The second question made her glance across at the orbit board. The board was aglitter with orbit symbols. That wretched old man, disobeying her injunction NOT to prepare any orbits. Smiling twistedly she walked over and studied the shining things, and finally sent an order to central engines. She watched as her great ship plunged into night. After all, she thought, there was such a thing as playing two games at the same time. Counterpoint was older in human relations than it was in music.
The first day she stared down at the outer planet of a blue-white sun. It floated in the darkness below the ship, an airless mass of rock and metal, drab and terrible as any meteorite, a world of primeval canyons and mountains untouched by the leavening breath of life. Spy rays showed only rock, endless rock, not a sign of movement or of past movement.
There were three other planets, one of them, a warm, green world where winds sighed through virgin forests and animals swarmed on the plains. Not a house showed, nor the erect form of a human being.
Grimly the woman said into the inter-ship communicator: “Exactly how far can our spy rays penetrate into the ground?”
“A hundred feet.”
“Are there any metals which can simulate a hundred feet of earth?”
“Several, noble lady.”
Dissatisfied, she broke the connection. There was no call that day from Psychology House.
The second day, a giant red sun swam into her impatient ken. Ninety-four planets swung in their great orbits around their massive parent. Two were habitable, but again there was the profusion of wilderness and of animals usually found only on planets untouched by the hand and metal of civilization.
The chief zoological officer reported the facts in his precise voice: “The percentage of animals parallels the mean for worlds not inhabited by intelligent beings.” The woman snapped: “Has it occurred to you that there may have been a deliberate policy to keep animal life abundant, and laws preventing the tilling of the soil even for pleasure?”
She did not expect, nor did she receive, an answer. And once more there was not a word from Lieutenant Neslor, the chief psychologist.
The third sun was farther away. She had the speed stepped up to twenty light days a minute—and received a shocking reminder as the ship bludgeoned into a small storm. It must have been small because the shuddering of metal had barely begun, when it ended.
“There has been some talk,” she said afterward to the thirty captains assembled in the captain’s pool, “that we return to the galaxy and ask for an expedition that will uncover these hidden rascals. One of the more whining of the reports that have come to my ears suggests that, after all, we were on our way home when we made our discovery, and that our ten years in the Cloud have earned us a rest.”
Her gray eyes flashed; her voice grew icy. “You may be sure that those who sponsor such defeatism are not the ones who would have to make the personal report of failure to his majesty’s government. Therefore, let me assure the faint hearts and the homesick that we shall remain another ten years if it should prove necessary. Tell the officers and crew to act accordingly. That is all.”
Back in the main bridge, she saw that there was still no call from Psychology House. There was a hot remnant of anger and impatience in her, as she dialed the number. But she controlled herself as the intent, intelligent face of Lieutenant Neslor appeared on the plate.
“What is happening, lieutenant?” she asked. “I am anxiously waiting for further information from the prisoner.”
The woman psychologist shook her head. “Nothing to report.”
“Nothing!” Her amazement was harsh in her voice.
“I have asked twice,” was the answer, “for permission to break his mind. You must have known that I would not lightly suggest such a drastic step.”
“Oh!” She had known, but the disapproval of the people at home, the necessity for accounting for any amoral action against individuals, had made refusal an automatic response. Now—Before she could speak, the psychologist continued:
“I have made some attempts to condition him in his sleep, stressing the uselessness of resisting Earth when eventual discovery is sure. But that has only convinced him that his earlier revelations were of no benefit to us.”
The leader found her voice. “Do you really mean, lieutenant, that you have no plan other than violence? Nothing?”
In the astroplate, the image head made a negative movement. The psychologist said simply: “An 800 I.Q. resistance in a 167 I.Q. brain is something new in my experience.”
The woman felt a great wonder. “I can’t understand it,” she complained. “I have a feeling we’ve missed some vital clue. Just like that, we run into a weather station in a system of fifty million suns, a station in which there is a human being who, contrary to all the laws of self-preservation, immediately kills himself to prevent himself from falling into our hands.
“The weather station itself is an old model galactic affair, which shows no improvements after fifteen thousand years; and yet the vastness of time elapsed, the caliber of the brains involved suggest that all the obvious changes should have been made.
