The Final Figure, Sam Merwin [e books for reading TXT] 📗

a dullish report, rose to a height of perhaps a hundred yards.

Then, suddenly, its tail blossomed smoke and flame; it rose with a new lease on life, to disappear into the heavens, leaving a trail of smoke behind it. Pointing to a prefabricated building that stood alone, a mile away, the General said, "Watch that target, gentlemen," and lifted his field glasses to his eyes.

A minute later—fifty-eight seconds was the exact time—the structure was suddenly obliterated by a tremendous explosion. The General sighed and said quietly, "That was TNT. We have a stockpile of atomic weapons ready."

"But the accuracy!" exclaimed a weathered full admiral. "With the wind and the earth's rotation to consid...." He hesitated, then said, "Oh, a guided missile."

The General nodded, and said, "We can put batteries of these new missile-launchers, completely-mobile and with atomic heads, anywhere in the world within twenty-four hours by plane. They have a reasonably effective range of small targets of just over two hundred miles—with air-guidance, of course, over target. Gentlemen, I think They are in for a surprise."

They got it two days later—in another special test of the new weapon. The General didn't even bother to watch it. His attention was focussed upon a stocky blond man who wore the gaudy shoulder-boards of a lieutenant colonel, and was present as assistant military-attache and qualified observer. His face remained impassive, save for a slight twitch of the lips, when the target was obliterated.

Which was enough to satisfy the General.

Denied a sure-thing victory They were forced to call off Their war—with violent internal results. It became quickly evident that They were going to be busy for a long time keeping order within their own boundaries. The international situation became easier and happier than at any time since Locarno.

The General, who was due shortly to receive his fourth star, played an active role in the military portion of the peace-making. He had little time even to think of Angus MacReedy and little Toby and the miracle-workroom on Long Island. When he did think of them it was with an inner warmth that was almost devout, with a resolve to see that the model-maker received a satisfactory reward.

Then one morning, while skimming through a stack of reports, a phrase caught his eye. It read—

... and in accord with current fiscal retrenchment-policies, all personnel on special duty were called in for terminal assignments. These included....

The report was from Second District HQ at Governor's Island. With a sinking sensation he scanned the list. There it was—special sentry-detail to guard house of Captain Angus MacReedy (ret). He picked up a telephone and called Governor's Island direct.

Yes, the detail had been withdrawn more than a week earlier.... No, there had been no report of trouble.... Hold on, there was something in the morning paper....

The General made it in less than two hours. Angus MacReedy had been shot in the back of his head the previous evening, while building model soldiers in his cellar workroom. A boy who lived next door and heard the shot while on his way to pay MacReedy a visit, had seen the murderer drive away in a black sedan. He had given the alarm and local constabulary had picked up the trail and given chase. Ignoring a red light, their quarry had been killed when his sedan was hit by a truck. He had no identification on him but appeared to be a stocky blond man of about forty. An alien pistol, recently discharged, had been found in the wreckage.

The General and Toby stood alone in the strangely empty workroom. Only an ugly, dark stain on the floor remained to mark the recent violence that had occurred there. The General looked at the table, then at the boy. He said, "Toby, do you know, what your Uncle Angus was working on recently?" He felt a little ashamed thus to try to pick the brains of a murdered man through a child.

"He'd been pretty busy with orders from the shop," said Toby thoughtfully. "And he'd just finished that." He nodded toward an unpainted lead miniature on the work-table.

The General looked at it closely, and felt the blood drain from his face. He had told MacReedy to try to work out the next weapon after the guided-missile launcher....

"Are you sick, General?" Toby asked, breaking in on his abstraction. "You mustn't take it so hard, sir."

"I'm—all right, Toby," he said. "It's been a bit of a shock, that's all."

"It's been horrible," said Toby, his voice quite steady. "Uncle Angus was a great man. I'll never be able to be as great."

"You'll never know till you try," said the General. He thought that They had not forgotten—They had killed him for losing Them Their war. It was up to him, the General, to see that Angus MacReedy's final prophecy proved false.

Well, he had the power now to carry a little weight—thanks to the murdered man. Standing there in the cellar, the General made a vow to see that during his lifetime the peace was kept, to help set up some sort of organization that would keep the peace when he was gone.

"Will it be okay for me to take this?" Toby had picked up the final figure and was regarding it reverently.

"What? Oh, I don't see why not."

He said goodby to the boy outside and got into his car for the drive back to the airfield. Hence, he didn't see Toby carry the unpainted figure the hundred yards to his house, didn't see Toby place it carefully at the end of a row of gay little figures that included Napoleon, Marlborough, Suleiman the Great, Charles XII of Sweden, Henry V, Tamerlaine, Genghis Khan, Charles Martel, Julius Caesar—and newer or perhaps older, figurines of Alexander the Great, Xerxes, Cyrus the Great, Nebuchadnezzar and a trio of even more primitive conquerors.

"Gee," said Toby to himself, "I'm sorry Uncle Angus had to be killed. But if he had to be killed, I'm glad he got my historical set just about finished. I can paint this cave-man myself."

A few minutes later his mother called him to supper.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Final Figure, by Samuel Kimball Merwin