Space Beagle- the Complete Adventures

by A. E. van Vogt

  Grosvenor said, “So much for the factual data. I also, among other things, performed the experiment of taking out the lifeboat and letting the space dust drift in through open doors. What I was interested in was: If it’s life, what does it feed on? So after I had pumped the air back into my lifeboat, I analyzed it. Then I killed a couple of small animals, and again analyzed the atmosphere. I sent samples of the atmosphere as it was before and after to Mr. Kent, Mr. von Grossen, and Mr. Smith. There were several very minute chemical changes. They could be attributed to analytical error. But I should like to ask Mr. von Grossen to tell you what he found.”

  Von Grossen blinked and sat up. “Was that evidence?” he asked in surprise. He turned in his seat, and faced his colleagues with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t see the significance,” he said, “but the molecules of air in the sample marked ‘After’ carried a slightly higher electric charge.”

  It was the decisive moment. Grosvenor gazed down at the upturned faces of the scientists and waited for the light of understanding to come to at least one pair of eyes.

  The men sat solid, puzzled expressions on their faces. One individual said finally, in a wry voice, “I suppose we’re expected to jump to the conclusion that we are dealing with a nebular-dust intelligence.

  That’s too much for me to swallow.” Grosvenor said nothing. The mental jump he wanted them to make was even more farfetched than that, though the difference was subtle. Already, the feeling of disappointment was strong in him. He began to stiffen himself for the next step.

  Kent said sharply, “Come, come, Mr. Grosvenor. Explain yourself, and then we will make up our minds.”

  Grosvenor began reluctantly. “Gentlemen, your failure to see the answer at this point is very disturbing to me. I foresee that we are going to have trouble. Consider my position. I had given you the available evidence, including a description of the experiments which led me to identify our enemy. It is already clear that my conclusions will be regarded as distinctly controversial. And yet, if I am right—I’m convinced of it—failure to take the action I have in mind will be disastrous for the human race and for all other intelligent life in the universe. But here is the situation: If I tell you, then the decision is out of my hands. The majority will decide, and there will be no legal recourse from their decision, so far as I can see.”

  He paused to let that sink in. Some of the men glanced at each other, frowning. Kent said, “Wait, I have already come up against the stone wall of this man’s egotism.”

  It was his first hostile comment of the meeting. Grosvenor glanced at him quickly, then turned away, and went on. “It is my unhappy lot to inform you, gentlemen, that under the circumstances, this problem ceases to be scientific and becomes political. Accordingly, I have to insist that my solution be accepted. A satisfactory propaganda must be launched, in which Acting Director Kent and every head of a department commits himself to the notion that the Space Beagle will have to remain in space the equivalent of five Earth years extra, though we should act as if it were five star years. I am going to give you my interpretation, but I want each head to adjust himself to the notion that he must irrevocably stake his reputation and good name on this matter. The danger, as I see it, is so all-embracing that any petty squabbling we do will be disgraceful according to the time we spend on it.”

  Succinctly, he told them what the danger was. Then, without waiting for their reaction, he outlined his method of dealing with it.

  “We’ll have to find some iron planets and set the productive capacity of our ship to the making of atomically unstable torpedoes. I foresee that we will have to spend nearly a year traversing this galaxy and sending out such torpedoes in great numbers at random. And then, when we have made this entire sector of space virtually untenable for him, we depart and offer him the opportunity of following us, this last at a time when he will have literally no recourse but to pursue our ship in the hope that we will lead him to another and better source of food than is available here. Most of our time will be taken up in making sure that we do not guide him back to our own galaxy.”

  He paused, then said quietly, “Well, gentlemen, there you have it. I can see on various faces that the reaction is going to be a split one and that we are in for one of those deadly controversies.”

  He stopped. There was silence, and then a man said, “Five years.”

  It was almost a sigh, and it acted like a cue. All over the room, men stirred uneasily.

  Grosvenor said quickly, “Earth years.”

