Space Beagle- the Complete Adventures

by A. E. van Vogt

  There was a moment’s silence. Then the leader of the gun crew near Grosvenor called in a friendly voice, “Hey, you fellows! We’ve made the adjustments. You’ll be safe if you can hit the deck in nothing flat.”

  Grosvenor called, “Thanks, friend.” Just for a moment, then, the tension eased. A mathematical-biology technician said, “Grove, butter him up some more with soft talk.”

  “I always did love the military,” said another man. In a hoarse aside, he said loud enough for the gun crew to hear, “That ought to hold ‘em off for that extra second I need.”

  Grosvenor scarcely heard. Bait, he was thinking again. And no group would know when the moment of danger came for some other group. At the instant of “guncrit”—a modified form of critical mass, in which a small pile developed enormous energy without exploding—a tracer light would leap out of the muzzle. Along it and around it would pour the hard, silent invisible radiation.

  When it was all over, the survivors would notify Captain Leeth on his private band. In due course, the commander would inform the other groups. “Mr. Grosvenor!”

  Instinctively, as the sharp voice sounded, Grosvenor dived for the floor. He struck painfully, but came up almost immediately as he recognized Captain Leeth’s voice.

  Other men were climbing ruefully to their feet. One man muttered, “Dammit, that wasn’t fair.”

  Grosvenor reached the communicator. He kept his gaze warily on the corridor ahead of him, as he said, “Yes, Captain?”

  “Will you come down to level seven at once? Central corridor. Approach from nine o’clock.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grosvenor went with a sense of dread. There had been a tone in the captain’s voice. Something was wrong.

  He found a nightmare. As he approached, he saw that one of the atomic cannon was lying on its side. Beside it, dead, burned beyond recognition, lay what had been three of the four military crew men of the projector. On the floor beside them unconscious but still twitching and squirming, all too evidently from a vibrator discharge, was the fourth crew man.

  On the far side of the cannon, twenty men lay unconscious or dead, among them Director Morton.

  Stretcher-bearers, wearing protective clothing, were dashing in, picking up a victim, and then racing off with him on a loading mule.

  The rescue work had clearly been going on for several minutes, so there were probably more unconscious men already being tended in the engine room by Dr. Eggert and his staff.

  Grosvenor stopped at a barrier that had been hastily erected at a turn in the corridor. Captain Leeth was there. The commander was pale but calm. In a few minutes, Grosvenor had the story.

  Ixtl had appeared. A young technician—Captain Leeth did not name him—forgot in panic that safety lay on the floor. As the muzzle of the cannon came up inexorably, the hysterical youngster fired his vibrator at the crew, stunning them all. Apparently, they had hesitated slightly when they saw the technician in their line of fire. The next instant, each crew man was unknowingly contributing his bit to the disaster. Three of them fell against the cannon, and, instinctively clinging to it, swung it over on its side. It rolled away from them, dragging the fourth man along.

  The trouble was he had hold of the activator, and for what must have been nearly a second he pressed it.

  His three companions were in the direct line of fire. They died instantly. The cannon finished rolling over on its side, spraying one wall.

  Morton and his group, though never in the direct line of fire, were caught by the secondary radiation. It was too soon to tell how badly they were injured, but at a conservative estimate they would all be in bed for a year. A few would die.

  “We were a little slow,” Captain Leeth confessed. “This apparently happened a few seconds after I finished talking, but it was nearly a minute before somebody who heard the crash of the cannon toppling grew curious and glanced around this corner.” He sighed wearily. “At the very worst, I never expected anything as bad as an entire group being wiped out.”

  Grosvenor was silent. This was why, of course, Captain Leeth had wanted the scientists unarmed. In a crisis, a man protected himself. He couldn’t help it. Like an animal he fought blindly for his life.

  He tried not to think of Morton, who had realized that the scientists would resist being disarmed and who had thought up the modus operandi that would make the use of atomic energy acceptable to all. He said steadily, “Why did you call me?”

