Space Beagle- the Complete Adventures

by A. E. van Vogt

  As the silence continued, Grosvenor manipulated the communicator arm of his chair, and presently he was seeing a slightly burred image of what Kent and Lester were gazing at directly through the telescope. Slowly, then, he forgot the spectators and concentrated on the night scene shown by the plate. They were near the outer environs of an entire galactic system; yet the nearest stars were still so far away that the telescope could barely resolve the myriad needle points of brilliance that made up the spiral nebula, M-33, in Andromeda, their destination.

  Grosvenor glanced up just as Lester turned from the telescope. The astronomer said, “What is happening seems incredible. Vibrations we can actually sense, spilling out from a galaxy of billions of suns.” He paused, then said, “Director, it seems to me this is not a problem for an astronomer.”

  Kent released his own eyepiece and said, “Anything that embraces an entire galaxy comes under the category of astronomical phenomena. Or would you care to name the science that is involved?”

  Lester hesitated, then replied slowly. “The scale of magnitude is fantastic. I don’t think we should assume galactic scope yet. This barrage may be coming on a beam which is concentrated on our ship.”

  Kent turned toward the men who sat in tiers of cushioned seats facing the broad and colorful control panel. He said, “Has anyone a suggestion or a thought?”

  Grosvenor glanced around, hoping that the unidentified man who had spoken earlier would explain himself. But whoever it was remained silent.

  Undeniably, the men no longer felt so free to speak up as they had under the leadership of Morton. One way or another, Kent had made it rather plain that he deemed the opinions of those other than department heads impertinent. It was also evident that he personally declined to regard Nexialism as a legitimate department. For several months, he and Grosvenor had been polite to each other on a basis of minimum contact. During that time, the Acting Director had, by way of consolidating his position, introduced several motions in the council giving his office more authority in certain activities, the ostensible reason being to avoid duplication of effort.

  The importance to this ship’s morale of encouraging individual initiative, even at the cost of some efficiency, was a point that could have been demonstrated only to another Nexialist, Grosvenor felt sure.

  He had not bothered to protest. And so a few more slight restrictions had been imposed on the already dangerously regimented and confined shipload of human beings.

  From the rear of the control room, Smith was the first to answer Kent’s request for suggestions. The angular and bony biologist said dryly, “I notice Mr. Grosvenor is twisting about in his chair. Can it be that he is politely waiting for the older men to have their say? Mr. Grosvenor what’s on your mind?”

  Grosvenor waited until the faint wave of laughter—in which Kent did not join in—had died away. Then he said, “A few minutes ago, someone suggested that we turn around and go home. I’d like whoever did so to give his reasons.”

  There was no reply. Grosvenor saw that Kent was frowning. It did seem strange that there was anyone aboard unwilling to acknowledge an opinion, however briefly held, however quickly discarded.

  Other men were glancing about in astonishment.

  It was the sad-faced Smith who said finally, “When was that statement uttered? I don’t recall hearing it.”

  “Nor I!” echoed half a dozen voices.

  Kent’s eyes were gleaming. It seemed to Grosvenor that he moved into the discussion like a man anticipating personal victory. He said, “Let me get this straight. There was such a statement, or there wasn’t. Who else heard it? Raise hands.”

  Not a single hand went up. Kent’s voice was subtly malicious as he said, “Mr. Grosvenor, what exactly did you hear?”

  Grosvenor said slowly, “As I remember them, the words were: ‘This is an opinion. The ship should go home.”

  He paused. When there was no comment, he went on. “It seems clear that the words themselves came as the result of stimulation of the auditory centers of my brain. Something out there feels strongly that it wants us to go home, and I sensed it.” He shrugged. “I do not, of course, offer this as a positive analysis.”

  Kent said stiffly, “The rest of us, Mr. Grosvenor, are still trying to understand why you should have heard this request, and no one else.”