  He had to keep pressing that. He had deliberately chosen what seemed the longer way to estimating time, so that, when translated into star years, it would seem somewhat less. The fact was that Star Time, with its hundred-minute hour, its twenty-four hour day, and its three-hundred-and-sixty-day year, was a psychological device. Once adjusted to the longer day, people tended to forget how much time was passing according to their older ways of thinking.

  In the same way, now, he expected them to feel relieved when they realized that the extra time would amount to just about three years, Star Time.

  Kent was speaking: “Any other comments?”

  Von Grossen said unhappily, “I cannot honestly accept Mr. Grosvenor’s analysis. I have great respect for him in view of his past performances. But he is asking us to take on faith what I am sure we could understand if he actually had valid evidence. I reject the notion that Nexialism provides so sharp an integration of sciences that only individuals trained by its methods can hope to understand the more intricate interrelated phenomena.”

  Grosvenor said curtly, “Aren’t you rejecting rather hastily something which you have never troubled to investigate?”

  Von Grossen shrugged, “Perhaps.”

  “The picture I have,” said Zeller, “is of us spending many years and much effort, and yet not once will we have anything but the most indirect and insubstantial evidence that the plan is working.”

  Grosvenor hesitated. Then he realized that he had no alternative but to continue to make antagonistic statements. The issue was too important. He could not consider their feelings. He said, “I’ll know when we’ve been successful, and if some of you people will deign to come to the Nexial department and learn a few of our techniques, you’ll know it also when the time comes.”

  Smith said grimly. “Mr. Grosvenor has this in his favor. He is always offering to teach us how to be his equal.”

  “Any more comments?” It was Kent, his voice shriller, and edged with triumph.

  Several men made as if to speak, but seemingly thought better of it. Kent went on, “Rather than waste any time, I think we should take a vote as to what the majority feels about Mr. Grosvenor’s proposal. I’m sure we all want to have a general reaction.”

  He walked forward slowly. Grosvenor could not see his face, but there was arrogance in the way the man held himself. Kent said, “Let’s have a showing of hands. All in favor of accepting Mr.

  Grosvenor’s method—which involves remaining five extra years in space—please raise your hands.” Not a single hand came up.

  A man said querulously, “It’ll take a little while to think this through.”

  Kent paused to answer that. “We’re trying to get the as-of-now opinion. It’s important to all of us to know what the chief scientists of this ship think.”

  He broke off, and called out, “Those definitely against, raise your hands!”

  All except three hands came up. In a lightning glance, Grosvenor identified the three who had abstained. They were Korita, McCann, and von Grossen.

  Belatedly, he saw that Captain Leeth, who stood near Kent, had also abstained.

  Grosvenor said quickly, “Captain Leeth, this is surely a moment when your constitutional right to take control of the ship would apply. The danger is obvious.”

  “Mr. Grosvenor,” said Captain Leeth slowly, “that would be true if there were a visible enemy. As it is, I can act only on the advice of the scientific experts.”

  “There
is only one such expert aboard,” said Grosvenor coldly. “The others are a handful of amateurs who dabble around on the surface of things.”

  The remark seemed to stun most of those in the room. Abruptly, several men tried to speak at once. They spluttered into angry silence.

  It was Captain Leeth who said, finally, in a measured tone, “Mr. Grosvenor, I cannot accept your unsupported claim.”

  Kent said satirically, “Well, gentlemen, we now have Mr. Grosvenor’s true opinion of us.”

  He seemed unconcerned with the insult itself. His manner was one of ironic good humor. He seemed to have forgotten that he had a duty as Acting Director to maintain an atmosphere of dignity and courtesy.

  Meader, head of the botany subsection, reminded him angrily, “Mr. Kent, I do not see how you can tolerate such an insolent remark.”

  “That’s right,” said Grosvenor, “stand up for your rights. The whole universe is in deadly danger, but your sense of dignity must be maintained.”

