The Universe Maker

by A. E. van Vogt

  "And I," said Cargill, "will try to assure that I also survive the attack." It was a point he intended to keep driving home—that he had a stake now in their success.

  There, was no time for Withrow to comment. Dark specks appeared among the fleecy clouds. Almost instantly, the sky was full of volors. They came in over the river, low and in close formation. Even as Cargill watched the rushing machines he was aware that the group of officers were watching him. They expected a reaction. The question was, what should his response be?

  He strained to recall the thousands of planes that he had seen in action, the scores of times he had stood on the battered soil of Korea and watched allied and enemy planes maneuver for the kill.

  The volors whistled by a few hundred feet above the ground. He judged their speed to be as great as that of a jet plane. With a hiss of tortured air the volors plunged past. Cargill turned to follow their flight but they were already gone into the glare of the sun in the eastern sky—and the time had undoubtedly come for him to say something.

  He began to ask questions. "Just what is the nature of the assault you're planning? Will you attack in flight formation or is it going to be individual ships diving down?"

  Withrow said coldly, "Their protective pyramid of energy goes down and we dive in."

  "We plan to attack without regard for danger," said Commander Greer.

  Cargill was silent. He knew that kind of attitude, and it was basically sound except for one thing. He said, "I'd like to see this from the other side before I tell you my ideas." He pointed. "From up there. Can we go up?"

  He sat presently in the co-pilot's chair in the control room and watched the volor climb. The machine rocketed upward like a shooting star. Cargill was squeezed back into his seat. The blood seemed to drain from his body. And then he felt the ship leveling off, and he saw the earth flow by below. Cargill finally turned to the men who were crowded into a series of small seats in the control room. He said to Commander Greer, "How many weapons do you have aboard?"

  The officer leaned forward and indicated a trigger device in front of the pilot. "From here," he said, "you can see everything below us. You just have to make these hair lines balance on the target, then press the trigger. The billion-tube goes into action."

  Cargill nodded, unhappily. One times one times one times one times zero equalled a billion with this tube, the power of which could be varied at will. He had learned some trick mathematics at college, where one times one equalled one and a half and one plus one equalled three. But this was a million, billion, quadrillion times different. Here was the power source of this era: a variable tube. From what he had seen and heard he gathered that it provided an energy flow of a non-electric nature.

  He stopped his thoughts. They had turned and were rushing back toward the city. They crossed the river like a shot from a gun. The city blurred by beneath them, then they were catapulting above a tremendous forest. A second city bunked by below, came into sight again at the volor and its companions made a U-turn in perfect formation, and then the city was lost to sight in the distant haze. The speed of the volors was colossal. Cargill had a singing feeling of wonder at their rate of travel.

  Before he could speak again the capital showed ahead and they were diving. The ground rushed up to meet them. He saw the firing fields ahead. The pilot gripped the firing device and pressed the trigger gently. Flame rolled up from below, a colossal sheet of it. Cargill strained to look back through the transparent floor. He had a brief glimpse of a raging inferno, then that was gone behind them.

  From the back of the control room the satirical voice of Withrow said, "Well, Captain Cargill, what advice can you offer us?"

  The man sounded arrogant. His tone indicated that he at least took it for granted that the Tweener air force was perfect as it was. Clearly he would attach no value to any minor suggestions made by a man from the remote dark ages of the twentieth century. Cargill drew a deep breath and accepted the challenge.

  He said, "The fighting' standards of this air force are too low. Any appreciable resistance would, in my opinion, shatter the attack. And unquestionably there will be resistance. Certain comments I have heard seem to indicate the belief that the Shadows will be overwhelmed in the first minutes of the attack. Such a notion strikes me as utterly fantastic." He did not look directly at any of the pilots individually, as he coolly went on.

  He described how in his experience entire divisions had been withdrawn from battle because the men had been trained by officers who did not know how to put fighting spirit into their soldiers: "Such divisions," he explained, "can be massacred by resistance forces that would normally not even be able to slow down a fighting division."

  He continued hi an inexorable tone, "The shock to the nervous system of a man under fire for the first time has to be experienced to be understood. On the ground the method used was to land him on an enemy beach or otherwise commit him to battle—and then to depend on his- training to carry him through. Those who survive a series of such engagements-become seasoned veterans, all this providing they have been handled well by their officers. In the air force, bombers made their bomb runs and then headed for home. In this way the crews were under heavy fire for only a few minutes at a tune and so those that survived became enormously cunning and skillful."

  He dared to pause at that moment and take a lightning glance at the faces of the officers. It was a long time since he had seen so many white faces. He pressed on quickly.

  "As for specific suggestions for the volors, here's my picture. You've got to have weapons in the rear, so that you can fire at the target coming and going. In addition, I think you should have fighter protection for the volors that actually attack the target. And any attack should be in broken formation from all sides, unevenly and without pattern. Practice that." He broke off. "As for the pilots, let me give them lectures during the next few weeks and accustom them to the idea that they may have to endure fire for hours." He shrugged. "And now I'll have to think over any further points. Let's go down."

