The Unreasoning Mask

by Philip José Farmer

  A squad of marines was waiting for him. If the marine lieutenant felt any emotion at arresting her captain, she did not betray it. Her face was expressionless, and her voice was steady. She told him that he would be conducted straight to the brig. He was outraged.

  "Benagur is trying to humiliate me! He could at least let me be in my own quarters!"

  "Sorry, sir," she said. "Orders."

  He was marched through the passageways and up a lift and was put in a spherical room with a diameter of four meters. Unlike the ancient cells, this had no bars. He could close the iris-door if he or his jailors wished. But if he tried to pass through the opening without authorization, he would be stunned with a beam.

  Armed marines stationed themselves on each side of the entrance. Ramstan wanted privacy, so be told ship to close the door. Meanwhile, the cell had been enlarging. Evidently, al-Buraq did not think that he had enough room. Ramstan at once told her to contract it to regulation size. Otherwise, an engineer might notice that she was ignoring the order to obey the new master.

  He tried to call the bridge, but the transmission was now one-way.

  He called to the glyfa. No response. Why was it not telling him what was going on? It could not be refusing to communicate because it was afraid that the Vwoordha would detect it. It must know that they were aware of its presence in al-Buraq. It had curiosity, the characteristic of all sentients; it could not have resisted listening in. It would have to know what was going on.

  "The glyfa plays a deep game," Grrindah had said.

  Ramstan paced back and forth while he tried to imagine what was going on. Benagur had the glyfa, but what was he going to do with it? Would he allow it to attract and persuade him as it had his captain? Or would he . . . ? No, surely he would not! Would he give the glyfa back to the Tenolt?

  A luminous circle on the bulkhead showed Benagur's head and shoulders.

  "Hűd Ramstan!" the bull-like head bellowed.

  Ramstan stopped, unclasped his hands from behind his back, raised them toward the image, and said, "You see me." He was acutely aware that the commodore had not addressed him as "Captain."

  Benagur did not look triumphant or as if he regarded Ramstan as contemptible or repulsive. Though his voice was that of a judge sentencing a criminal, his expression was the mask of one who was attempting to show supreme indifference. No, not indifference. Aloofness.

  "You will be tried at court-martial in due time. Meanwhile, you'll have benefit of counsel. You can name any of the crew you wish to defend you, with the exception of those charging you. I recommend Lieutenant Enver, our lexologist. She is on duty now, however, and won't be available until the current crisis is over. No one will be until it's over."

  "Thank you," Ramstan said.

  "When there's time," Benagur said, "I'd like a complete report on your mission. Nuoli is giving hers, but I want to know what happened in that . . . habitation."

  "I'll record it as soon as possible."

  "I want to know every little detail!" Benagur bellowed.

  "Where is the glyfa?"

  "It's not necessary that you know."

  Benagur paused, smiled, and said, "We've been in communication with the Popacapyu. Her captain has been told that we have the glyfa, and we're negotiating for its return to their ship."

  Ramstan kept his face rigid to conceal his dismay.

  "One of the items in the negotiations is the return to us of Lieutenant Branwen Davis. We haven't heard her story yet, so we don't know if she'll be subject to a court-martial. The Tolt captain, however, has told us that she was forced by them to steal the glyfa from you."

  Ramstan thought, How did they make her betray me? I mean, us.

  He said, "Commodore . . ."

  "Captain, not commodore!" Benagur said loudly. "I am the captain now!"

  Ramstan swallowed his rage. "Captain Benagur, please think about this. The Tenolt will never forgive the theft of their god. They will arrange for its return, but, once they have the glyfa, they'll do their best to destroy ship and all in it. Their religion demands that they do that. They won't rest until the thieving blasphemers who stole the glyfa are destroyed. So . . ."

  "I know that!" Benagur shouted, raising a finger as if he were a teacher admonishing a pupil. "I know that! Your crime has put all of us in peril! Believe me, that will be marked against you when you stand trial! I've told the Tenolt captain that you and you alone are responsible, that we were not in the plot to steal the glyfa, that we knew nothing about it until just now, that we share no culpability, that we are eager to make amends by returning the glyfa at once! But their captain has told us that if that is true, then we must surrender you to them!"

  There was a silence. At last, Ramstan said, "I'm not pleading for myself, not asking for mercy. The Tenolt will torture me until I die. They have to do that, since their law exacts that as punishment for blasphemy."

  "Their captain has told me that," Benagur said. He paused, then said, "Their captain has informed me that we will not share the blame, that he will not attack us if we deliver you to him."

  "You can't trust his promise," Ramstan said. "According to what I know of Tenolt law, you, everybody in the crew, is guilty by association. He'll get the glyfa back and then attack."

