The Secret Galactics

by A. E. van Vogt

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She wouldn’t move even to save your life?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be real to her fast enough. Of course—’ grim smile—‘she’d be regretful afterwards. But right now, she’d probably want me to call the local police.’

  Carl thought: Martha—Marie—the two names and personalities seemed to have a certain unhappy similarity … For God’s sake, why are these females all so rigid?—At least (with satisfaction) I stood up to Marie all these years, and told her where she could go.

  Unfortunately, she had not gone. And, in staying, she had given him fourteen years of exactly nothing. So it wasn’t a victory … Funny, how he could finally have accurate thoughts like this after all this time.

  The brief reverie ended as Turcott said, ‘Fact is, in listening to that conversation, I have the impression the danger is over for me. Nobody is going to be sent after me until they find out who’s behind you.’

  I’ll be damned, thought Carl … He immediately had the same feeling. He said, ‘But be careful for a couple of days. And, right now, if that little weapon is still on your lawn, will you get it and put it in here? I’d like to examine it later.’

  The young man stepped down, walked into his yard, stooped, straightened, came back, tossed a metallic-looking object onto the floor of the cab part of the van, drew back, and slammed shut the door of the truck.

  ‘If I need you,’ he said, ‘where can I reach you?’

  Pause. Silence.

  Carl was thinking that the truth was he no longer believed the alienoids were his killers … But I can act if I wish—He had the names of the two leading members, Paul and Henry.

  The proof of their non-involvement was all that publicity at the time when he was run down and his body destroyed. For some reason Silver hadn’t seen the news reports. But, surely—surely—in a group of ten or more people somebody would have done something.

  But they hadn’t cared that his brain was saved. Had paid no attention. To them it had been as if he did not exist.

  Carl thought: The cycle is completed … This was his second last act in the drama of the alienoids.

  Naturally, one should take all possibilities into account; so he said, ‘Well, lieutenant, I came out here to save your life. So I’ve accomplished my purpose, and you’re on your own from now on. But,’ carefully, ‘if you ever want to get in touch with me for a good reason, place an ad in the personal column of either newspaper, and sign it B.T. And if I ever need to get in touch with you, I’ll either get your phone number from information or put in an ad addressed to B.T. How’s that?’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Carl drove off, thinking that his last act must be to head off Silver, if possible. No point, really, in interviewing her now. Her sad little story was all too stereotyped—now that he knew she was acquainted with the alienoids as individuals.

  For some reason, either the truth of that or else the decision to withdraw from the situation depressed him as he drove uneventfully home.

  Chapter Six

  CUTOFF IN THE BRAIN ROOM

  Arrived at the laboratory, he parked his van, drove down the ramp, into the building, and headed for the Brain Room. As he rolled along one aisle, he was spoken to by an elderly maintenance man and a young physicist, and he replied in a minimum way. All around him was the clatter of machinery, the hissing of gasses, and the hum of electric motors starting and stopping. The laboratory’s principal products were liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen. Each process had its own sounds.

  Once inside his own room, he allowed the tires of his six wheels to settle in their grooves. And there he stayed.

  And stayed. Sort of blank and unhappy, and a little puzzled. He had a long-time philosophy: one cannot bow out of life, because life does not let him. Somebody out there will show up and force even the most withdrawn types to react. If no one else comes, one day the tax collector knocks on the door.

  Carl thought:—It looks as if, for me, that law of life could actually be suspended… He literally didn’t have to do anything. Even his taxes were being paid for him by duly authorized people.

  As for the man-woman thing—usually the biggest inciter of all—it was for him the most nothing situation of all. True, Marie was out there in her fashion. But, fortunately—he felt fortunate—she was the ‘good woman’ type; and it took literally mountains to move a woman like that out of her timeless passivity.

  So far as Carl could see there was not a mountain in sight.

  Dr. Carl Hazzard, disembodied brain, feeling lulled in connection with his wife, waited for what he dully believed would be endless emptiness.

