by Earl
Omega and his kind have no ambitions, no desires, no instinct of work or self-preservation. They are probably the end-product of all intelligence. They could be super-scientists and rule the Solar System, except that long ago they simply let their manipulative limbs become vestigial and lost all inner drive. They are simply minds, dreaming on and on, existing for no reason except that not existing requires a suicidal effort.
What do their thoughts consist of? How have they filled that appalling stretch of time since they became vegetables? Imagine a million years of physical inactivity! How had they kept from going mad, or being bored to death?
They were being bored to death! That was the answer. Yet why did they make no attempt to escape? Why weren’t they in the least interested in establishing contact with us, or the Martians before us?
“Look,” Swinerton put it. “A worm says to us, ‘Hello, man! Why do you live out there, in that emptiness? Why don’t you come down where we are? There is nice, black, lightless ground to wallow in, and eat, and dig through. This is the life! What are you doing out there where everything is blinding and empty and nothing happens?’ The worm, you see, knows nothing of the Sun and stars and all the greater things. We’re the worms telling Omega he should come down from his higher mental realm and wallow in the mud with us.”
Sensitive by nature, Swinerton brooded over those sinister ideas. That other time, spending a week down in the cavern with the plant-minds, he had come back with the outlook of a plant mind.
Captain Atwell one day threatened to throw Omega out, for we were all worried about Swinerton.
“We’re not concerned about the thinking processes of this mental weed,” Captain Atwell declared sternly.
“We have to get our rocket tubes repaired and leave.”
Swinerton started. “Good Lord!” he whispered. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Omega’s our answer. He knows everything. He even utilizes atomic energy. Omega can tell us how to repair our rockets!”
We thought Swinerton was growing mad. But the next time Omega deigned to answer, he tried questioning the vegetable intelligence.
“Omega, tell us how to repair our rockets,” Swinerton demanded. Briefly he explained the ship’s engine and its system of rocket propulsion.
“Why do you want to repair your ship?” Omega asked.
“To leave, of course,” Swinerton snapped.
“Why?”
MOCKINGLY Omega was turning our own guns on us. It was the first time he had asked for a cause.
“So we can get back to Earth, our home planet, and report,” Swinerton said doggedly.
“What good is that?”
“Space travel will be able to go on.”
“And after space travel, what?”
“The human race expands, advances.”
“To what?”
Swinerton looked at us helplessly. Did the stock answers mean anything to Omega?
“To an interplanetary empire,” Swinerton groaned.
“For what purpose?”
“Damn you! Are you toying with us?”
“No. Just showing how futile it all is. Look what happened to the Martians.”
“What!” Robertson yelled the word out, face alight. “What did happen to the Martians?”
We all leaned forward tensely. Would Omega reveal the stupendous mystery of the past that had tantalized us on three expeditions to three planets? But Omega obstinately became silent. It was not till five days later that he spoke again, in answer to Swinerton’s hourly calls.
“The rocket tubes,” Swinerton said. “You could tell us how to repair them, couldn’t you? Don’t you know how?”
“Yes. But I do not choose to. I see no reason to trouble myself.”
“Must you have a reason? You said once there’s no reason to anything.”
“Exactly,” Omega returned heartlessly.
“You can’t refuse—it means our lives,” Captain Atwell rasped threateningly. He pulled out his pistol, aiming it for Omega’s head. “If you don’t tell us, I’ll blow you to atoms!”
It was a futile gesture.
“Shoot,” Omega said. “If I wish, I can turn the bullet aside with the shield of force, or I can take death. It depends on what I would wish at the moment you fired.”
Either way, we would get no answer. What could we do? Omega had no answer for the worms.
My chronicle is now up to date. I mentioned earlier that we know Omega could save us, but he hasn’t. Perhaps we are all mad. We don’t know. We’re haggard, haunted, though not so much by the thought of doom. If a man could talk to a worm, he might undermine its whole philosophy, too. It’s strange to think that Mercury’s greatest menace is something more intangible than poisoned food.
