The Space Opera Megapack

by John W. Campbell

  As the rapidly-flowing golop struck water, the water shivered, came to a weirdly unforgettable cold boil, and exploded into drops and streamers and jagged-edged chunks of something that was neither water nor land; or rock or soil or sand or Satan’s unholy brew. Nevertheless, the water won. There was so much of it! Each barrel of water that was destroyed was replaced instantly and enthusiastically; with no lowering of level or of pressure.

  And when water struck the golop, the golop also shivered violently, then sparkled even more violently, then stopped sparkling and turned dark, then froze solid. The frozen surface, however, was neither thick enough nor strong enough to form an effective wall.

  Again and again the wave of golop built up high enough to crack and to shatter that feeble wall; again and again golop and water met in ultimately furious, if insensate, battle. Inch by inch the ocean’s shoreline was driven backward toward ocean’s depths; but every inch the ocean lost was to its tactical advantage, since the advancing front was by now practically filled with hard, solid, dead blocks of its own substance which it could neither assimilate nor remove from the scene of conflict.

  Hence the wall grew ever thicker and solider; the advance became slower and slower.

  Then, finally, ocean waves of ever-increasing height and violence rolled in against the new-formed shore. What caused those tremendous waves—earthquakes, perhaps, due to the shifting of the mountains’ masses?—no Tellurian ever surely knew. Whatever the cause, however, those waves operated to pin the golop down. Whenever and wherever one of those monstrous waves whitecapped in, hurling hundreds of thousands of tons of water inland for hundreds of yards, the battle-front stabilized then and there.

  All over that world the story was the same. Wherever there was water enough, the water won. And the total quantity of water in that world’s oceans remained practically unchanged.

  “Good. A lot of people escaped,” James said, expelling a long-held breath. “Everybody who lives on or could be flown to all the islands smaller than the biggest ones…if they can find enough to eat and if the air isn’t poisoned.”

  “Air’s okay—so’s the water—and they’ll get food,” Garlock said. “The Arpalones will handle things, including distribution. What I’m thinking about is how they’re going to rehabilitate it. That, as an engineering project, is a feat to end all feats.”

  “Brother! You can play that in spades!” James agreed. “Except that it’ll take too many months before they can even start the job, I’d like to stick around and see how they go about it. How does this kind of stuff fit into that theory you’re not admitting is a theory?”

  “Not worth a damn. However, it’s a datum—and, as I’ve said before and may say again, if we can get enough data we can build a theory out of it.”

  Then it began to rain. For many minutes the clouds had been piling up—black, far-flung, thick and high. Immense bolts of lightning flashed and snapped and crackled; thunder crashed and rolled and rumbled; rain fell, and continued to fall, like a cloud-burst in Colorado. And shortly thereafter—first by square feet and then by acres and then by square miles—the surface of the golop began to die. To die, that is, if it had ever been even partially alive. At least it stopped sparkling, darkened, and froze into thick skins; which broke up into blocks; which in turn sank—thus exposing an ever-renewed surface to the driving, pelting, relentlessly cascading rain.

  “Well, I don’t know that there’s anything to hold us here any longer,” Garlock said, finally. “Shall we go?”

  They went; but it was several days before any of the wanderers really felt like smiling; and Lola did not recover from her depression for over a week.

  CHAPTER 5

  Supper was over, but the four were still at the table, sipping coffee and smoking. During a pause in the casual conversation, James suddenly straightened up.

  “I want an official decision, Clee,” he said, abruptly. “While we’re out of touch with United Worlds you, as captain of the ship and director of the project, are Boss, with a capital B. The Lord of Justice, High and Low. The Works. Check?”

  “On paper, yes; with my decisions subject to appeal and/or review when we get back to Base. In practice, I didn’t expect to have to make any very gravid rulings.”

  “I never thought you’d have to, either, but Belle fed me one with a bone in it, so.…”

  “Just a minute. How official do you want it? Full formal, screens down and recorded?”

  “Not unless we have to. Let’s explore it first. As of right now, are we under the Code or not?”