“And the man’s name, Watcher, is so typical of the ancient pre-spaceship method of calling names on Earth according to the trade. It is possible that even the sun, where he is watching, is a service heritage of his family. There’s something—depressing—here somewhere that—”
She broke off, frowning: “What is your plan?” After a minute, she nodded. “I see . . . very well, bring him to one of the bedrooms in the main bridge. And forget that part about making up one of our strong-arm girls to look like me. I’ll do everything that’s necessary. Tomorrow. Fine.”
Coldly she sat watching the prisoner’s image on the plate. The man, Watcher, lay in bed, an almost motionless figure, eyes closed, but his face curiously tense. He looked, she thought, like someone discovering that for the first time in four days, the invisible force lines that had bound him had been withdrawn.
Beside her, the woman psychologist hissed: “He’s still suspicious, and will probably remain so until you partially ease his mind. His general reactions will become more and more concentrated on one plan. Every minute that passes will increase his conviction that he will have only one chance to destroy the ship, and that he must be decisively ruthless regardless of risk. I have been conditioning him the past ten hours to resistance to us in a very subtle fashion. You will see in a moment . . . ah-h!”
Watcher was sitting up in bed. He poked a leg from under the sheets, then slid forward, and onto his feet. It was an oddly powerful movement. He stood for a moment, a tall figure in gray pajamas. He had evidently been planning his first actions because, after a swift look at the door, he walked over to a set of drawers built into one wall, tugged at them tentatively, and then jerked them open with an effortless strength, snapping their locks one by one.
Her own gasp was only an echo of the gasp of Lieutenant Neslor.
“Good heavens!” the psychologist said finally. “Don’t ask me to explain how he’s breaking those metal locks. Strength must be a by-product of his Dellian training. Noble lady—”
Her tone was anxious; and the grand captain looked at her. “Yes?”
“Do you think, under the circumstances, you should play such a personal role in his subjection? His strength is obviously such that he can break the body of anyone aboard—”
She was cut off by an imperious gesture. “I cannot,” said the Right Honorable Gloria Cecily, “risk some fool making a mistake. I’ll take an anti-pain pill. Tell me when it is time to go in.”
Watcher felt cold, tense, as he entered the instrument room of the main bridge. He had found his clothes in some locked drawers. He hadn’t known they were there, but the drawers aroused his curiosity. He made the preliminary Dellian extra energy movements; and the locks snapped before his superior strength.
Pausing on the threshold, he flicked his gaze through the great domed room. And after a moment his terrible fear that he a
nd his kind were lost, suffered another transfusion of hope. He was actually free.
These people couldn’t have the faintest suspicion of the truth. The great genius, Joseph M. Dell, must be a forgotten man on Earth. Their release of him must have behind it some plan of course but—
“Death,” he thought ferociously, “death to them all, as they had once inflicted death, and would again.”
He was examining the bank on bank of control boards when, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the woman step from the nearby wall. He looked up, and thought with savage joy: The leader! They’d have guns protecting her, naturally, but they wouldn’t know that all these days he had been frantically wondering how he could force the use of guns.
Surely to space, they couldn’t be prepared to gather up his component elements again. Their very act of freeing him had showed psychological intentions.
Before he could speak, the woman said, smilingly: “I really shouldn’t let you examine those controls. But we have decided on a different tactic with you. Freedom of the ship, an opportunity to meet the crew. We want to convince you . . . convince you—”
Something of the bleakness and implacableness of him must have touched her. She faltered, shook herself in transparent self-annoyance, then smiled more firmly, and went on in a persuasive tone: “We want you to realize that we’re not ogres. We want you to end your alarm that we mean harm to your people. You must know, now that we have found you exist, that discovery is only a matter of time. Earth is not cruel, or dominating, at least not any more. The barest minimum of allegiance is demanded, and that only to the idea of a common unity, the indivisibility of space. It is required, too, that criminal laws be uniform, and that a high minimum wage for workers be maintained. In addition, wars of any kind are absolutely forbidden. Except for that, every planet or group of planets, can have its own form of government, trade with whom they please, live their own life. Surely, there is nothing terrible enough in all this to justify the curious attempt at suicide you made when we discovered the weather station.”
He would, he thought, listening to her, break her head first. The best method would be to grab her by the feet, and smash her against the metal wall or floor. Bone would crush easily and the act would serve two vital purposes:
It would be a terrible and salutary warning to the other officers of the ship. And it would precipitate upon him the death fire of her guards. In these confines they would realize too late that only flame could stop him.