We should throw Omega out. He’s poisoning our minds, and yet he’s our last forlorn hope of leaving—if he chooses.
Just received your broadcast of the dedication ceremonies for the completed Tycho Space Station on the Moon. We know Omega would question the use of it. But we feel like cheering. There must be faith in progress, even if we’re beginning to doubt its value.
TWO Hundred Forty-ninth day. Startling news, Earth. Omega told us, after all! This morning he “awoke” again.
“Tell us how to repair our rockets,” Swinerton pleaded. “In return, we’ll try to give you anything you want.”
What could a creature want who had lived a million years and known all things? But Omega threw a bombshell.
“Yes, I will bargain with you. I’ll tell you how to make an atomic-energy furnace, to melt your alloy. In return, I want a mind. We haven’t examined a human mind since two million years ago, when we colonized Earth. You were sub-men then.”
“A mind?” Swinerton asked in horror.
“Yes. Choose one among you. He will die, for I must absorb his mind completely.”
Fantastic? Absurd? I’ll describe the rest briefly, since it’s even more unbelievable. Keeping his part of the bargain, Omega asked for our best technical man and hypnotized him. That was Tarnay, of course.
Under Omega’s control, Tarnay has become a super-scientist. I can’t describe it in any other way. Like a robot, he assembled wires, batteries, prisms and seleno-cells, from our workshop supplies. He has been working furiously all day, putting his equipment together in some strange pattern. At his terse orders, the rest of us have helped where we could, winding coils, hooking up battery circuits and lathing metal parts.
Will resume tomorrow. We are tired, dazed, wondering if the machine we’re putting together will mean anything. We hope Omega isn’t playing some monstrous joke on us.
Two Hundred Fiftieth day.
The machine is done. It works!
An hour ago, Tarnay set in the last part, a speck of radium from Ling’s supplies. The clay pot from our electric-arc apparatus was put in the heart of Omega’s machine. When Tarnay threw a switch, there was a deep hum that sounded like a billion angry atoms buzzing out of their orbits. We expected an explosion that would kill us all, including Omega, in a suicide plan spawned in his enigmatic mind.
But instead, the clay pot became red hot. The lumps of platinum and iridium within melted down in a few minutes. We dropped in more metal, filling the pot. All of it melted with ease.
Like happy pups we cheered and hopped around deliriously. It will be easy to dip our detached rocket tubes, coat them with alloy to make them strong again for space flight. We will start the dipping tomorrow.
The machine awes us. It releases atomic energy, the dream of science for a century. Tamay can’t explain it, though his hands made it. Somehow, the radioactivity of the radium speck is increased tremendously, throwing; off heat beside which the electric-arc is comparatively cold.
Omega has saved us. But we will have to pay the price. We promised.
“A life must be sacrificed, after all,” Captain Atwell said bitterly. “I said I would bring you all back. I’ve failed. But at least I’ll send you all back—”
We s
topped him instantly. No voluntary sacrifice would be allowed. We drew lots. Ling is the unfortunate one.
TWO Hundred Fifty-fifth day. Hello, Earth! I skipped five days because we were busy dipping the tubes and preparing for take-off. We’re ready to leave now. All the tubes are shiny with the new surfacing of platinum-iridium alloy.
Ling is with us! All ten of us are coming back! You wonder, perhaps, if we tricked Omega, or simply refused to keep our bargain. Here’s the story.
After the machine’s completion, Omega went into one of his silent spells. We were all thinking the same thing—If we worked fast enough, and got away before Omega came out of it—well, what could he do? It would be his own fault.
We even went a step further. Why not just toss Omega out and forget about the whole thing? He was just a helpless plant. Why pay the price? What right had he to demand a life? Omega would probably just shrug it off anyway, and think us fools if we paid.
“I could blast you all where you stand,” Omega’s telepathic voice suddenly stated this morning. “You can’t escape without paying the price. Whom have you chosen?”