  “Of course we are.”

  “Not necessarily,” Belle put in, sharply. “Not slavishly to the letter. We’re so far away and our chance of getting back is so slight that it should be interpreted in the light of common sense.”

  * * * *

  Garlock stared at Belle and she stared back, her eyes as clear and innocent as a baby’s.

  “The Code is neither long enough nor complicated enough to require interpretation,” Garlock stated, finally. “It either applies in full and exactly or not at all. My ruling is that the Code applies, strictly, until I declare the state of Ultimate Contingency. Are you ready, Belle, to abandon the project, find an uninhabited Tellurian world, and begin to populate it?”

  “Well, not quite, perhaps.”

  “Yes or no, please.”

  “No.”

  “We are under the Code, then. Go ahead, Jim.”

  “I broke pairing with Belle and she refused to confirm.”

  “Certainly I refused. He had no reason to break with me.”

  “I had plenty of reason!” James snapped. “I’m fed up to here—” he drew his right forefinger across his forehead, “—with making so-called love to a woman who can never think of anything except cutting another man’s throat. She’s a heartless conniver.”

  “You both know that reasons are unnecessary and are not discussed in public,” Garlock said, flatly. “Now as to confirmation of a break. In simple pairing there is no marriage, no registration, no declaration of intent or of permanence. Thus, legally or logically, there is no obligation. Morally, however, there is always some obligation. Hence, as a matter of urbanity, in cases where no injury exists except as concerns chastity, the Code calls for agreement without rancor. If either party persists in refusal to confirm, and cannot show injury, that party’s behavior is declared inurbane. Confirmation is declared and the offending party is ignored.”

  “Just how would you go about ignoring Prime Operator Belle Bellamy?”

  “You’ve got a point there, Jim. However, she hasn’t persisted very long in her refusal. As a matter of information, Belle, why did you take Jim in the first place?”

  “I didn’t.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It was pure chance. You saw me flip the tenth-piece.”

  “Am I to ignore the fact that you are one of the best telekineticists living?”

  “I don’t have to control things unless I want to!” She stamped her foot. “Can’t you conceive of me flipping a coin honestly?”

  “No. However, since this is not a screens-down inquiry, I’ll give you—orally, at least—the benefit of the doubt. The next step, I presume, is for Lola to break with me. Lola?”

  “Well… I hate to say this, Clee.… I thought that mutual consent would be better, but.…” Lola paused, flushing in embarrassment.

  “She feels,” James said, steadily, “as I do, that there should be much more to the sexual relation than merely releasing the biological tensions of two pieces of human machinery. That’s hardly civilized.”

  “I confirm, Lola, of course,” Garlock said; then went on, partly thinking aloud, partly addressing the group at large. “Ha. Reasons again, and very well put—not off the cuff. Evasions. Flat lies. Something very unfunny here—as queer as a nine-credit bill. In sum, indefensible actions based upon unwarranted conclusions drawn from erroneous assumptions. The pattern is not clear…but I won’t order screens down until I have to…if the reason had
come from Belle.…”

  “Me?” Belle flared. “Why from me?”

  “…instead of Jim.…” Ignoring Belle’s interruption, Garlock frownedin thought. After a minute or so his face cleared.

  “Jim,” he said, sharply, “have you been consciously aware of Belle’s manipulation?”

  “Why, no, of course not. She couldn’t!”

  “That’s really a brainstorm, Clee,” Belle sneered. “You’d better turn yourself in for an overhaul.”

  “Nice scheme, Belle,” Garlock said. “I underestimated—at least, didn’t consider carefully enough—your power; and overestimated your ethics and urbanity.”

  “What are you talking about, Chief?” James asked. “You lost me ten parsecs back.”

  “Just this. Belle is behind this whole operation; working under a perfectly beautiful smokescreen.”

  “I’m afraid the boss is cracking up, kids,” Belle said. “Listen to him, if you like, but use your own judgment.”

  “But nobody could make Jim and me really love each other,” Lola argued, “and we really do. It’s real love.”