  About twenty minutes went by.

  The door to the Brain Room—which was unlocked daytimes—opened suddenly. Dr. Angus MacKerrie walked in, and closed the door behind him. Whereupon Carl, in effect, stirred. Which meant, simply, that he started to emerge from what he was doing, or rather not doing.

  The surgeon walked forward slowly toward the machine that was Carl. And Carl studied him through his exteroceptive system … The only man in the world, he thought, with proven skill to perform a brain transplant. And he moves around like an ordinary person, and drives through dangerous traffic, and is now over forty years old, and getting older—

  He was aware of MacKerrie pausing a dozen feet away.

  The other stood there, then, seemingly pensive, a medium-tall man in a grey suit. He had bright grey eyes, and an even-featured face that showed the bare beginnings of middle age jowls.

  If he had an inner life different from his professional life, there was no sign of it. He said, ‘I got to thinking again about your remarks the other day—that matter of searching for your murderer—and it’s been bothering me. Would you like to enlarge on that, and either relieve my mind, or tell me the worst, whichever?’

  It cost Carl a distinct mental effort to turn his attention back to that … What can I say to him quickly about my plan to find my murderer? It all seemed very far away right now, and not relevant. Yet he felt cautiously reluctant to express a mere negation or dismissal of the idea. As a scientist he had learned the hard way (in his youth) not to put forth an idea until he was fairly sure it was valid, and not to launch a project and then abandon it. Similarly, now, it would be wrong to admit that two days after mentioning such a search to MacKerrie he was already vague about it.

  He said tentatively, ‘I gather you’re against such a search. You didn’t object two days ago when I first told you.’

  MacKerrie shrugged. ‘You represent several million dollars and my skill. Think about it. As for objecting, I like to think things over before putting in my nickel’s worth. Anyway, here I am forty-eight hours later.’

  Carl said quickly, ‘I guess it’s hard for people to take a bodiless brain seriously.’

  ‘I take you seriously,’ said MacKerrie in an even tone. He had heard variations of that complaint before. As an experimenter, he was immediately interested in learning if it was the same thought or a different one.

  ‘A man without a body,’ said Carl, ‘and particularly a man without sexual ability is the most nothing person in the world.’

  The surgeon said quietly, ‘In olden times, eunuchs often became top military and administrative leaders. So the absence of sex doesn’t seem to be a problem.’

  ‘There I was,’ said Carl, ‘in process of making a detailed study of female behavior, with particular reference to my wife’s rejection of me. I can see now that some of my attitudes offended her justifiably, but at the time that didn’t seem real to me. That study looks like a waste now.’

  ‘The study of human nature has historically been partly done by old men past the age of sexual ability.’

  ‘Marie was frigid for fourteen years,’ he said plaintively. ‘I’ve gathered from chance remarks,’ said MacKerrie, ‘that you were consistently unfaithful to her, but couldn’t believe that should be a factor in her non-response.’

  ‘I can see it now,’ said Carl. ‘How would y
ou explain my change of understanding?’

  ‘You probably knew it all the time, but didn’t want to give up your masculine pleasures.’

  ‘Yes and no—’ Carl sounded puzzled. ‘The “no” comes from the fact that I’d seen men who were openly on the make, whose wives had made their peace with that. At the time I thought Marie ought to be equally tolerant with me. Why wasn’t she?’

  ‘Good question,’ said MacKerrie, noncommittally.

  ‘The whole mystery of women’s behavior concerned me so much that I wrote a book on the subject. It was never published, and in fact never intended to be published. I titled it, Women Are Doomed’

  ‘I’ve heard references to the book but have never seen it.’

  ‘What I meant was, how can a woman go fourteen years without sex? Surely, she should have an interest in the act for herself, not merely in relation to her husband. So that, if he offends her, she shouldn’t just sit there blank.’