  Once again Grosvenor ignored the tone in which the words were spoken, as he replied earnestly, “I’ve been considering that for the past few seconds, I can’t help but remember that during the Riim incident my brain was subjected to sustained stimulation. It is possible that I am now more sensitive to such communication.” It struck him that his special sensitivity could also explain why he had been able to receive the whisper in his shielded rooms.

  Grosvenor was not surprised at Kent’s slight frown. The chemist had shown that he preferred not to think about the bird people and what they had done to the minds of the members of the expedition. Now Kent said acidly, “I had the privilege of listening to a transcription of your account of the episode. If I recall correctly, you stated that the reason for your victory was that these Riim beings did not realize that it was difficult for a member of one race to control the nervous system of a member of an alien life form. How then do you explain that whatever is out there”—he waved in the direction the ship was heading—“reached into your mind and stimulated with pinpoint accuracy those areas in your brain that produced exactly the warning words you have just repeated to us?”

  It seemed to Grosvenor that Kent’s tone, his choice of words, and his attitude of satisfaction all seemed unpleasantly personal. Grosvenor said pointedly, “Director, whoever stimulated my brain could be aware of the problem presented by an alien nervous system. We don’t have to assume that it can speak our language. Besides, its solution of the problem was a partial one, because I’m the only person who responded to the stimulation. My feeling is that we should not at the moment discuss how I received it, but why, and what are we going to do about it.”

  Chief geologist McCann cleared his throat and said, “Grosvenor is right. I think, gentlemen, we had better face the fact that we have entered somebody else’s stomping ground. And it’s some somebody!”

  The Acting Director bit his lip, seemed about to speak, then hesitated. In the end, he said, “I think we should be careful about letting ourselves believe that we have evidence enough to draw a conclusion. But I do feel that we should act as if we are confronted by an intelligence larger than man—larger than life as we know it.”

  There was silence in the control room. Grosvenor noticed that men were unconsciously bracing themselves. Their lips tightened and their eyes narrowed. He saw that others also had observed the reaction.

  Kellie, the sociologist, said softly, “I am glad—ah—to see that no one shows any sign of wanting to turn back. That is all to the good. As servants of our government and our race, it is our duty to investigate the potentialities of a new galaxy, particularly now that its dominating life form knows we exist. Please note that I am adopting Director Kent’s suggestion and talking as if we actually are dealing with a sentient being. Its ability to stimulate more or less directly the mind of even one person aboard indicates that it has definitely observed us and therefore knows a great deal about us. We cannot permit that type of knowledge to be one-sided.”

  Kent was at ease again, as he said, “Mr. Kellie, what do you think of the environment we’re heading into?”

  The balding sociologist adjusted his pince-nez. “That—ah—is a large one, Director. But this whispering could be the equivalent of criss-crossing radio waves that blanket our own galaxy.

  They—ah—may be simply the outward signs, like coming out of a wilderness into an area of cultivation.”

  Kellie paused. When no one commented, he went on. “Remember, man also has left his imperishable imprint on his own galaxy. In the process of rejuvenating dead suns, he has lighted fires in the form of novae that will be seen a dozen galaxies away. Planets h
ave been led from their orbits. Dead worlds have come alive with verdure. Oceans now swirl where deserts lay lifeless under suns hotter than Sol. And even our presence here in this great ship is an emanation of man’s power, reaching out farther than these whispers around us have ever been able to go.”

  Gourlay, of the communications department, said, “Man’s imprints are scarcely permanent in the cosmic sense. I don’t see how you can speak of them in the same breath with this. These pulsations are live. They’re thought forms so strong, so all-pervading, that the whole of space whispers at us. This is no tentacled pussy, no scarlet monstrosity, no fellah race confined to one system. It could be an inconceivable totality of minds speaking to each other across the miles and the years of their space time. This is the civilization of the second galaxy; and if a spokesman for it has now warned us—” Gourlay broke off with a gasp, and flung up an arm as if to defend himself.

  He was not the only one who did just that. All over the room, men crouched or slumped in their seats—as Director Kent, in a single spasmodic movement, snatched his vibrator and fired it at his audience. It was not until Grosvenor had instinctively ducked that he saw that the tracer beam from the weapon pointed over his head, and not at it.