  “Admitted,” Garlock said. “But she could have helped it along; and she’s all set to take every possible advantage of the situation thus created.”

  “I still don’t see it,” James objected. “Why, she wouldn’t even confirm our break. She hasn’t yet.”

  “She would have, at the exactly correct psychological moment; after holding out long enough to put you both under obligation to her. There would have, also, been certain strings attached. Her plan was, after switching the pairings.…”

  “I wouldn’t pair with you,” Belle broke in viciously, “if you were the only man left in the macrocosmic universe!”

  “Part of the smokescreen,” Garlock explained. “The re-pairings would give her two lines of attack on me, to be used simultaneously. First, to work on me in bed.…”

  “See?” Belle interrupted. “He doesn’t think I’ve got any heart at all.”

  “Oh, you may have one, but it’s no softer than your head, and that could scratch a diamond. Second, to work on you two, with no holds barred, to form a three-unit team against me. Her charges that I am losing my grip made a very smart opening lead.”

  “Do you think I’d let her work on me?” James demanded.

  “She’s a Prime—you wouldn’t know anything about it. However, nothing will happen. Nor am I going to let her confuse the real issue. Belle, you are either inside the Code or a free agent outside it. Which?”

  “I have made my position clear.”

  “To me, yes. To Jim and Lola, decidedly unclear.”

  “Unclear, then. You can not coerce me!”

  “If you follow the Code, no. If you don’t, I can and will. If you make any kind of a pass at Jim James from now on, I’ll lock you into your room with a Gunther block.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” she breathed. “Besides, you couldn’t, not to another prime.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” he advised.

  After a full minute of silence Garlock’s attitude changed suddenly to his usual one of casual friendliness. “Why not let this one drop right here, Belle? I can marry them, with all the official trimmings. Why not let ’em really enjoy their honeymoon?”

  “Why not?” Belle’s manner changed to match Garlock’s and she smiled warmly. “I confirm, Jim. You two are really serious, aren’t you? Marriage, declarations, registration, and everything? I wish—I sincerely and really wish you—every happiness possible.”

  “We really are serious,” James said, putting his arm around Lola’s waist. “And you won’t…won’t interfere?”

  “Not a bit. I couldn’t, now, even if I wanted to.” Belle grinned wryly. “You see, you kids missed the main feature of the show, since you can’t know exactly what a Prime Operator is. Especially you can’t know what Cleander Simmsworth Garlock really is—he’s an out-and-out tiger on wheels. The three of us could have smacked him bow-legged, but of course all chance of that blew up just now. So if you two want to take the big jump you can do it with my blessing as well as Clee’s. I’ll clear the table.”

  * * * *

  That small chore taken care of—a quick folding-up of everything into the tablecloth and a heave into the chute did it—Belle set up the recorder.

  “Are you both fully certain that you want the full treatment?” Garlock asked.

  Both were certain, and Garlock read the brief but solemn marriage lines.

  As the newlyweds left the room, Belle turned to Garlock with a quizzical smile. “Are you going to ask me to pair with you, Clee?”

  “I certainly am.” He grinned back at her. “I owe you that much revenge, at least. But seriously, I’d like it immensely and we fit like Grace and Poise. Look at that mirror. Did you ever see a better-matched couple? Will you give me a try, Belle?”

  “I will not,” she said, emphatically. I’ll take back what I said a while ago—if you were really the only man left, I would—but as it is, the answer is a definite, resounding, and final ‘No’.”

  “‘Definite’ and ‘resounding,’ yes. ‘Final,’ I won’t accept. I’ll wait.”

  “You’ll wait a long time, Buster. My door will be locked from now on. Good night, Doctor Garlock, I’m going to bed.”

  “So am I.” He walked with her along the corridor to their rooms, the doors of which were opposite each other. “In view of the Code, locking your door is a meaningless gesture. Mine will remain unlocked. I invite you to come in whenever you like, and assure you formally that no such entry will be regarded as an invasion of privacy.”