  ‘It does seem wrong,’ agreed MacKerrie. He broke off. ‘All this seems very academic at present. What are you leading up to?’

  ‘For this and other reasons,’ said Carl in an arguing voice, ‘women are doomed to live a relationship type of existence. Since that was true to me, in my scientific fashion I decided I would require her to live with her inner reality.’

  ‘It has been observed,’ said the surgeon, ‘that a strict scientific approach does not work with human beings.’

  ‘You’re suggesting there’s more to a woman than her automatic behavior?’

  ‘I’m suggesting,’ was the reply, ‘that, really, no science exists as yet; and that, clearly, you did not know enough factors for you to apply anything but an experimental method. From your account, my analysis would be that Marie did not respond as you predicted because your theory was not complete.’

  Carl was suddenly gloomy. ‘The worst part of it is, now that I can see my errors, it doesn’t seem worthwhile my pursuing the study. The way I feel now, if I were to get my body back, I would simply say to her, “Look, Marie, I’m going to give up those other women. Can we start again?’

  ‘That would certainly alter the original experiment, and reinstate a method worked out by society over the ages.’ Once more MacKerrie attempted to change the discussion. ‘Look, Carl—’

  ‘Why did I and millions of men and some women rebel against that long-established societal system?’ Carl demanded, ‘and seek an equivalent of plural marriage?’

  ‘I understood the answers to that were in your book, Women Are Doomed.’

  ‘My observations in that book,’ Carl replied, ‘are true as far as they go. It could be that they miss what might be termed female consciousness—’

  MacKerrie recognized the thought as new for Carl. ‘Another automatic,’ he analyzed aloud.

  ‘But one that would pre-empt anything else, as a basic consciousness always does.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘The question becomes,’ Carl urged, ‘what is female consciousness?’

  ‘I hate to say this to a scientist of your eminence,’ said MacKerrie, ‘but the real problem is not what is the question, but what are the questions?’

  Carl sounded gloomy again. ‘I suppose you’re right. And the fact is, why am I still concerned in any way? My original reason for trying to solve the problem was designed to get Marie to he down, in spite of the fact that I had several mistresses. Now, even if she were willing, it wouldn’t do me any good. My feeling intent at present is the hope that she will remain frigid, so that I won’t have to contend with jealousy.’

  Since the surgeon had a positive knowledge that Marie had been compromised into having an affair—in his opinion a good thing for her—he changed the subject and said, ‘Which brings me back to my earlier question. According to the gateman, you’ve been out on two fairly long jaunts. Where did you go?’

  Momentarily, that brought a return of disinterest, an instant feeling that this was no longer relevant, a strong impulse to dismiss the question with the simple, partly true statement. ‘I have an account on a tape But unfortunately he had not put it all on tape. That last part with Turcott was not recorded.

  Carl was swiftly resigned … There’s something about a direct question from a man on whom you are as dependent as I am on Mac—one either lied, or else told the questioner to mind his own business. In his day, he had done both without a qualm. But that was another time and another Carl.

  With the decision thus taken away from him, he described his two experiences, succinctly but accurately.

  For long seconds after the fantastic account was completed, MacKerrie was stunned. Finally, his memory began to trickle back. But the feeling of overwhelm dominated, and spoke first:

  ‘B-but what are they, these alienoids?’

  ‘A cult of wealthy men.’

  ‘And this ship?’

  Carl was contemptuous. ‘They’ve got a computer that’s been programmed to act like it’s a ship far out in space, coming here from—I gather—another star system.’

  ‘Oh!’

  It was at once obvious that MacKerrie was not a man who believed in things like that.

  He was frowning. ‘You mean, some group of well-to-do nuts?’

  ‘They’re waiting for it as if it’s the second coming of J.C.,’ said Carl.

  ‘B-but—’ MacKerrie was bewildered—‘how did a man like you get involved in something as far out as that?’

  ‘Sex—of course.’

