“Climb off it, Jan,” Karl said sharply. “We know it wasn’t easy, but dramatics won’t help.” Jan threw himself sullenly into an overstuffed chair and stared morosely at the ceiling.
Karl pulled himself to his feet and made a quick survey of the room. “. . . thirty-seven, thirty-eight—I guess we’re all here. Go ahead, Henry. You’ve got the floor.”
A tall, prematurely gray man began to speak quietly. “It’s got to be tonight. There is heavy cloud cover over Alta Pass that goes up to twenty thousand feet. If we’re careful, we should be able to take off without detection. I suggest we leave at once. It’ll take some time to move the ship out of the cave and we want to be on our way before the weather clears.”
“Check,” said Karl. He turned to Miranda. “You know your job. The ship will be back to pick up the new crop in ten months or so.”
“I still think you should leave somebody else behind,” she objected. “I can’t listen twenty-four hours a day.”
“You’re just looking for company,” Karl said impatiently. “The unconscious mental signals that mark the change go on for a week or more before the individual knows anything is happening. You’ll have plenty of time to make contact.”
“Oh, all right, but don’t forget to send a relief back for me. It’s going to be lonely with all of you gone.”
Karl gave, her a short but affectionate kiss. “Okay, gang, let’s go.”
THE engine room of the ship consisted simply of an oval table with ten bucket seats spaced equidistantly around it. At the moment, only one of them was occupied. Ferdie sat there, his eyes closed and his face pale and tense. As a hand touched his shoulder, he jumped, and for a moment the ship quivered slightly until the new mind took over.
Ferdie ran his hands through his hair and then pressed them against his aching temples. Then he stood up. There was a slight stagger to his walk as he pulled himself up the ladder into the forward observation room.
“Rough shift?” said Jan.
Ferdie groaned. “They’re all rough. If I’d known how much work was going to be involved in this superman stuff, I’d have arranged to be born to different parents. You may think there is something romantic about dragging this tin ark through hyper-space by sheer mental pressure, but to me it feels like the old horse-and-buggy days with me as the horse. Mental muscle, physical muscle—what’s the difference? It’s still plain hard work. Give me an old-fashioned machine where I can sit back and push buttons.”
“Maybe this was your last turn at the table.” Jan looked out at the gray nothingness on the other side of the observation port. “Karl says we’re due to pull out of warp this evening.”
“And by the time we look around and find that Alpha Centauri has no suitable planets, it’ll be my turn to pull us back in again.”
LATE that evening, a bell clanged through the ship. A moment later, all ten seats in the engine room were occupied.
“Brace yourself and grab hold,” snapped Karl. “This is going to take a heap of twisting.”
It did. Three times, figures collapsed and were quickly replaced by those waiting behind them, but at last they broke through into normal space. With a sigh of relief, they all relaxed. Karl reached over and switched on the ship intercom.
“How does she look up there, Ferdie?”
“Alpha Centauri blazing dead ahead.” There was a slight pause. “Also there’s a small man in a derby hat directly off the starboard bow.”
Those in the engine room deserted their posts and made a mad dash for the forward observation compartment. Ferdie was standing as if transfixed, staring raptly out into space. As Karl came up and grabbed his arm, he pointed with a shaking finger.
“Look!”
Karl looked. A plump little figure wearing a severly cut business suit, high-buttoned shoes, spats, and a derby hat was floating a scant five yards from the observation port. He waved cheerily at them and then opening the briefcase he carried, removed a large sheet of paper. He held it up and pointed to the words lettered on it in large black print.
“What does it say?” demanded Karl. “My eyes don’t seem to be working.”
Ferdie squinted. “This is insanity.”
“It says that?”
“No, I do. It says, ‘May I come on board?’ ”
“What do you think?”
“I think we’re both crazy, but if he wants to, I say let him.”
