Lazarus Come Forth By RAY BRADBURY The Morgue Ship had gleaned information from space that would end the three hundred year war, knowledge that would defeat the aggressor Martians--if Brandon could carry it to Earth. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Logan's way of laughing was bad. "There's a new body up in the air-lock, Brandon. Climb the rungs and have a look." Logan's eyes had a green shine to them, eager and intent. They were ugly, obscene. Brandon swore under his breath. This room of the Morgue Ship was crowded with their two personalities. Besides that, there were scores of cold shelves of bodies freezing quietly, and the insistent vibration of the coroner tables, machinery spinning under them. And Logan was like a little machine that never stopped talking. "Leave me alone." Brandon rose up, tall and thinned by the years, looking as old as a pocked meteor. "Just keep quiet." Logan sucked his cigarette. "Scared to go upstairs? Scared it might be your son we just picked up?" Brandon reached Logan in about one stride, and while the Morgue Ship slipped on through space, he clenched the coroner's blue uniform with the small bones inside it and hung it up against the wall, pressing inward until Logan couldn't breathe. Logan blew air, his eyes looked helpless. He tried to speak and could only grunt like a stuck pig. He waved his short arms, flapping. Brandon kept him there, crucified on a fist. "I told you. Let me search for my own son's body in my own way. I don't need your tongue." Logan's eyes were losing their shine, were getting blind and glazed. Brandon stepped back, releasing the little assistant. Logan bumped softly against metal flooring, his mouth hungry for air, his nostrils flaring for breath. Brandon watched the little face of Logan over the crouched, gasping body, with red color and anger shooting up into it with every passing second. "Coward!" he threw it out of himself, Logan did. "Got yellow--neon-tubing--for your spine. Coward. Never went to war. Never did anything for Earth against Mars." Brandon said the words in slow motion. "Shut up." "Why?" Logan crept back, inching up the metal hull. The blood pumps under the skirts of the tables pulsed across the warm silence. "Does it hurt, the truth? Your son'd be proud of you, okay. Ha!" He coughed and spat. "He was so damn ashamed of you he went and signed up for space combat. So he got lost from his ship during a battle." Logan licked his lips very carefully. "So, to make up for it, you signed on a Morgue Ship. Try to find his body. Try to make amends. I know you. You wouldn't join the Space Warriors to fight. No guts for that. Had to get a nice easy job on a morgue ship--"