Space Beagle- the Complete Adventures

by A. E. van Vogt

  “No-o!” The ship’s engineer sounded reluctant “The walls couldn’t stand it. They’d melt.”

  “The walls couldn’t stand it!” a man gasped. “Sir, do you realize what you’re making this creature out to be?”

  Grosvenor saw that there was consternation in the faces of the men whose images were being transmitted. Korita’s voice cut across the pregnant silence. He said, “Director, I am watching you on a communicator in the control room. To the suggestion that we are dealing with a super-being, I want to say this: Let us not forget that he did blunder into the wall of force, and that he recoiled in dismay without penetrating into the sleeping quarters. I use the word ‘blunder’ deliberately. His action proves once again that he does make mistakes.”

  Morton said, “That takes me back to what you said earlier about the psychological characteristics to be expected at the various cyclic stages. Let us suppose he’s a peasant of his cycle.”

  Korita’s reply was crisp for one who usually spoke with such care. “The inability to understand the full power of organization. He will think, in all likelihood, that in order to gain control of the ship he need only fight the men who are in it. Instinctively, he would tend to discount the fact that we are part of a great galactic civilization. The mind of the true peasant is very individualistic, almost anarchic. His desire to reproduce himself is a form of egoism, to have his own blood, particularly, carried on. This creature—if he is in the peasant stage of his development—will very possibly want to have numbers of beings similar to himself to help him with his fight. He likes company, but he doesn’t want interference. Any organized society can dominate a peasant community, because its members never form anything more than a loose union against outsiders.”

  “A loose union of those fire-eaters ought to be enough!” a technician commented acidly. “I . . . aaa-a-a . . .”

  His words tailed into a yell. His lower jaw sagged open. His eyes, plainly visible to Grosvenor, took on a goggly stare. All the men who could be seen in the plate retreated several feet.

  Full into the center of the viewing plate stepped Ixtl.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  He stood there, forbidding specter from a scarlet hell. His eyes were bright and alert, though he was no longer alarmed. He had sized up these human beings, and he knew, contemptuously, that he could plunge into the nearest wall before any of them could loose a vibrator on him.

  He had come for his first guul. By snatching that guul from the center of the group, he would to some extent demoralize everybody aboard. Grosvenor felt a wave of unreality sweep over him as he watched the scene. Only a few of the men were within the field of the plate. Von Grossen and two technicians stood nearest Ixtl. Morton was just behind von Grossen, and part of the head and body of Smith could be seen near one of the technicians. As a group, they looked like insignificant opponents of the tall, thick, cylindrical monstrosity that towered above them.

  It was Morton who broke the silence. Deliberately, he held his hand away from the translucent handle of his vibrator, and said in a steady voice, “Don’t try to draw on him. He can move like a flash. And he wouldn’t be here if he thought we could blast him. Besides, we can’t risk failure. This may be our only chance.”

  He continued swiftly, in an urgent tone. “All emergency crews listening in on this get above and below and around this corridor. Bring up the heaviest portables, even some of the semi-portables, and burn the walls down. Cut a clear path around this area, and have your beams sweep that space at narrow focus. Move!”

  “Good idea, Director!” Captain Leeth’s face appeared for a moment on Grosvenor’s communicator, superseding the image of Ixtl and the others. “We’ll be there if you can hold that hellhound three minutes.” His face withdrew as swiftly as it had come.

  Grosvenor deserted his own viewing plate. He had been acutely aware that he was too far from the scene for the kind of precise observation on which a Nexialist was supposed to base his actions. He was not part of any emergency crew, and so his purpose was to join Morton and the other men in the danger area.

  As he ran, he passed other communicators, and realized that Korita was giving advice from a distance. “Morton, take this chance, but do not count on success. Notice that he has appeared once again before we have been able to prepare against him. It doesn’t matter whether he is pressing us intentionally or accidentally. The result, whatever his motivation, is that we are on the run, scurrying this way and that, futilely. So far, we have not clarified our thoughts.”