KARL made a gesture of assent to the figure floating outside and pointed aft to the airlock. The little man shook his head, unbuttoned his vest, and reached inside it. He twiddled with something for a moment and then disappeared. A split-second later, he was standing in the middle of the observation compartment. He took off his hat and bowed politely to the jaw-dropped group.
“Your servant, gentlemen. My name is Thwiskumb—Ferzial Thwiskumb. I’m with Gliterslie, Quimbat and Swench, Exporters. I was on my way to Formalhaut on a customer service call when I noted an odd disturbance in sub-ether, so I stopped for a moment to see what would come out. You’re from Sol, aren’t you?”
Karl nodded dumbly.
“Thought so,” said the little man. “Do you mind if I ask your destination?”
He had to repeat the question before he was able to get a coherent answer. Ferdie was the first to recover enough from shock to say anything.
“We were hoping to find a habitable planet in the Alpha Centauri system.”
Mr. Thwiskumb pursed his lips. “There is one, but there are difficulties. It’s reserved for the Primitives, you see. I don’t know how the Galactic Council would view settlement. Of course, the population has been shrinking of late and there’s practically nobody left on the southern continent.” He stopped and thought. “Tell you what I’ll do. When I get to Formalhaut, I’ll give the Sector Administrator a call and see what he has to say. And now if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late for my appointment. Gliterslie, Quimbat and Swench pride themselves on their punctuality.”
He was reaching inside his vest again when Karl grabbed his arm. The flesh felt reassuringly solid.
“Have we gone insane?” begged the leader.
“Oh, dear me, of course not,” said Mr. Thwiskumb, disengaging himself gently. “You’re just a few thousand years behind on the development cycle. The migration of the Superiors from our home planet took place when your people were still in the process of discovering the use of fire.”
“Migration?” repeated Karl blankly.
“The same thing you’re off on,” said the little man. He removed his glasses and polished them carefully. “The mutations that follow the release of atomic power almost always end up in the evolution of a group with some sort of control over the terska force. Then the problem of future relations with the Normals comes up, and the Superiors quite often decide on a secret migration to avoid future conflict. It’s a mistake, though. When you take a look at Centauri III, you’ll see what I mean. I’m afraid you’ll find it a depressing place.”
Placing his derby firmly on his head, he gave a genial wave of farewell and disappeared.
A wild look was in Karl’s eyes as he held up his arms for silence.
“There’s just one thing I want to know,” he said. “Have I or have I not been talking to a small man in a derby hat for the past five minutes?”
FORTY-EIGHT hours later, they pulled away from Centauri III and parked in free space until they could decide what they wanted to do. It was a depressed and confused group that gathered in the forward observation compartment to discuss their future.
“There’s no use wasting time now talking about what we saw down there,” said Karl. “What we’ve got to decide is whether we’re going to push on to other solar systems until we find a planet that will suit our needs, or whether we are going to return to Earth.”
A little red-headed girl waved her hand.
“Yes, Martha?” Karl said.
“I think we are going to have to talk about what we saw down there. If our leaving Earth mean
s that we are condemning it to a future like that, we’re going to have to go back.”
There was an immediate objection from a tense young man in horn-rimmed glasses.
“Whether we go back or ahead will make little difference in our lifetimes, so we can’t be accused of personal selfishness if we don’t return to Earth. The people it will make a difference to are our descendants. That strange little man who materialized among us two days ago and then vanished is a concrete demonstration of what they can be—if we stay apart and develop the new powers that have been given us. I say the welfare of the new super-race is more important than that of the Ordinaries we left behind!”
There was a short muttering of agreement as he sat down.
“Next?” Karl asked.
Half a dozen people tried to get the floor at once, but Ferdie managed to get recognized.
“I say go back!” he stated. “And since the previous speaker was talking about accusations, let me say that I can’t be accused of personal bias, either. As far as I’m concerned, I would just as soon spend the next several years cruising around to the far corners to see what’s up. But the longer we’re gone, the harder it will be to fit ourselves back into normal society.