  McCann spoke for the first time, uneasily. “Korita, if there were a kind of entity out there such as Grosvenor has described, how would that fit in with cyclic history?”

  The archaeologist shook his head unhappily. “Very tenuously, I’m afraid. We could postulate a primitive life form.” He looked around the room. “I am far more concerned with the evidences of the reality of cyclic history among my friends. Pleasure in the defeat of a man who has made us feel a little uneasy because of his achievements. The suddenly revealed egomania of that man.” He gazed regretfully up at Grosvenor’s image. “Mr. Grosvenor, I am very disappointed that you have seen fit to make the statements that you have.”

  “Mr. Korita,” said Grosvenor soberly, “if I had adopted any other course than the one I have actually pursued you would not even have had the privilege of hearing me tell these honorable gentlemen—many of whom I admire as individuals—what I have told them, and what I have still to say.”

  “I feel confident,” said Korita, “that the members of this expedition will do what is necessary, regardless of personal sacrifice.”

  “It’s hard to believe that,” said Grosvenor. “I feel that many of them were influenced by the fact that my plan would require five extra years in space. I confess it’s a cruel necessity, but I assure you there is no alternative.”

  He broke off, curtly. “Actually, I expected this outcome, and prepared for it.” He addressed himself to the group as a whole. “Gentlemen, you have compelled me to take an action which, I assure you, I regret more than I can ever say. Here is my ultimatum.”

  “Ultimatum!” That was Kent, surprised, suddenly pale.

  Grosvenor ignored him. “If by 1000 hours tomorrow my plan has not been accepted, I take over the ship. Everybody aboard will find himself doing what I order whether he likes it or not. Naturally, I expect that the scientists aboard will pool their knowledge in an attempt to prevent my carrying out such a stated purpose. Resistance, however, will be useless.”

  The uproar that began then was still going on when Grosvenor broke the connection between his communicator and the control room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was about an hour after the meeting when Grosvenor received a call on his communicator from McCann.

  “I’d like to come up,” said the geologist.

  Grosvenor was cheerful. “Come along.”

  McCann looked doubtful. “I’m assuming you have the corridor booby-trapped.”

  “We-e-l-11, yes, I suppose you could call it that,” Grosvenor agreed, “but you’ll not be troubled.”

  “Suppose I came with the secret intention of assassinating you?”

  “Here in my rooms,” said Grosvenor with a positiveness which he hoped would impress any listeners-in, “you couldn’t even kill me with a club.”

  McCann hesitated, then said, “I’ll be right up!” He broke the connection.

  He must have been very near, for it was less than a minute later that the hidden corridor detectors began to report his approach. Presently, his head and shoulders flashed across a communicator plate, and a relay switch closed into position. Since it was part of an automatic defense process, Grosvenor deactivated it manually.

  A few seconds later, McCann came through the open door. He paused on the threshold and then came forward shaking his head.

  “I was worried there. Despite your reassurance, I had the feeling that batteries of weapons were pointing at me. And yet I saw nothing.” He looked searchingly into Grosvenor’s face. “Are you pulling a bluff?”

  Grosvenor said slowly, “I’m a little worried myself. Don, you’ve shaken my faith in your integrity. I honestly didn’t expect you to come up here carrying a bomb.”

  McCann looked blank. “But I’m not. If your instruments show any such—” He stopped. He took off his coat. He began to search himself. Suddenly, his movements slowed. His face was pale as he brought up a wafer-thin grey object about two inches long. “What is it?” he asked.

  “A stabilized plutonium alloy.”

  “Atomic!”

  “No, it’s not radioactive, not as it is. But it can be dissolved into a radioactive gas by the beam from a high-frequency transmitter. The gas would give us both radiation burns.”

  “Grove, I swear to you that I knew nothing of this.”

  “Did you tell anyone you were coming?”

  “Naturally. This whole part of the ship is blocked off.”

  “In other words, you had to get permission?”