  Behind him, there was a thunderous howl of agony, and then a crash that shook the floor.

  Grosvenor whirled with the others, and stared with a sense of unreality at the thirty-foot armored beast that lay squirming on the floor a dozen feet behind the last row of seats. The next instant, a red-eyed replica of the first beast materialized in mid-air and landed with a thud ten feet away. A third devil-faced monster appeared, slid off the second, rolled over and over—and got up, roaring.

  Seconds later, there were a dozen of the things.

  Grosvenor drew his own vibrator and discharged it. The bestial roaring redoubled in intensity. Metal-hard scales scraped metal wall and metal floors. Steely claws rattled, and heavy feet stamped.

  All around Grosvenor now, men were firing their vibrators. And still more beasts materialized. Grosvenor turned and scrambled over two rows of seats, then leaped to the lowest platform of the instrument board. The Acting Director ceased firing as Grosvenor climbed up to his level, and yelled angrily, “Where the hell do you think you’re going, you yellow dog?”

  His vibrator swung around—and Grosvenor knocked him down, mercilessly kicking the weapon out of his hand. He was furious, but said nothing. As he leaped to the next platform, he saw Kent crawling after the vibrator. There was no doubt in Grosvenor’s mind that the chemist would fire at him. It was with a gasp of relief that he reached the switch that activated the great multiple-energy screen of the ship, pulled it all the way over, and flung himself to the floor—just in time. The tracer beam of Kent’s vibrator impinged on the metal of the control panel where Grosvenor’s head had been. Then the beam snapped off.

  Kent climbed to his feet and shouted above the uproar, “I didn’t realize what you were trying to do.”

  As an apology, it left Grosvenor cold. The Acting Director had evidently believed that he could justify his murderous action on the grounds that Grosvenor was running from the battle. Grosvenor brushed by the chemist, too angry to talk. For months he had tolerated Kent, but now he felt that the man’s behavior proved him unfit to be director. In the critical weeks ahead, his personal tensions might act as a trigger mechanism that could destroy the ship.

  As Grosvenor came down to the lowest platform, he again added the energy from his vibrator to that of the other men’s. From the corner of his eye, he saw that three men were wrestling a heat projector into position. By the time the projector’s intolerable flame poured forth, the beasts were unconscious from the molecular energy, and it was not difficult to kill them.

  The danger past, Grosvenor had time to realize that these monstrous things had been transported alive across light-centuries. It was like a dream, too fantastic to have happened at all.

  But the odor of burning flesh was real enough. And so was the bluish-grey beast blood that slimed the floor. The final evidence was the dozen or so armored and scaly carcasses that were sprawled about the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When Grosvenor saw Kent again a few minutes later, the Acting Director was coolly and efficiently giving orders into a communicator. Cranes floated in and began to remove bodies. Communicators buzzed with a criss-cross of messages. Swiftly, the whole picture clarified.

  The creatures had been precipitated only into the control room. The ship’s radar registered no material object such as an enemy ship. The distance to the nearest star in any direction was a thousand light-years. All over the room, sweating men cursed as those scanty facts penetrated.

  “Ten light-centuries!” Selenski, the chief pilot, said. “Why, we can’t even transmit messages that far without relays.”

  Captain Leeth came hurrying in. He talked briefly to several scientists, then called a council of war. The commander began the discussion.

  “I need hardly emphasize the hazard confronting us. We are one ship against what seems to be a hostile galactic civilization. For the moment we are safe behind our energy screen. The nature of the menace requires us to set ourselves limited, though not too limited, objectives. We must discover why we are being warned away. We must ascertain the nature of the danger and measure the intelligence behind it. I see our chief biologist is still examining our late adversaries. Mr. Smith, what kind of beasts are they?”

  Smith turned from the monster he had been studying. He said slowly, “Earth could have produced something like their type during the dinosaur age. Judging by the minute size of what appears to be the brainpan, the intelligence must have been extremely low.”