  Grosvenor had been in an elevator, going down. Now he flung open the door and raced out. “I am convinced,” Korita’s voice continued from the next corridor communicator, “that the vast resources of this ship can defeat any creature—I mean, of course, any single creature that has ever existed . . .”

  If Korita said anything after that Grosvenor didn’t hear it. He had rounded the corner. And there, ahead, were the men and beyond them Ixtl. He saw that von Grossen had finished sketching something in his notebook. As Grosvenor watched with misgivings, von Grossen stepped forward and held the sheet out to Ixtl. The creature hesitated, then accepted it. He took one glance at it, and stepped back with a snarl that split his face.

  Morton yelled, “What the devil have you done?”

  Von Grossen was grinning tensely. “I’ve just shown him how we can defeat him,” he said softly.

  “I—”

  His words were cut off. Grosvenor, still in the rear, saw the entire incident merely as a spectator. All the others in the group were involved in the crisis.

  Morton must have realized what was about to happen. He stepped forward, as if instinctively trying to interpose his big body in front of von Grossen. A hand with long, wirelike fingers knocked the Director against the men behind him. He fell, unbalancing those nearest him. He recovered himself, clawed for his vibrator, and then froze with it in his hand.

  As through a distorted glass, Grosvenor saw that the thing was holding von Grossen in two fire-colored arms. The two-hundred-and-twenty-pound physicist squirmed and twisted, vainly. The thin, hard muscles held him as if they were so many manacles. What prevented Grosvenor from discharging his own vibrator was the impossibility of hitting the creature without also hitting von Grossen. Since the vibrator could not kill a human being but could render him unconscious, the conflict inside him was: Should he activate the weapon, or try in a desperate bid to get information from von Grossen? He chose the latter.

  He called to the physicist in an urgent voice, “Von Grossen, what did you show him? How can we defeat him?”

  Von Grossen heard, because he turned his head. That was all he had time for. At that moment, a mad thing happened. The creature took a running dive and vanished into the wall, still holding the physicist. For an instant, it seemed to Grosvenor that his vision had played a trick on him. But there were only the hard smooth, gleaming wall and eleven staring, perspiring men, seven of them with drawn weapons, which they fingered helplessly.

  “We’re lost!” a man whispered. “If he can adjust our atomic structures and take us with him through solid matter, we can’t fight him.”

  Grosvenor saw that Morton was irritated by the remark. It was the irritation of a man who is trying to maintain his balance under trying circumstances. The Director said angrily, “While we’re living, we can fight him!” He strode to the nearest communicator, and asked, “Captain Leeth, what’s the situation?”

  There was a delay, then the commander’s head and shoulders came into focus on the plate. “Nothing,” he said succinctly. “Lieutenant Clay thinks he saw a flash of scarlet disappearing through a floor, going down. We can, for the time being, narrow our search down to the lower half of the ship. As for the rest, we were just lining up our units when it happened. You didn’t give us enough time.”

  Morton said grimly: “We didn’t have anything to say about it.”

  It seemed to the listening Grosvenor that the statement was not strictly true. Von Grossen had haste
ned his own capture by showing the creature a diagram of how he could be defeated. It was a typically egotistical human action, with little survival value. More than that, it pointed up his own argument against the specialist who acted unilaterally and was incapable of cooperating intelligently with other scientists. Behind what von Grossen had done was an attitude centuries old. That attitude had been good enough during the early days of scientific research. But it had a limited value now that every development required knowledge and co-ordination of many sciences.

  Standing there, Grosvenor questioned that von Grossen had actually evolved a technique for defeating Ixtl. He questioned that a successful technique would be limited to the field of a single specialist. Any picture von Grossen had drawn for the creature would probably have been limited to what a physicist would know.