  “Yes. From Kent.”

  Grosvenor hesitated, then said, “I want you to think hard about this. At any time during the interview with Kent did you feel that the room was hot?”

  “W-why, yes. I remember now. I had the feeling that I was going to suffocate.”

  “How long did that last?”

  “A second or so.”

  “Hmmm, that means you were out probably ten minutes.”

  “Out?” McCann was scowling. “Well, I’ll be damned. That little wretch drugged me.”

  “I could probably find out for sure just how much of a dose you were given.” Grosvenor spoke deliberately. “A blood test would do it.”

  “I wish you’d make it. That would prove—”

  Grosvenor shook his head. “It would only prove that you actually underwent such an experience. It wouldn’t prove that you didn’t do so willingly. Far more convincing to me is the fact that no man in his right senses would permit plutonium alloy Pua-72 to be dissolved in his presence. According to my automatic nullifiers, they’ve been trying to dissolve it now for at least a minute.”

  McCann was white. “Grove, I’m through with that vulture. I admit I was in a state of conflict, and I agreed to report to him the result of my conversation with you—but I intended to warn you that I had to make such a report.”

  Grosvenor smiled. “It’s all right, Don. I believe you. Sit down.”

  “What about this?” McCann held out the small metal “bomb.”

  Grosvenor took it and carried it to the little vault he had for his radioactive material. He came back and seated himself. He said, “I imagine there’ll be an attack. The only way Kent could justify to the others what he’s done is to make sure that we are rescued in time for us to be given medical treatment for radioactive bums.”

  He finished. “We can watch it in that plate.”

  The attack registered first on several electronic detectors of the electric-eye type. Faint lights flashed on a wall instrument board, and a buzzer sounded.

  They saw the attackers presently as images on the large plate above the instruments. About a dozen men in space suits rounded a distant corner and approached along the corridor. Grosvenor recognized von Grossen and two of his assistants from the physics department, four chemists, of whom two were from the biochemistry division, three of Gourlay’s communications experts, and two weapon officers. Three soldiers brought up the rear, riding, respectively, a mobile vibrator, a mobile heat gun, and a large gas-bomb dispenser.
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  McCann stirred uneasily. “Isn’t there another entrance to this place?”

  Grosvenor nodded. “It’s guarded.”

  “What about down and up?” McCann indicated the floor and the ceiling.

  “There’s a storeroom above, and a motion-picture theatre below. Both are taken care of.”

  They fell silent. Then, as the group of men in the corridor stopped, McCann said, “I’m surprised to see von Grossen out there. I think he admires you.”

  Grosvenor said, “I stung him when I called him and the others amateurs. He’s come to see for himself what I can do.”

  Out in the corridor, the group of attackers seemed to be consulting. Grosvenor went on. “What, specifically, brought you up here?”

  McCann’s gaze was on the plate. “I wanted you to know you were not completely alone. Several executives asked me to tell you they were with you.” He broke off distractedly. “Let’s not talk now, not while that’s going on.”

  “Now is as good a time as any.”

  McCann seemed not to hear. “I don’t see how you’re going to stop them,” he said uneasily.

  “They’ve got enough power out there to burn down your walls.”

  Grosvenor made no comment, and McCann faced him. “I’ve got to be frank with you,” he said. “I’m in a state of conflict. I feel sure you’re right. But your tactics are too unethical for me.” He appeared unaware that he had turned his attention from the viewing plate.

  Grosvenor said, “There’s only one other possible tactic, and that is to run for election against Kent. Since he’s only Acting Director, and was not himself elected, I could probably force an election within about a month.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Because,” said Grosvenor with a shudder, “I’m afraid. The thing—out there—is practically starving to death. At any time it’s liable to make a try for another galaxy, and it might very well go for ours. We can’t wait a month.”

  “And yet,” McCann pointed out, “your plan is to drive it from this galaxy, and you’ve estimated that will take a whole year.”