  The landing was smooth as glass. They drew up before a huge, streamlined building. Absently, as he talked to Greer, Cargill watched Withrow walk over to a group of officers under an alcove. When he looked again a minute later the group seemed to be in earnest conversation. Presently one of the men sauntered over and Cargill recognized the officer who that morning had ferried him from Ann Reece's home to the airfield— a man named Nallen.

  The man said casually, "Whenever Captain Cargill is ready, I'll take him home."

  Commander Greer held out his hand. "We'll be seeing you again, Captain. Your recommendations shocked me but I can already see what you mean."

  Cargill accepted the proffered handshake, but his thoughts were on Nallen and Withrow. They were obviously members of a separate group. He was determined to discover their purpose.

  A few minutes later he was hi a floater, heading out over the city. He had not long to wait. Withrow stepped out of the control room, followed by two other officers. He sank into the seat across the aisle from Cargill. There was a faint ironic smile on his face.

  "Captain," he said, "I have to make an apology to you. I put on an arrogant front in order to conceal my true intentions. I represent a group which is opposed to the Shadow war. It is our opinion that you cannot be violently in favor of the attack. Accordingly, we want to ask your advice and to offer you some in turn. You must try to win Miss Reece to your point of view. Grannis tells us the best method would be for you to try to make love to her—"

  "Grannis!"

  Cargill echoed.

  He sat blankly, letting the shock waves subside. But, he thought finally, with an almost owlish seriousness, that didn't make sense. Grannis was the Shadow behind these murderous schemes. Why should he advise—

  He found himself stiffening. It was possible that there was no hope here. The deadly thing in all this was that if Grannis didn't like any particular development he could use his control of time to nullify it. ... To hell
with that, Cargill decided grimly. He'd fight this thing with every tool at his disposal. Here, in Withrow and his group, was possibly such a tool. He said curtly: "Just what kind of organization do you have?"

  He listened thoughtfully as Withrow gave him a description of a loose-knit body of men, mostly business people and middle-aged officers, who met hi each other's homes, and more or less openly discussed their opposition to the developing war. It struck Cargill finally that the very openness of it must be a protection. Evidently, the opposition was known, but was probably discounted by those hi power, probably because of the very openness of the talk. It was likely, too, that the government people were so inept that they didn't recognize a rebellion when they saw it.

  When Withrow had finished, Cargill said: "How many people have you got? I'd like an estimate." "About sixty thousand."

  The figure was unexpectedly large, and Cargill whistled softly to himself. He said slowly: "We'll have to change the set-up of the organization somewhat. Too many people know, each other, and besides there's not enough certainty that they will act hi a crisis." He described the cell system used by the Communists in the twentieth century, where only six individuals knew each other, except for the leader who had contacts with the leaders of other groups.

  Cargill explained: "I hate to unload a thing like that on you, but it conquered half the world in my time, and I must admit I acquired some respect for the methods used, though I had none for the murderous ethics behind the original use of it. What makes this use of it worthwhile is that it's an attempt to stop war, not start one."

  He went on, crisply: "Each cell, or group of cells, should be assigned certain projects. Estimate how many it will take, and start them to planning exactly what each group of cells, each cell group, and what each individual in the group will do when the signal is given. As I've said, back in the twentieth century, we had an opportunity to watch the forcible transfer of governmental control many, many times.

  "So make a list of all the people who are likely to be troublesome, or who could be rallying points for the opposition. At a predetermined moment, you place them all under arrest, take control of the centers of communication, and start issuing orders. Get the important military leaders on our side—if you can. When there's doubt of the outcome, a leader with a large force at his disposal can sway the balance."

  There were further questions from Withrow, but they mostly involved repetition of what Cargill had already said. During the final few minutes of the flight, Cargill was silent. He thought of his dream of Merlic, the mountain city of 7301 A.D. "I'm certainly going against what they wanted," he acknowledged. "If the Tweeners have to win this war in order to make Merlica real, then by stopping the war, I'm deliberately destroying their chances."

  It all seemed fantastic and far away, somehow invalidating all his thinking about the life-force. And yet, he felt doggedly convinced that his evaluation of what had "happened" in Merlic was correct. If the meeting between Bruch and himself had occurred in some weird fashion, then the plan Bruch had advanced was a trick that somebody was trying to play on him. Who the somebody might be, he had no idea; and indeed it seemed incredible when he thought of it in that way.

  Who, or what, in the entire universe would be in a position to play such a trick on him? On the other hand, if it were all fantasy, then his plan to stop this oncoming Tweener-Shadow war—before he was compelled to disengage the pyramid switch—was the soundest, sanest thing he could do. The future would have to look after itself, as it had been doing for a long time now.

  In spite of his doubts about the reality of what had already occurred, Cargill felt himself unwilling to give up the thoughts he had had about the possible nature of the human spirit. More than that, he had some memories from his "dream" that he wanted to consider as soon as he had a few hours to spare. What he had pictured about space-time in that dream made a curious sense indeed. The mere possibility that the material universe had existed for several million million years invalidated all ideas of the origin of life-force. By implication, all these ideas were based on a few thousand years of history. The enormous age of the continuum could not be ignored. It was obvious that the life-force must have come up from its far beginnings in a direct line of development.