  His private thought ended as Morton said, “What I’d like is some theory as to what was drawn on the sheet of paper von Grossen showed the creature.”

  Grosvenor waited for someone else to reply. When no one did he said, “I think I have one, Director.”

  Morton hesitated the barest moment, then said, “Go ahead.”

  Grosvenor began, “The only way one could gain the attention of an alien would be to show him a universally recognized symbol. Since von Grossen is a physicist, the symbol he would have used suggests itself.”

  He paused deliberately and looked around him. He felt as if he were being melodramatic, but it was unavoidable. In spite of Morton’s friendliness, and the Riim incident, he was not recognized as an authority aboard this ship, and so it would be better if the answer would occur spontaneously at this point to several people.

  Morton broke the silence. “Come, come, young man. Don’t keep us in suspense.”

  “An atom,” said Grosvenor.

  The faces around him looked blank. “But that doesn’t mean anything,” said Smith. “Why should he show him an atom?”

  Grosvenor said, “Not just any atom, of course. I’ll wager that von Grossen drew for the creature a structural representation of the eccentric atom of the metal that makes up the outer shell of the Beagle.”

  Morton said, “You’ve got it!”

  “Just a minute.” Captain Leeth spoke from the communicator plate. “I confess I’m no physicist, but I’d like to know just what it is that he’s got.”

  Morton explained. “Grosvenor means that only two parts of the ship are composed of that incredibly tough material, the outer shell and the engine room. If you had been with us when we first captured the creature, you would have noticed that when it slipped through the floor of the cage it was stopped short by the hard metal of the outer shell of the ship. It seems clear that it cannot pass through such metal. The fact that it had to run for the air lock in order to get inside is further proof. The wonder is that we didn’t all of us think of that right away.”

  Captain Leeth said, “If Mr. von Grossen was showing the creature the nature of our defenses, couldn’t it be that he depicted the energy screens we put up in the walls? Isn’t that just as possible as the atom theory?”

  Morton turned and glanced questioningly at Grosvenor. The Nexialist said, “The creature had already experienced the energy screen at that time and had survived it. Von Grossen clearly believed he had something new. Besides the only way you can show a field of force on paper is with an equation involving arbitrary symbols.”

  Captain Leeth said, “This is very welcoming reasoning. We have at least one place aboard where we are safe—the engine room—and possibly somewhat lesser protection from the wall screens of our sleeping quarters. I can see why Mr. von Grossen would feel that gave us an advantage. All personnel on this ship will hereafter concentrate only in those areas, except by special permission or command.” He turned to the nearest communicator, repeated the order, and then said, “Heads of departments be prepared to answer questions relating to their specialties. Necessary duties will probably be assigned to suitably trained individuals. Mr. Grosvenor, consider yourself in this latter category. Dr. Eggert, issue anti-sleep pills where required. No one can go to bed until this beast is dead.”

  “Good work, Captain!” Morton said warmly.

  Captain Leeth nodded, and disappeared from the communicator plate.

  In the corridor, a technician said hesitantly, “What about von Grossen?”

  Morton said harshly, “The only way we can help von Grossen is by destroying his captor!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  In that vast room of vast machines, the men seemed like dwarfs in a hall of giants. Grosvenor blinked involuntarily at each burst of unearthly blue light that sparkled and coruscated upon the great, glistening sweep of ceiling. And there was a sound that rasped his nerves as much as the light affected his eyes. It was imprisoned in the air itself. A hum of terrifying power, a vague rumble like thunder from the horizon, a quivering reverberation of an inconceivable flow of energy.

  The drive was on. The ship was accelerating, going ever deeper and faster through the gulf of blackness that separated the spiral galaxy, of which Earth was one tiny, spinning atom, from another galaxy of almost equal size. That was the background to the decisive struggle that was now taking place. The largest, most ambitious exploratory expedition that had ever set out from the solar system was in the gravest danger of its existence.