  “My feeling is that this failure affects your plan. What do you think?”

  Grosvenor nodded reluctantly. “The surprise element is gone,” he said. “He must have come up without suspecting what was waiting for him. Now, he’ll be careful.”

  He could picture the scarlet monster poking his head through a wall, surveying a corridor—then boldly coming out beside one of the cannon and snatching one of the crew men. The only adequate precaution would be to set up a second projector to cover the first one. But that was out of the question—there were only forty-one available for the whole ship.

  Grosvenor shook his head. Then he said, “Did he get another man?”

  “No.”

  Once more Grosvenor was silent. Like the others, he could only guess at the creature’s reason for wanting living men. One of those guesses was based on Korita’s theory that the being was in a peasant stage and intent on reproducing himself. That suggested a bloodcurdling possibility, and a pressure of need on the part of the creature that would drive him after more human victims.

  Captain Leeth said, “As I see it, he’ll be up again. My idea is that we leave the cannon where they are for the time being and finish energizing three levels. Seven is completed, nine is almost ready, and so we might as well go on to eight. This will give us three floors altogether. As far as the possible effectiveness of such a plan goes, we should consider that the creature has now captured three men in addition to von Grossen. In each case, he was seen to take them in what we call a downward direction. I suggest that, as soon as we have energized all three levels, we go to the ninth floor and wait for him. When he captures one of us, we wait momentarily; and then Mr. Pennons will throw the switch that sets up the force field in the floors. The creature will strike the eighth level, and find it energized. If he tries to go through, he will find that seven is also energized. If he comes up, he finds nine in the same deadly state. Either way, we force him to make contact with two energized floors.” The commander paused, looked thoughtfully at Grosvenor, and then said, “I know you considered that contact with only one level would not kill him. You were not so positive about two.” He stopped, and waited questioningly.

  Grosvenor said, after a moment of hesitation, “I’ll buy that. Actually, we can only guess how it will affect him. Maybe we’ll all be pleasantly surprised.”

  He didn’t believe that. But there was another factor in this developing situation: the convictions and hopes that men had. Only an actual event would change the minds of some people. When their ideas were altered by reality, then—and then only—they would be emotionally ready for more drastic solutions.

  It seemed to Grosvenor that he was learning slowly but surely how to influence men. It was not enough to have information and knowledge, not enough to be right. Men had to be persuaded and convinced. Sometimes that might take more time than could safely be spared. Sometimes it couldn’t be done at all. And so civilizations crumbled, battles were lost, and ships destroyed because the man or group with the saving ideas would not go through the long-drawn-out ritual of convincing others.

  If he could help it, that was not going to happen here.

  He said, “We can keep the atomic projectors in place till we finish energizing the floors. Then we’ll have to move them. Energization would bring guncrit even without the nozzle being open. They’d blow up.”

  As deliberately as that he withdrew the Grosvenor plan from the battle against the enemy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ixtl came up twice during the hour and th
ree quarters that was needed to do level eight. He had six eggs left, and he intended to use all except two of them. His only annoyance was that each guul took more time. The defense against him seemed more alert, and the presence of atomic cannon made it necessary for him to go after the men who actually manned the projectors.

  Even with that limitation rigidly observed, each escape turned out to be an achievement in timing. Nevertheless, he was not worried. These things had to be done. In due course, he would attend to the men.

  When the eighth level was completed, the cannon withdrawn, and everyone on the ninth level, Grosvenor heard Captain Leeth say curtly, “Mr. Pennons, are you ready to use power?”

  “Yes, sir.” The engineer’s voice was a dry rasp on the communicators. He finished even more harshly. “Five men gone, and one to go. We’ve been lucky, but there is at least one more to go.”

