Space 1999 #5 - Lunar Attack by John Rankine

awkwardly and the claw hand touched the scarred cheek, ‘Witness the result of your actions.’
    The meaning was unclear but the action carried a certain pathos although grotesque. They were being saddled with guilt in some obscure way.
    Koenig argued, ‘Your presence here is an accident.’
    ‘No accident! I have returned, that is all. My being cries out for vengeance. Vengeance for the collective act which destroyed my existence.’
    It made no sense but Koenig tried another tack. He said strongly, ‘Go back! You have no existence here,’
    The figure recoiled a step. The others picked up the cue. Bergman said, ‘Go back.’
    They were all shouting. Helena repeated, ‘Go back.’ Carter said, ‘Leave us.’ Sandra was. almost screaming, ‘Go. Go away. Go.’
    The dead eyes looked bitterly from one to the other, taking in this communal rejection.
    Mateo himself seemed to have passed the crisis of his trance. He too was looking round the group and for a moment could not understand what was going on. It seemed to him that the yelling was directed at him. Then he became aware that their eyes were focused at a point behind him and realisation dawned.
    Still holding his partners, he twisted round to look and was staring point blank into the obscene death mask of his spirit self. Terror and confusion registered on his own face, his agonised scream cut through the babel of voices and he was out cold, breaking the circle of hands as he fell.
    The spirit figure was gone, winking out like a candle flame under a snuffer. The Alphans fell silent, breathing heavily and looking round at each other. Sandra Benes buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Morrow knelt beside her, holding her, trying to persuade her that the danger was gone.
    Later, in the Command Office, Bergman tried to make a rational case of it.
    ‘Whether we believe in the occult or not, there is a tradition in our culture of ghosts, spirits, if you like, some force which continues to exist after death, coming back for revenge, justice or whatever. But this . . . creature that Mateo has summoned up, it’s come back to demand atonement for some terrible death . . . its own death, which has not yet happened!’
    Helena Russell asked, ‘Does this mean that Mateo is somehow marked out for death—that this spirit manifestation is somehow warning him of his own destruction?’
    Koenig said, ‘It draws its existence from him and seems to confine itself to carrying out his aggressive urges as though he could give life and action to his id. The present danger is restricted to just that. But what if it gets stronger, takes its own line, starts acting independently against us?’
    Bergman hated to admit that any problem could have no solution. He played for time, ‘Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves? The problem now is to keep him quiet, sedated, until we come up with some way to deal with it.’
    There was one flaw in that and Koenig put his finger on it, ‘Sedation won’t stop his unconscious from functioning. Helena’s experience occurred when he was already under sedation. How do we deal with it, Victor? How?’
    ‘If it’s a traditional situation there is a traditional way of dealing with demons and spirits.’
    It was hardly scientific and Koenig was sarcastic, ‘Bell, book and candle? Do you mean exorcism?’
    It was too much for Helena, she said, ‘I’m on call. I’ll go and take a look at Mateo.’
    When she had gone, Bergman went on, ‘Seriously, John. That is one way with the use of occult symbols like the pentagon. But that’s not what I have in mind. I mean we should extend those techniques. After all, this being uses a certain power and has energy. We know where this energy originates. It has a structure. What we have to do is to determine what that structure is and then maybe, just maybe we can find ways to deal with it.’
    ‘Work on it, Victor.’
    ‘Right away.’
    Koenig remained at his desk. Nothing stayed simple for long. On