  Grosvenor believed that firmly. This was no Coeurl, whose overstimulated body had survived the murderous wars of the dead race that had performed biological experiments upon the animals of the cat planet. Nor could the danger from the Riim folk be compared. After their first misguided effort at communication, he had controlled every subsequent action in what he had thought of as the struggle between one man and a race.

  The scarlet monster was clearly and unmistakably in a class by himself.

  Captain Leeth climbed up a metal stairway that led to a small balcony. A moment later Morton joined him and stood looking down at the assembled men. He held a sheaf of notes in his hand, divided by one interposed finger into two piles. The two men studied the notes, then Morton said, “This is the first breathing spell we’ve had since the creature came aboard less than—incredible as it may seem—less than two hours ago. Captain Leeth and I have been reading the recommendations given us by heads of departments. These recommendations we have roughly divided into two categories. One category, being of a theoretical nature, we will leave till later. The other category, which concerns itself with mechanical plans for cornering our enemy, naturally takes precedence. To begin with, I am sure that we are all anxious to know that plans are afoot to locate and rescue Mr. von Grossen. Mr. Zeller, tell the rest of the men what you have in mind.”

  Zeller came forward, a brisk young man in his late thirties. He had succeeded to the headship of the metallurgy department after Breckenridge was killed by Coeurl. He said, “The discovery that the creature cannot penetrate the group of alloys we call resistance metals automatically gave us a clue as to the type of material we would use in building a space suit. My assistant is already working at the suit, and it should be ready in about three hours. For the search, naturally, we’ll use a fluorite camera. If anybody has any suggestions . . .”

  A man said, “Why not make several suits?”

  Zeller shook his head. “We have only a very limited amount of material. We could make more, but only by transmutation, which takes time.” He added. “Besides, ours has always been a small department. We’ll be fortunate to get one suit completed in the time I have set.”

  There were no more questions. Zeller disappeared into the machine shop adjoining the engine room.

  Director Morton raised his hand. When the men had settled again to silence, he said, “For myself, I feel better knowing that, once the suit is built, the creature will have to keep moving von Grossen in order to prevent us from discovering the body.”

  “How do you know he’s alive?” someone asked.

  “Because the damned thing could have taken the body of the man he killed, but he did
n’t. He wants us alive. Smith’s notes have given us a possible clue to his purpose, but they are in category two, and will be discussed later.”

  He paused, then went on, “Among the plans put forward for actually destroying the creature, I have here one offered by two technicians of the physics department, and one by Elliott Grosvenor. Captain Leeth and I have discussed these plans with chief engineer Pennons and other experts, and we have decided that Mr. Grosvenor’s idea is too dangerous to human beings, and so will be held as a last resort. We will begin immediately on the other plan unless important objections to it are raised. Several additional suggestions were made, and these have been incorporated. While it is customary to let individuals expound their own ideas, I think time will be saved if I briefly outline the plan as it has been finally approved by the experts.

  “The two physicists”—Morton glanced down at the papers in his hand—“Lomas and Hindley, admit that their plan depends on the creature’s permitting us to make the necessary energy connections. That appears probable on the basis of Mr. Korita’s theory of cyclic history, to the effect that a ‘peasant’ is so concerned with his own blood purposes that he tends to ignore the potentialities of organized opposition. On this basis, under the modified plan of Lomas and Hindley, we are going to energize the seventh and ninth levels—only the floor and not the walls. Our hope is this. Until now, the creature has made no organized attempt to kill us. Mr. Korita says that, being a peasant, the thing has not yet realized that he must destroy us or we will destroy him. Sooner or later, however, even a peasant will realize that killing us should come first, before anything else. If he doesn’t interfere with our work, then we’ll trap him on the eighth level, between the two energized floors. There, under circumstances where he won’t be able to get down or up, we’ll search him out with our projectors. As Mr. Grosvenor will realize, this plan is considerably less risky than his own, and therefore should take precedence.”