  "I don't think so," Benagur said. "His first duty is to get his false god back to its temple. If he attacks us, he risks being destroyed and so committing an unforgivable sin by not returning the glyfa to the temple. He'll take it back and then come looking for us. He must. That's his inescapable first priority."

  "That may be," Ramstan said. "Are you going to give me up?"

  Benagur reddened.

  "Believe me, I'd like to! I'd do it if I could! You deserve such a fate!"

  He bit his upper lip, then said, "But I'd take no pleasure in that. I despise you, but I would not wish you to suffer what the Tenolt would inflict on you. I am not vindictive! I weep for you, believe it or not, I weep for you because you are what you are! But . . ." he drew in and expelled a deep breath . . . "my first concern is ship and her crew! What am I to do with you? About you, I mean? Captain Tkashikl demands that you be given to him. But you are under Terran law, not Tenolt. I'm required to keep you under arrest and bring you to trial. I know what the trial will result in. There's not the slightest doubt that you are guilty."

  He blew out another deep breath, his lips forming an O as if he were expelling smoke from a fire in his own body. "You are guilty, aren't you? Admit it, Ramstan, and save us!"

  "Save you?" Ramstan said.

  "Yes, save us. At least, redeem yourself somewhat, Ramstan. Admit your guilt. If you do, then you'll make the way clearer . . ."

  "For deciding whether or not you'll turn me over to the Tenolt?"

  "No!" Benagur said. His fist flashed across the screen and struck something beyond its field of vision.

  Somebody -- he sounded like Tenno -- said, feebly, "Captain!"

  "No! Terran government law and naval regulations forbid me to turn you over to any extraterrestrial authority, regardless of what you've done! But . . . this . . . case . . . wasn't anticipated by either. I have to make a decision on an unprecedented situation. I have to bear all the responsibility!"

  "You're the captain now," Ramstan said. At the same time that he relished Benagur's plight, he sympathized with him. But he somehow had to make the commodore understand that this particular predicament was unimportant, of no real significance. Vital as it was for himself, it was as nothing compared to the larger event.

  Then he thought, No, this situation is very important. Not just because my honor and life are at stake. I, and I alone, as far as I know, can tell Benagur, tell the crew, what is involved.

  The commodore, however, gave him no chance. He shut off the channel, and, though Ramstan tried to get him to reopen it, he either was not hearing him or was ignoring him.

  He had no idea at what stage the negotiations were. If they were in the final phase, then they would be only a few hours
, as long as it took a launch from the Popacapyu to get to al-Buraq or vice versa.

  He opened the door and called to one of the marines.

  "I want a messenger to take a recording at once to . . ."

  He swallowed; it was difficult to use the title.

  ". . . Captain Benagur. It's extremely urgent, a matter of life and death for everybody."

  "I'm sorry, sir," the marine said. "I have no authorization for that."

  "You must! To hell with authorization! If you don't, we'll be attacked by the Tenolt!"

  "Sorry, sir, I can't do it."

  "Listen! There's one possibility Benagur and I overlooked! The Tenolt are not going to insist that Benagur turn me over to them! Once they have the glyfa, they'll get me by destroying al-Buraq and everybody in it!

  "Also . . ."

  "Sorry, sir."

  Ramstan closed the door. He took the three gifts of Wassruss from his jacket pocket and looked at them. The triangle, the square, the circle. He did not know if they could do what Wassruss claimed, but the Vwoordha had said that they could. They had certainly been eager to get their hands on them. He could escape now. Flight, however, was the last resort. Allah alone knew where he might end up; wherever it was, he could be stranded there until he died.

  "Glyfa!" he cried. "I must talk to you! You must know what the situation is! Are you going to allow everything to go to hell?"

  Silence.

  ... 22 ...

  In one aspect, that lack of response was encouraging. It might mean that the glyfa knew that he could do what was required by himself.

  On the other hand, the glyfa may have abandoned him. Perhaps it had decided that Benagur was now to be its means for getting whatever it was that it wanted.

  Ramstan stood before a glowing but empty screen and spoke a code word. It overrode all other commands or at least was supposed to do so. When he had given it to al-Buraq in secret, he had been empowered by all the laws governing ship to do so. Now, he was acting against regulations. What about it? He had been doing that for some time.

  At once, the screen displayed words in the Arabic alphabet of the twenty-third century.

  "Acknowledged, Captain!"

  Al-Buraq's brain was supposed to be no more self-conscious than a dog's, but there was considerable debate about the degree of that. It was, however, agreed that a dog had far more self-awareness than a parrot. What mattered now was that ship would obey his orders whether or not she comprehended human language.