“Look, we left Earth because we thought it was the best thing for mankind. And when I say mankind, I mean the Normals, the parent race. What we saw down there—” he gestured in the direction of Centauri III—“is dramatic proof that we were wrong. It would seem that a scattering of Superiors is somehow necessary to keep human society from collapsing. Maybe we act as a sort of essential catalyst or something. Whatever it is, we’re needed. If we walk out on Man, we’ll never be able to live with ourselves in our brave new world.”
KARL looked worried. “I think I agree with you,” he said, “but if we go back, we’ll be dumped into the old problem of future relations again. Right now there are so few of us that if we were found out, we’d be looked upon as freaks. But what’s going to happen when our numbers start to shoot up? Any group that has special powers is suspect, and I don’t relish the thought of condemning our descendants to a world where they’ll have to kill or be killed.”
“If worst comes to worst, they can always take off the way we did,” replied Ferdie. “But I’d like to point out that migration was the first solution proposed and the one we’ve given all our attention to. There must be other ways out. if we look for them. We’ve got to give it a try, anyway.” He turned to the young man in the horn-rimmed glasses. “How about it, Jim?”
The other nodded reluctantly. “I’m dubious, but maybe we should go back and make the try you’ve been talking about.” His voice sharpened. “Under one condition, though. If the Normals start to give us any trouble, we get out again!”
“I’ll agree to that,” said Ferdie. “How about the rest of you?”
“Let’s make it official,” said Karl. “All in favor of returning?” The ayes had it.
There was a sound of polite applause from the doorway. Mr. Thwiskumb had returned. “A very wise decision,” he said, “very wise. It demonstrates a commendable social maturity. I am sure your descendants will thank you for it.”
“I don’t know what for,” said Karl sadly. “We’re robbing them of all the things that you have. Instantaneous teleportation, for example. It’s no particular sacrifice for us—we’re just starting to develop the powers within us—but it will be for them. I don’t know if we are right, asking them to pay such a price.”
“What about the other price?” demanded Ferdie. “What about that scrawny grimy gang down on Centauri III, sitting apathetically in the hot sun and scratching themselves? We also have no right to condemn the Ordinaries to a future like that.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be doing that,” said Mr. Thwiskumb mildly. “Those people down there aren’t Ordinaries.”
“What!”
“Dear me, no. They weren’t the ones that were left behind. They are the descendants of those who migrated. Those poor devils down there are pure-blooded Superiors. When they ran into the limiting factor, they just gave up.”
“Then what accounts for you? You’re obviously a Superior.”
“THAT’S s a very kind thing to say,” answered the little man, “but I’m just as ordinary as anyone can be. We’re all Ordinaries where I come from. Our Superiors left a long time ago.” He chuckled. “It’s a funny thing—at the time, we didn’t know they were gone, so we didn’t miss them. We just went about business as usual. Later, we found them, but it was already too late. You see, the big difference was that we had an unlimited area of development and they didn’t. There’s no limit to the machine, but there is to the human organism. No matter how much training you have, there is a limit to how loud you can shout. After that, you have to get yourself an amplifier.
“A slight neural rearrangement makes it possible for you to tap and control certain sources of physical energy that aren’t directly available to the ordinary man of your planet, but you are still dealing with natural forces . . . and natural organic limits. There is a point beyond which you can’t go without the aid of the machine, an organic limiting factor. But after several generations spent in mastering what is inside your heads, rather than struggling for control of the world around you, and the time comes when your natural limits are reached, the very concept of the machine has been lost. Then where do you go from there?”
He waited for an answer, but nobody offered one.
“There is an old story in our folklore,” he continued, “about a boy who bought himself an animal somewhat like your terrestrial calf. He thought that if he lifted it above his head ten times a day while it was little, he would build up his strength gradually until he would still be able to lift it over his head when it was a full-grown animal. He soon discovered the existence of a natural limiting factor. Do you see what I mean? When those people down there reached their natural limits, there was no place for them to go but backward. We had the machine, though, and the machine can always be made smaller and better, so we had no stopping point.”