  The physician was abruptly critical. ‘Carl, for heaven’s sake, in a world where you with your money could get practically any woman you wanted, how could you possibly associate with a female who tolerates ideas like that?’

  ‘She was beautiful.’

  ‘How would you know? You never saw her, by your own account.’

  ‘She felt beautiful.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Carl, you must have been out of your mind.’

  ‘It’s true,’ confessed the brain that had once been a man. By the time that reluctant admission was spoken, MacKerrie was calmed down again. But he was puzzled. ‘I thought you believed Walter did it,’ he said.

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Murdered you.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Carl.

  ‘How do you mean?’ MacKerrie was puzzled. ‘You practically had him in a mental institution from fear.’

  ‘Walter!’ Carl’s tone was scathing. He went on in a dismissing tone, ‘In those days it gave me a perverse pleasure to pretend that Marie was up to sexual excesses, though of course I know perfectly well that she hadn’t had sex since about three months after we were married. Accusing Walter was a punishment of her for cutting me off way back there.’

  The explanation made an unfortunate impression on MacKerrie. He had never previously made up his mind about the various reported behaviors of this brilliant, erratic genius. But—

  The possibility of being publicly charged by Carl with murder had just about driven Dr. Walter Drexel out of his mind. In his desperate effort to control the situation, the man had—among other reactions—sought total control of Marie. Impotent himself, he had nonetheless required her to pretend to MacKerrie that he was her lover, on the threat that he would swear that Marie and he had indeed conspired to kill Carl. And, since MacKerrie knew of Carl’s suspicion, Walter (in his panicky need to have a hold on the man) insisted that she become MacKerrie’s mistress, also.

  It had ever since been a source of mixed feelings for MacKerrie that he had decided it was best for Marie that he go along with such an enforcement. He was a man who could have many women; but never had more than one at a time. Because of his genuine affection for Marie he had given up his previous woman friend, so that there would be no conflict or degradation for anyone. And in his determined fashion—for her own good—had accepted her as his mistress.

  She felt enforced. He believed that as a woman she had allowed herself to be destroyed by an unfaithful husband, and believed that she must be rescued from her timeless frigi
dity by someone who actually had her best interests at heart.

  Unfortunately, he had mentioned to her that some aspect of giving Carl mobility had resulted in a personality change for the better. Instantly, the no-longer-threatened woman cut him off as her lover.

  The cut-off was no problem to him. The world was full of good-hearted, trusting women who needed a man who never strayed and who stayed until she, in her invariable developing disturbance, herself eventually broke off the relationship. The woman always wanted to be married. And of course, because his wife was in a mental institution, he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Ever. If she ever came to, and needed him, he intended to be there, instantly available.

  For some reason, in the final issue, a woman refused to understand, or condone, or accept, his obligation to an insane wife … Their refusal had taught him things about women.

  Under the circumstances … nothing he could do for them, except go as they demanded.

  Here, it was different. Because of Carl he couldn’t just silently steal away into the night … Something to think about, and decide later. Right now—

  Carl—what to do about him? … This man, he thought, could endanger my whole brain experiment by taking one fantastic risk after another—It was all very brave, but very reckless …

  Standing there, MacKerrie made up his mind that he needed time to think about the best course. He said, ‘I’d like to do a little maintenance on you to see how you came through your two journeys.’

  The man-brain felt no suspicion. In fact, it sounded like very good sense. ‘Go ahead,’ he replied, ‘and, Mac, now please don’t tell Marie what I’ve just told you.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said MacKerrie.

  Half an hour later, MacKerrie withdrew from the inner workings of the six-wheeled vehicle. He seemed breathless. He said, ‘Well, everything appears to be okay. We’ll have to keep a close watch.’ He headed for the door and opened it. ‘I’ve suddenly realized I have an appointment. See you.’

  ‘Hey, wait!’ said Carl. ‘You didn’t reconnect—’

  The roar of the factory pouring through the open doorway overwhelmed his words.