  Ramstan spoke, and a darkness appeared on the screen. Of course. The glyfa was locked up in a safe. He gave another order, and now the view was from a screen in Benagur's quarters. The bulkhead opposite the one on which it was placed was that containing the safe.

  He gave another order. If al-Buraq responded, and there was no reason to think she would not, the glyfa would be passing through an opening in the back of the safe. Moved along by osmosis, the glyfa would head for Ramstan's cabin.

  While waiting for the too-slow process, Ramstan activated a screen in the bridge. It was placed high but was tilted so that he could see the central part of the control room. Benagur was pacing back and forth much as Ramstan did when he was there. Nuoli stood by a bank of screens. Teimo, by the com-op, said, "The Tolt launch is one hundred kilometers distant, sir, slowing down now."

  "Very well," Benagur said. He did not look pleased, though. His enormous black eyebrows were bent downward below a wrinkled forehead; his mouth, when closed, was tight.

  "The Popacapyu hasn't changed position?"

  "No, sir."

  Toyce came within range of the screen. Benagur said, "Doctor, bring the glyfa up now."

  "Yes, sir." She hesitated, then said, "Captain, I'll get a container for it. The Tenolt won't like the idea that we've been handling it with bare hands. They'd regard that as sacrilegious. In fact, even after the glyfa is boxed, whoever carries the box should wear gloves.

  Benagur stopped, grimaced, and said, "Sacrilegious! That idol! Very well, Toyce. We have to respect exotic mores. You're the sentientologist. Do what you think is best."

  Toyce walked out of view of Ramstan's screen. It would take her perhaps five minutes to get a container, unless she had one prepared. She probably did have one. Give her two minutes to get it and five to get into Benagur's quarters and discover that the glyfa was gone. No. He could gain more time. He gave al-Buraq an order to refuse to open the bulkhead-safe for her. Toyce would be irritated and would think that there was a malfunction. She would call one of the bioengineers, perhaps the chief, Indra. It might take him five minutes to get to the cabin or he might do his troubleshooting from the main engine room. Probably, the latter.

  Ramstan had ship show him that room. Indra was sitting cross-legged on the deck, his eyes on some screens, the mentoscope attached to a band around his head, its detection-end, looking much like the end of a plumber's helper, against an indicator-bossing. His eyes, their epicanthic folds reflecting his Chinese ancestors, were slitted even more in deep thought. His large hawk's nose was moving, his nostrils flaring out.

  Indra already knew that something was wrong. But he did not know what that was. Otherwise, he would have been reporting to Benagur.

  Ramstan checked with al-Buraq on the progress of the glyfa. It would take ten more minutes before it reached his cabin.

  The chief engineer's eyes snapped wide open, and he muttered something in Bengali, his natal tongue. Then he rose swiftly to his feet.

  Ramstan shot orders at al-Buraq. Immediately thereafter, a similitude of Carmen Mijako, the subcommander engineer, appeared on a screen in the main engine room. It was Ramstan who spoke, but his voice was reproduced as Mijako's.

  "Sir, I need your assistance in supply room 3-A at once. It's an emergency!"

  "In a supply room?" Indra said. "Take care of it yourself, Mijako. I have a greater emergency to handle."

  "I've found something you should look at at once, sir," her image said. "A bulkhead section fell out, why I don't know. But the nerve cables behind are damaged. I can't figure it out."

  Indra grimaced. "Just a minute."

  "No, sir, the cables look diseased."

  "Diseased?"

  "Rotting. Pustulant."

  "Impossible!"

  "I don't think so, sir."

  "Maybe that's the trouble, though I don't see how it could be," Indra muttered. He strode swiftly down the corridor, the screen which showed Mijako's image preceding him. He turned into the supply room. As soon as be had stopped through it, the iris closed behind him, and the bulkheads moved in. Indra yelled, but he was squeezed between the four bulkheads and unable to move. Though he shouted for help and gave al-Buraq orders, he was not heard. All communication to the room had been cut off.

  Ramstan watched Toyce as she walked down a corridor holding the handle of a large plastic box. Benagur had told ship to open the iris to his quarters; Ramstan had told al-Buraq to obey this order. Toyce went into the big chamber and spoke the code word given her by Benagur. She put the box on the deck while the bulkhead iris was opening. Straightening, seeing that the safe was empty, she said, "What the . . .?"

  Behind her, the entrance iris closed. She did not notice it because she had thrust her head into the safe and was feeling around it. The walls of the safe closed down; the iris extended lips and closed like a mouth over her head and shoulders. Though she screamed and struggled furiously, she was held tight.