He reached inside his vest and pulled out a small shining object about the size of a cigarette case. “This is hooked by a tight beam to the great generators on Altair. Of course I wouldn’t, but I could move planets with it if I wanted to. It’s simply a matter of applying a long enough lever, and the lever, if you’ll remember, is a simple machine.”
Karl looked dazed. In fact, everyone did.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “yeah, I see what you mean.” He turned to the group. “All right, let’s get back to the engine room. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us.”
“How long?” asked the little man.
“Four months if we push it.”
“Shocking waste of time.”
“I suppose you can do better?” Karl inquired belligerently.
“Oh, dear me, yes,” said Mr. Thwiskumb. “It would take me about a minute and a half. You Superiors dawdle so—I’m glad I’m normal.”
JAN was doing a happy little dance through his apartment when his buzzer rang. He opened the door and Ferdie stepped in.
“I came up on the elevator,” he said. “It’s a lot easier on the nerves. My, you look pleased with yourself. I know why, too—I saw her coming out of the lobby when I came in. She walked as if she were wearing clouds instead of shoes.”
Jan did a little caper. “We’re getting married next week and I got my job back.”
“I got mine back, too,” said Ferdie. “Old Kleinholtz gave me a little lecture about walking out on him when work was at its heaviest, but he was too pleased with himself to do more than a perfunctory job. When he took me back into the lab, I saw why. He’s finally got his gadget running.”
“What did it turn out to be? A time machine?”
Ferdie grinned mysteriously. “Something almost as good. It lifts things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Any kind. Even people. Old Kleinholtz had a little set of controls rigged up that he could strap to hi
s chest. He turned the machine on and went flying around the lab like a bird.” Jan’s jaw dropped. “The way we do?”
“Just the same, boy. He’s found a way to tap the terska force. Really tap it, not suck little driblets out, as we do. Another ten years and the Ordinaries will be able to do anything we can do, only better. And a good thing, too. Telepathy gives us headaches, and levitation is a pleasant Sunday afternoon pastime, but hardly something to build a civilization on. As Mr. Thwiskumb said, the machine has no natural limits, so I guess our worries about the future are over. Nobody is going to be unhappy about us being able to fly thirty miles an hour when they can make it instantaneous. Looks like superman is obsolete before he even had a chance to get started.”
He stretched his arms and yawned. “Guess I’d better get home and hit the sack. It’s going to be a busy day at the lab tomorrow.”
He walked over to the open window and looked out.
“Flying home?” asked Jan.
Ferdie grinned and shook his head. “I’m waiting until the new improved model comes out.”
THE MASTERS
Earth still had one surprise for the conquerors from space
SO heavy!” groaned the last earthman to himself as he laboriously pried up a heavy flagstone with the butt of an old halberd. “So very, very, heavy.”
As the flat rock finally toppled over, he bent down, with all the speed his complaining back would permit, and grabbed a centipede that was scuttling for safety. Grimacing slightly, he bit off its head and sucked out its little ration of unsatisfying juices. While he did so, he nearsightedly scanned the moist ground the flagstone had covered, to see if there was anything else. But that section of his larder was empty. With a weary grunt he moved over to the next paving stone. When he had it halfway up, he saw a fine Wiggling underneath. Before he could do anything about it, there was a sudden shattering of the night silence, as something exploded in the high distance. Startled, he let the halberd drop—almost smashing a toe in the process—and looked up. As he watched, there came another thundering, and, with the harsh explosions, a flickering light flood. The ragged mountains that cupped his tiny signory jumped in and out of darkness. By the time he recovered his vision the sound was almost overhead. He squinted upward into the darkness as the flashes came again, less bright this time. Then he saw a strange something descending toward him on spouting pillars of emerald flame.
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