  If there were such an aliveness as the thing that men had called a soul, it was as old as the aliveness called God. And different, as a bright light is different from darkness, from the pictures of it that the minds of men had conjured hi the dark, ignorant ages of human progression.

  In the "dream" state, Cargill remembered tensely, he had perceived things that, when he thought of them now, pointed towards the possibility that he might be able to repeat the experience he had already had. On the basis of that memory, there were things he could do to make himself more aware. As soon as he had tune, he would make another great effort.

  He could not escape the feeling that further action along that line would be as vital as anything else he was doing.

  Beside him, Withrow said: "Here we are."

  14

  As the machine came in for a landing, Cargill remembered about Ann Reece. "I'll woo the young lady," he said, laughing. "I don't think there will be any result, though it may distract her attention from other things."

  But it was a week before he even saw her again. And then, annoyingly, she chose an evening to be home when Withrow and he had a rendezvous in the terrace garden.

  Night. It was time for him to meet Withrow. The trouble was, it seemed to the irritated Cargill, Ann Reece showed no inclination to leave the living room. He watched her from his chair as she paced the floor. She stopped suddenly and stared at him with narrowed eyes.

  "In spite of all my efforts these last few days," she said, "you've done it." Her tone was accusing. "You've put off the attack at least a month, possibly longer," she said. "I tried to convince them it was a trick on your part but Commander Greer swore that your criticism showed a grave weakness in our attack tactics. The leaders have accepted that."

  She came close to him and there was no hint of the satirical lightness of manner which he had come to expect of her. "Captain Cargill," she said grimly, "you're playing this game altogether too well to suit our group. We've decided to accept the delay this time but—" She stopped. Her rather full lips were drawn into a menacing smile.

  Cargill studied her, fascinated. In spite of his will to get her out of the way, the very depth of her determination caught his interest. He said slowly, "What puzzles me is that a young woman as good looking as you should be a conspirator in man's game of war."

  The words were seriously spoken. Not until he had uttered them did he realize they could be an opening wedge for the lovemaking Grannis had suggested; A secondary possibility appeared. He stood up. "Where I come from," he said, "a girl had a pretty clear idea that a man in uniform who whistled at her didn't want to talk about the ideals he was fighting for."

  The remark must have been unexpected, its import far from her thoughts. She gave him a startled look and then a frown creased her forehead. She said curtly, "Stay away from me."

  As the machine came in for a landing, Cargill remembered about Ann Reece. "I'll woo the young lady," he said, laughing. "I don't think there will be any result, though it may distract her attention from other things."

  But it was a week before he even saw her again. And then, annoyingly, she chose an evening to be home when Withrow and he had a rendezvous in the terrace garden.

  Night. It was time for him to meet Withrow. The trouble was, it seemed to the irritated Cargill, Ann Reece showed no inclination to leave the living room. He watched her from his chair as she paced the floor. She stopped suddenly and stared at him with narrowed eyes.

  "In spite of all my efforts these last few days," she said, "you've done it." Her tone was accusing. "You've put off the attack at least a month, possibly longer," she said. "I tried to convince them it was a trick on your part but Commander Greer swore that your criticism showed a grave weakness in our
attack tactics. The leaders have accepted that."

  She came close to him and there was no hint of the satirical lightness of manner which he had come to expect of her. "Captain Cargill," she said grimly, "you're playing this game altogether too well to suit our group. We've decided to accept the delay this time but—" She stopped. Her rather full lips were drawn into a menacing smile.

  Cargill studied her, fascinated. In spite of his will to get her out of the way, the very depth of her determination caught his interest. He said slowly, "What puzzles me is that a young woman as good looking as you should be a conspirator in man's game of war."

  The words were seriously spoken. Not until he had uttered them did he realize they could be an opening wedge for the lovemaking Grannis had suggested; A secondary possibility appeared. He stood up. "Where I come from," he said, "a girl had a pretty clear idea that a man in uniform who whistled at her didn't want to talk about the ideals he was fighting for."

  The remark must have been unexpected, its import far from her thoughts. She gave him a startled look and then a frown creased her forehead. She said curtly, "Stay away from me."

  Cargill walked slowly toward her. It seemed to him Grannis had definitely misread this cold young woman, but more sharply now he saw in her visible perturbation the solution to that secondary problem of his. "You must," he said, "have grown up under very curious circumstances. It's unusual to see a woman of your courage so afraid of herself."

  She stopped backing away. Her voice showed that his words had struck deep. She said too sharply, "Our group has a single purpose, to destroy the Shadows. When that is accomplished there will be time enough to think of marrying and having children."

  Cargill paused five feet from her. "I can tell you right now," he said, "you've got the wrong slant about what goes on during a war. The birth rate goes up, not down. Every hospital is filled with women carrying out some man's desperate determination to survive the war if only by proxy."