  Kent said, “Mr. Gourlay tells me the beasts could have been precipitated through hyperspace. Perhaps we could ask him to develop on that.”

  Captain Leeth said, “Mr. Gourlay, you have the floor.”

  The communications expert said in his familiar drawl, “It’s only a theory, and fairly recent at that, but it likens the universe to an expanded balloon. When you prick the skin, the balloon instantly starts to deflate, and simultaneously begins to repair the break. Now, oddly enough, when an object penetrates the outer skin of the balloon, it does not necessarily come back to the same point in space. Presumably, if one knew some method of controlling the phenomenon, he might use it as a form of teleportation. If all this sounds fanciful, remember that what has actually happened seems equally so.”

  Kent said acidly, “It’s hard to believe that anyone is that much smarter than we are. There must be simple solutions to the problems of hyperspace, which human scientists have missed. Maybe we’ll learn something.” He paused, then said, “Korita, you’ve been singularly silent. How about telling us what we’re up against?”

  The archaeologist stood up and spread his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “I can’t even offer a guess. We shall have to learn somewhat more about the motivation behind the attack before we can make comparisons on the basis of cyclic history. For example, if the purpose was to seize the ship, then to assail us as they did was a mistake. If the intent was merely to scare us, the attack was a howling success.”

  There was a flurry of laughter as Korita sat down. But Grosvenor noticed that the expression on Captain Leeth’s face remained solemn and thoughtful.

  “As to motivation,” the captain said slowly, “one unpleasant possibility has occurred to me that we should be prepared to face. It fits the evidence to date. It is this: Supposing this potent intelligence, or whatever it is, would like to know where we came from?”

  He paused, and from the way feet shifted and men stirred in their seats, it was clear that his words had struck a responsive chord. The officer went on. “Let’s look at it from—his—point of view. Here is a ship approaching. In the general direction from which it is coming, within ten million light-years, are a considerable number of galaxies, star clusters, and nebulae. Which is us?”

  There was silence in
the room. The commander turned to Kent. “Director, if it’s all right with you, I suggest we examine some of the planetary systems of this galaxy.”

  Kent said, “I have no objection. But now, unless someone else . . .”

  Grosvenor raised his hand. Kent continued, “I declare the meeting—” Grosvenor stood up, and said loudly, “Mr. Kent!”

  “—adjourned!” said Kent.

  The men remained sitting. Kent hesitated, and then said lamely, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Grosvenor, you have the floor.”

  Grosvenor said firmly, “It is hard to believe that this being will be capable of refined interpretation of our symbols, but I think we should destroy our star maps.”

  “I was about to suggest the same thing,” said von Grossen excitedly. “Continue, Grosvenor.”

  There was a chorus of approval, Grosvenor went on. “We are taking action in the belief that our main screen can protect us. Actually, we have no choice but to carry on as if that were true. But when we finally land, we might be advised to have available some large encephalo-adjusters. We could use them to create confusing brain waves, and so prevent any further mind reading.”

  Once more, the audience made enough noise to show that they favored the suggestion.

  Kent said in a flat voice, “Anything else, Mr. Grosvenor?”

  “A general comment only,” said Grosvenor. “The department heads might make a survey of material they control with a view to destroying any that might endanger our race if the Beagle were captured.”

  He sat down amid a chilling silence.

  As time went on, it seemed clear that the inimical intelligence was deliberately refraining from further action, or else that the screen was doing an effective job. No further incident occurred.

  Lonely and remote were the suns at this distant rim of the galaxy. The first sun grew big out of space, a ball of light and heat that burned furiously into the great night. Lester and his staff located five planets close enough to the parent body to be worth investigating. One of the five—all were visited—was habitable, a world of mists and jungles and giant beasts. The ship left it after flying low over an inland sea and across a great continent of marsh growth. There was no evidence of civilization of any kind, much less the stupendous one whose existence they had reason to suspect.