Swinerton pushed Ling back.
“Me, Omega!” he shouted. “Take me quickly. I’ll live in your mind. I can’t stand this life any more. It’s meaningless, trivial, futile. Take me, Omega!”
We were paralyzed, waiting for something to happen.
“I choose—” Omega began.
We held our breaths, waiting for some ray, a force, an unknown beam to blast either Ling, or Swinerton, or all ten of us.
But Omega was silent. Slowly his chalice of leaves drooped. Before our eyes his pulpy brain crumbled into dust.
“He chose suicide!” gasped Swinerton. “But why? Why?”
Yes, why? That question will ring through all eternity and never be answered, for anything. That is the philosophy of Omega.
We’re ready for take-off. We’re glad to leave Mercury and the shadow of Omega. Somewhere in space, Swinerton will get over it. But now he’s sitting vacant-eyed, and doesn’t answer us. We’ll all have to reorientate our minds, before arriving on Earth. We’ll have to forget Omega and his philosophy of indifference. Future expeditions to Mercury must be warned to keep away from the plant brains.
BY the way, don’t get the idea that we’re coming back with the secret of atomic energy. We had to tear down the machine, for we need the batteries and other parts. Tarnay says he could never begin to assemble it again, even with complete plans. He wouldn’t understand what he was doing. That great secret still lies in the future of mankind, and we hope it doesn’t end in the philosophy of Omega.
Captain Atwell has just given the take-off signal. We’ll be on Earth in two months. All ten of us. That thought is already warming us, taking away the chill of Omega. If we keep talking to each other, we won’t hear that echoing challenge—why, why?
Mercury Expedition Number One signing off.
1941
AND RETURN
THE departure was strangely depressing. Both Dr. Arthur Templeton and young Henry Moore had looked forward eagerly to this moment. Now, with both their wives tearful, they felt oddly disturbed. Their previous enthusiasm dampened to a forced jocularity.
“Please don’t go!” begged Mrs. Templeton suddenly of her husband. “I have the queerest feeling that I won’t ever see you again!”
The words struck the group with chill, though undefined apprehension.
“What! Is the lady a spiritualist?” chided Dr. Templeton gently. “Now, dear,” he went on seriously, “there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“But you’re risking your lives!” chimed in Mrs. Moore.
“Someone had to fly the first airplane,” remarked Henry Moore. “And so it is with this new type of space engine. But our ship has proven itself on its trial trip to the moon. There’s no danger.”
“We’ll be back inside of a month,” promised Templeton, signalling the younger man with his eyes to break away.
They entered the long, sleek ship. The pneumatic seals clamped shut.
Inside the ship, sealed off from the world, the two men went to the pilot cabin at the front. Though nervous, Moore handled the controls skilfully and the ship rose with its front and rear under jets hissing steadily. The powerful thrust of atomic energy lifted the huge craft directly off the ground and catapulted it into the air.
Disaster, like a premonition, nearly struck them at the outset. Fifteen minutes after they had left ground, something huge and gleaming flashed by them so closely that they nearly collided.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Moore weakly. “That meteor came pretty close to sending us on a different kind of journey!”
When they had reached the stratosphere ten miles above Earth, Moore added the thrust of the rear system of rockets. He built up a gradual speed that quickly took them out of Earth’s atmosphere.
They gazed out upon open, star-strewn space, thrilling deeply. What new limits might they not reach with their super-powerful engine?
DR. ARTHUR TEMPLETON and Henry Moore had made a brilliant scientific team—Templeton, the keen theorist, and Moore, the skilful technician. Between the two of them, no frontier of science had been safe from their combined attack.
Their latest and most important result had been the development of an atomic-energy process which produced almost unlimited power. Instead of announcing it, they had decided to be the first to apply it to long-range interplanetary travel. Pluto had never been reached by ordinary space ships.
