came.” The wide mouth drooped sadly. “In the world that once was—the world you were drawn from, poor mystified thing.”
    â€œJust what do you know about me?” Harkins demanded.
    â€œToo much,” said the Watcher wearily. “Take your drink first, and then I’ll explain.”
    Harkins’ throat felt as if it had been sandpapered. He knelt and let the cool brook water enter. Finally, he rose. The Watcher had not moved; he remained seated on the rock, his tiny, useless arms folded in bizarre parody of a human gesture.
    â€œSit down,” the Watcher said. “I have a story two thousand years long to tell.”
    Harkins took a seat on a stone and leaned against a tree trunk. The Watcher began to speak.
    The story began in Harkins’ own time, or shortly afterward. The Watcher traced the history of the civilization that had developed in the early centuries of the Third Millennium, told of the rise of the underground cities and the people who had built the robots that still roved the forest.
    War had come—destroying that society completely, save for a few bands of survivors. Some of the cities had survived too, but the minds that had guided the robot brains were gone, and the robots continued to function in the duties last assigned. The underground cities had become taboo places, though savage bands lived above them, never venturing beneath the surface.
    Down below, in the tunnels of the dead ones, the mutant descendants of the city-builders lived. The Different Ones, those of whom Jorn had spoken. Most of them lived in the cities; a few others in the forests.
    â€œI am one of those,” said the Watcher. “I have not moved from this spot since the year the Star Giants came.”
    â€œThe Star Giants,” Harkins said. “Who are they?”
    The flabby shoulders shrugged. “They came from the stars, long after we had destroyed ourselves. They live here, watching the survivors with great curiosity. They toy with the tribes, set them in conflict with each other, and study the results with deep interest. For some reason they don’t bother me. They seem never to pass this way in the forest.”
    â€œAnd the robots?”
    â€œThey’ll continue as they are till the end of time. Nothing can destroy them, nothing can swerve them from their activity—and nothing can command them.”
    Harkins leaned forward intently. The Watcher had given him all the answers he needed but one.
    â€œWhy am I here?” he asked.
    â€œYou?” The mutant laughed coldly. “You’re the random factor. It would ruin the game to tell you too many answers. But I’ll grant you this much information: You can go home if you get control of the robots .”
    â€œWhat? How?”
    â€œFind that out for yourself,” the Watcher said. “I’ll keep a close lookout for you, blind as I am, but I won’t help you more than I have.”
    Harkins smiled and said, “What if I force you to tell me?”
    â€œHow could you possibly do that?” Again the wide lips contorted unpleasantly. “How could you ever force me to do anything I didn’t want to do?”
    â€œLike this,” Harkins said, in sudden rage. He pried out of the earth the stone he was sitting on and hoisted it above his head.
    No .
    It was a command, unvoiced. The stone tumbled from Harkins’ nerveless hands and thudded to the