  Without a word she went into her room and closed the door with a firmness just short of violence. Her lock clicked sharply.

  * * * *

  The next morning, after breakfast, James followed Garlock into his room and shut the door.

  “Clee, I want to tell you.… I don’t want to get sloppy but.…”

  “Want to lep it?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “It’s about Brownie, then.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve always liked you immensely. Admired you. Hero, sort of.…”

  “Yeah. I quote. ‘Harder than Pharaoh’s heart.’ ‘Colder than frozen helium,’ and all the rest. But this thing about Brownie.…” He reached out; two hard hands met in a crushing grip. “How could you possibly lay off? Just the strain, if nothing else.”

  “A little strain doesn’t hurt a man unless he lets it. I’ve done without for months at a stretch, with it running around loose on all sides of me.”

  “But she’s so…she’s got everything!”

  “There speaketh the ensorcelled bridegroom. For my taste, she hasn’t. She told you, I suppose, when explaining a certain fact, that I told her she wasn’t my type?”

  “Yes, but.…”

  “She still isn’t. She’s a very fine person, with a very fine personality. She is one of the two most nearly perfect young women of her race. Her face is beautiful. Her body is an artist’s dream. Her mind is one of the very best. Besides all that, she’s a very good egg and a mighty tasty dish. But put yourself in my place.

  * * * *

  “Here’s this paragon we have just described. She has extremely high ideals and she’s a virgin; never really aroused. Also, she’s so full of this sickening crap they’ve been pouring into us—propaganda, rocket-oil, prop-wash, and psychological gobbledygook—that it’s running out of her ears. She’s so stuffed with it that she’s going to pair with you, ideals and virginity be damned, even if it kills her; even though she’s shaking, clear down to her shoes—scared yellow. Also, she is and always will be scared half to death of you—she thinks you’re some kind of robot. She’s a starry-eyed, soft-headed sissy. A sapadilla. A sucker for a smooth line of balloon-juice and flapdoodle. No spine; no bottom. A gutless doll-baby. Strictly a pet—you could no more love her, ever, than you could a half-grown kitten.…”

  “That’s a hell of a picture!” James broke in savagely. “Even with
your cold-blooded reputation.”

  “People in love can’t be objective, is all. If I saw her through the same set of filters you do, I’d be in love with her, too. So let’s see if you can use your brain instead of your outraged sensibilities to answer a hypothetical question. If the foregoing were true, what wouldyou do, Junior?”

  “I’d pass, I guess. I’d have to, if I wanted to look at myself in the mirror next morning. But that’s such an ungodly cockeyed picture, Clee.… But if that’s actually your picture of Brownie—and you’re no part of a liar—just what kind of a woman could you love? If any?”

  “Belle.”

  “Belle! Belle Bellamy? Hell’s flaming furies! That iceberg? That egomaniac? That Jezebel? She’s the hardest-boiled babe that ever went unhung.”

  “Right, on all counts. Also she’s crooked and treacherous. She’s a ground-and-lofty liar by instinct and training. I could add a lot more. But she’s got brains, ability, and guts—guts enough to supply the Women’s Army Corps. She’s got the spine and the bottom and the drive. So just imagine her thawed out and really shoveling on the coal—blasting wide open on all forty torches. Back to back with you when you’re surrounded; she wouldn’t cave and she wouldn’t give. Or wing and wing—holding the beam come hell or space-warps. Roll that one around on your tongue, Jim, and give your taste-buds a treat.”

  “Well, maybe…if I’ve got that much imagination…that’s a tough blueprint to read. I can’t quite visualize the finished article. However, you’re as hard as she is—even harder. You’ve got more of what it takes. Maybe you can make a Christian out of her. If so, you might have something; but I’m damned if I can see exactly what. Whatever it turned out to be, I wouldn’t care for any part of it. You could have it all.”

  “Exactly; and you can have your Brownie.”

  “I’m beginning to see. I didn’t think you had anything like that in your chilled-steel carcass. And I want to apolo.…”