After the successful trial flight to the Moon, they had immediately prepared for the extended voyage to Pluto. Food, water and air, and other supplies had been loaded in, enough for a year, which was the margin of safety Dr. Templeton had insisted upon. He had also insisted upon taking along a ton of their neutronized fuel whose disintegration furnished them with power. Moore had thought it rather inane to take along enough fuel to propel them to the next island universe, and enough supplies to last for ten such trips as they were making, but made no objections. They had departed in all secrecy, from their wall enclosed hangar five miles out of the town they lived in.
THE ship sped into the void. Earth became a huge green balloon that was collapsing as though it had been pricked. Up ahead, red Mars grew brighter as Moore set a course past it. He applied accelerations he had not dared use on the short trip to the Moon. Mars became a disk in 24 hours. They passed it, going on, riding safely above the asteroid belt of midget worlds. These held no interest for the two travellers, but the beautiful picture of mighty, betted Jupiter enlarging in the void held them spellbound. They passed close enough to view the Great Red Spot, which was now somewhat faded, and the eleven moons.
Then they plunged beyond, where few ships had dared go.
Here, with an open stretch of three billion miles before him, Moore built up a speed he estimated was 60,000 miles a second. Pluto was reached in a day’s time. It was a disappointing spectacle, but gave them a singular feeling to see the sun reduced to almost star-like proportions. It was less than a week since they had left Earth. They were proud of their achievement, having bridged the spatial gulf to the limits of the Solar System for the first time.
“It’s been grand!” sighed Moore, realizing that the first thrill was gone and would never be captured again. “As for our engine, it’s come up to all our expectations. In fact, I haven’t really opened it up yet. With atomic-energy, it seems evident that only the speed of light is a limit. Well, I guess there’s nothing left but to return.” He reached for the controls.
“Wait!”
The one word from Dr. Templeton was sharp. “While you’re out here, away from the sun’s glare, I want you to measure the speed of starlight. That’s why I had you bring along the Michelson revolving mirror.”
Moore stared at the strangely earnest scientist. All during the trip he had been preoccupied, deep in some maze of thought that Moore had no inkling of.
Moore smiled. “You have a sense of humor, doctor. We�
�ll go back to Earth and announce our new engine and the trip to Pluto, two great new accomplishments. And then, to top it off, we’ll announce that we’ve measured the speed of light near Pluto, when it’s only been done on Earth several dozen times!”
Dr. Templeton did not smile.
Moore was suddenly struck by a thought. “For God’s sake, man:” he exploded. “You don’t expect it to be anything but 186,800 miles per second, as computed by Michelson and others?”
“This is starlight!” Templeton returned cryptically.
“What difference does that make? Light is light.”
“I don’t know. But measure it and see. Try Sirius’ light.”
Moore stared for a moment, then shrugged. With his usual skill, he set up the necessary mirrors to reflect a single beam of light back and forth several hundred times. The revolving mirror at the end of the circuit would be rotated by an electric motor.
“You know,” said Moore half grumblingly after many hours of delicate adjustments, “this is a senseless experiment. If the result is anything but 186,300, do you realize that the entire structure of astro-physical theory would be undermined, shattered?”
“Do you realize it!” asked Templeton seriously.
Moore shook his head sadly and started the experiment. With the ship held stationary in space by its gyroscopes, he turned off the cabin lights and fixed his first mirror to catch the beams of Sirius. Then he started the revolving mirror. A low whine filled the cabin. It was an eerie scene with only the dim beams of Sirius lighting the two men’s tense faces.
When the revolving mirror had reached the speed at which it should twist a light beam enough to produce the usual interference bands of light and dark, Moore peered into the eyepiece. There was no interference!
“Lord!” he breathed, shaken.
“Speed up your mirror!” suggested Templeton.
Moore gradually applied velocity till the mirror was rotating at twice the required rate. He looked in the eyepiece again. Still no interference bands! He shut the machine off, staggered to his feet and turned on the cabin lights.