  “Do you hear that, gentlemen? One to go. One of us will be bait whether he likes it or not.” It was a familiar voice, but one that had long been silent. The speaker went on gravely. “This is Gregory Kent. And I’m sorry to have to say that I am speaking to you from the safety of the engine room. Dr. Eggert tells me it’ll be another week before I’m off the invalid list. The reason I am speaking to you now is that Captain Leeth has turned Director Morton’s papers over to me, and so I’d like Kellie to elaborate on the note of his that I have here. It will clear up something very important. It will give us a sharper picture of what we’re facing. We might as well all know the worst.”

  “Ah . . .” The cracked voice of the sociologist sounded on the communicators. “Here’s my reasoning. When we discovered the creature, it was floating a quarter of a million light-years from the nearest star system, apparently without means of spatial locomotion. Picture that appalling distance, and then ask yourself how long it would require, relatively, for an object to move it by chance alone. Lester gave me my figures, so I would like him to tell you what he told me.”

  “Lester speaking!” The voice of the astronomer sounded surprisingly brisk. “Most of you know the prevailing theory of the beginnings of the present universe. There is evidence to believe that it came into being as a result of the break-up of an earlier universe several million million years ago. It is believed today that a few million million years hence, our universe will complete its cycle, and blow up in a cataclysmic explosion. The nature of such an explosion can only be surmised.”

  He went on, “As for Kellie’s question, I can only offer a picture to you. Let us suppose that the scarlet being was blown out into space when the great explosion occurred. He would find himself heading out into intergalactic space, with no means of changing his course. Under such circumstances, he could float along forever without coming nearer to a star than a quarter of a million light-years. That is what you wanted, Kellie?”

  “Ah, yes. Most of you will recall my mentioning before that it was a paradox that a pure sympodial development, such as this creature is, did not populate the entire universe. The answer to that is, logically, if his race should have controlled the universe, then it did control it. We can see now, however, that they ruled a previous universe, not our present one. Naturally, the creature now intends that his kind shall also dominate our universe. This at least is a plausible theory, if no more.”

  Kent said in a placating tone, “I’m sure that all the scientists aboard realize that we are speculating by necessity on matters about which little evidence is as yet available. I think it is a good thing for us to believe that we are confronted with a survivor of the supreme race of a universe. There may be others like him in the same predicament. We can only hope that no other ship ever comes near one. Biologically, this race could be billions of years ahead of us. Thinking thus, we can feel justified in demanding the utmost contribution in effort and personal sacrifice from every person aboard—”

  The shrill scream of a man interrupted him. “Got me!. Quick!. ripping me out of my suit—” The words ended in a gurgle.

  Grosvenor said tensely, “That was Dack, chief assistant in the geology department.” He spoke the identification without thinking. His recognition of voices was now as quick and automatic as that.

  Another voice sounded shrilly on the communicators. “He’s going down. I saw him go down!”

  “The power,” said a third, calmer voice, “is on.” That was Pennons.

  Grosvenor found himself staring curiously at his feet. Sparkling, brilliant, beautiful blue fire shimmered there. Little tendrils of the pretty flame reared up hungrily a few inches from his rubberite suit, as if baffled by some invisible force protecting the suit. Now there was no sound. With almost blank mind, he gazed along a corridor that was alive with the unearthly blue fire. Just for a moment, he had the illusion that he was looking not out at it but down into the depths of the ship.

  With a rush, his mind came back into focus. And with fascinated eyes he watched the blue ferocity of the energization that was struggling to break through his protected suit.

  Pennons spoke again, this time in a whisper. “If the plan worked, we’ve now got that devil on the eighth or seventh levels.”

  Captain Leeth commanded efficiently, “All men whose last names begin with the letter ‘A’ to ‘L’, follow me to the seventh group level! Group ‘M’ to ‘Z’, follow Mr. Pennons to the eighth level! All projector crews remain at their posts! Camera teams carry on as ordered!”

  The men ahead of Grosvenor stopped short at the second corner from the elevators on the seventh level. Grosvenor was among those who went forward and stood staring down at the human body that sprawled on the floor. It was seemingly held to the metal by brilliant fingers of blue fire. Captain Leeth broke the silence.

  “Pull him loose!”

  Two men stepped gingerly forward and touched the body. The blue flame leaped at them, as if trying to fight them off. The men jerked, and the unholy bonds yielded. They carried the body up in an elevator to the unenergized tenth level. Grosvenor followed with the others, and stood silently by as the body was laid on the floor. The lifeless thing continued to kick for several minutes, discharging torrents of energy, then gradually took on the quietness of death.

  “I’m waiting for reports!” Captain Leeth spoke stiffly.

  Pennons said after a second’s silence, “The men are spread out over the three levels, according to plan. They’re taking continuous pictures with fluorite cameras. If he’s anywhere around, he’ll be seen. It will take at least thirty more minutes.”

  Finally the report came. “Nothing!” Pennons’s tone reflected his dismay. “Commander, he must have got through safely.”

  Somewhere a voice sounded plaintively on the momentarily open circuit of the communicators, “Now what are we going to do?”

  It seemed to Grosvenor that the words probably expressed the doubt and anxiety of every person on the Space Beagle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The silence grew long. The great men of the ship, who were ordinarily so articulate, seemed to have lost their voices. Grosvenor shrank a little from the purpose, the new plan, in his own mind. And then, slowly, he faced up to the reality that now confronted the expedition. But still he waited. For it was not up to him to speak first.

  It was chief chemist Kent who finally broke the spell. “It would appear,” he said, “that our enemy can pass through energized walls as easily as through unenergized ones. We can continue to assume that he does not care for the experience, but that his recuperation is so swift that what he feels in one floor has no effect on him by the time he falls through the air to the next one.”

  Captain Leeth said, “I should like to hear from Mr. Zeller. Where are you now, sir?”

  “Zeller speaking!” The brisk voice of the metallurgist sounded on the communicators. “I’ve finished the resistance suit, Captain. And I’ve started my search at the bottom of the ship.”

  “How long would it take to build resistance suits for every-body on the ship?”

  Zeller’s reply was s
low in coming. “We’d have to set up a production unit,” he said finally. “First we’d have to make the tools to make the tools that would make such suits in quantity from any metal. Simultaneously, we would start one of the hot piles to the task of making resistance metal. As you probably know, it comes out radioactive with a half-life of five hours, which is a long time. My guess is that the first suit would roll off the assembly line in about two hundred hours from now.”

  To Grosvenor, it sounded like a conservative estimate. The difficulty of machining resistance metal could hardly be overstated. Captain Leeth seemed to have been struck into silence by the metallurgist’s words. It was Smith who spoke.

  “Then that’s out!” The biologist sounded uncertain. “And since the complete energization would also take too long, we’ve shot our bolt. We’ve got nothing else.”

  The usually lazy voice of Gourlay, the communications expert, snapped, “I don’t see why those ways are out. We’re still alive. I suggest we get to work, and do as much as we can as soon as we can.”

  “What makes you think,” Smith asked coldly, “that the creature is not capable of smashing down resistance metal? As a superior being, his knowledge of physics probably transcends our own. He might find it comparatively simple to construct a beam that could destroy anything we have. Don’t forget, pussy could pulverize resistance metal. And heaven knows there are plenty of tools available in the various laboratories.”

  Gourlay said scornfully, “Are you suggesting that we give up?”

  “No!” The biologist was angry. “I want us to use common sense. Let’s not just work blindly towards an unrealizable goal.”

  Korita’s voice sounded on the communicators, and ended the verbal duel. “I am inclined to agree with Smith. I say further that we are now dealing with a being who must shortly realize that he cannot allow us time for anything important. For that and other reasons, I believe the creature would interfere if we attempted to prepare the ship for complete controlled energization.”