He took a step toward her. And began the faintly visible muscle and nerve movements so necessary to pumping the Dellian body to a pitch of superhuman capability.
The woman was saying: “You stated before that your people have inhabited fifty suns in this space. Why only fifty? In twelve thousand or more years, a population of twelve thousand billion would not be beyond possibility.” He took another step. And another. Then he knew that he must speak if he hoped to keep her unsuspicious for those vital seconds while he inched closer. Closer. He said, “About two thirds of our marriages are childless. It has been very unfortunate, but you see there are two types of us, and when intermarriage occurs as it does without hindrance—”
Almost he was near enough; he heard her say: “You mean a mutation has taken place; and the two don’t mix?” He didn’t have to answer that. He was ten feet from her; and like a tiger he launched himself across the intervening gap.
The first fire beam ripped through his body too low to be fatal, but it brought a hot scalding nausea and a dreadful heaviness. He heard the grand captain scream: “Lieutenant Neslor, what are you doing?”
He had her then. His fingers were grabbing hard at her fending arm, when the second blow struck him high in the ribs and brought the blood frothing into his mouth. In spite of all his will, he felt his hands slipping from the woman. Oh space, how he would have liked to take her into the realm of death with him.
Once again the woman screamed: “Lieutenant Neslor, are you mad? Cease fire!”
Just before the third beam burned at him with indescribable violence, he thought with a final and tremendous sardonicism: “She still didn’t suspect. But somebody did; somebody who at this ultimate moment had guessed the truth.”
“Too late,” he thought, “too late, you fools! Go ahead and hunt. They’ve had warning, time to conceal themselves even more thoroughly. And the Fifty Suns are scattered, scattered among a million stars, among—”
Death caught his thought.
The woman picked herself off the floor, and stood dizzily striving to draw her roughly handled senses back into her brain. She was vaguely aware of Lieutenant Neslor coming through a transmitter, pausing at the body of the Gisser Watcher then hurrying toward her.
“Are you all right, my dear? It was so hard firing through an astroplate that—”
“You mad woman!” the grand captain caught her breath. “Do you realize that a body can’t be reconstituted once fire has destroyed vital organs. It is the one method that is final. We’ll have to go home without—” She stopped. She saw that the psychologist was staring at her.
Lieutenant Neslor said, “His intention to attack was unmistakable and it was too soon according to my graphs. All the way through, he’s never fitted anything in human psychology. At the very last possible moment I remembered Joseph Dell and the massacre of the Dellian supermen fifteen thousand years ago. Fantastic to think that some of them escaped and established a civilization in this remote part of space.
“Do you see now: Dellian—Joseph M. Dell—the inventor of the Dellian perfect robot.”
Chapter
One
THE street loudspeaker clattered into life. A man’s voice said resonantly:
“Attention, citizens of the planets of the Fifty Suns. This is the Earth battleship Star Cluster. In a few moments, the Right Honorable Gloria Cecily, Lady Laurr of Noble Laurr, Grand Captain of the Star Cluster, will make an announcement.”
Maltby, who had been walking towards an airlift car, stopped as the voice sounded from the radio. He saw that other people were pausing also.
Lant was a new planet for him; its capitol city was delightfully rural after the densely populated Cassidor, where the Fifty Suns Space Navy had its main base. His own ship had landed the day before, on general orders commanding all warships to seek refuge immediately on the nearest inhabited planet.
It was an emergency order, with panic implicit in it. From what he had heard at officers’ mess, it was clear that it had something to do with the Earth ship whose broadcast was now being transmitted over the general alarm system.
On the radio, the man’s voice said impressively: “And here is Lady Laurr.”
A young woman’s clear, firm silvery voice began: “People of the Fifty Suns, we know you are there. “For several years, my ship the Star Cluster, has been mapping the Greater Magellanic Cloud. Accidentally, we ran into one of your space meteorological stations, and captured its attendant. Before he succeeded in killing himself, we learned that somewhere in this cloud of about a hundred million stars, there are fifty inhabited sun systems with a total of seventy planets with human beings living on them.
“It is our intention to find you, though it may seem at first thought that it will be impossible for us to do so. Locating fifty suns scattered among a hundred million stars seems difficult in a purely mechanical way. But we have devised a solution to the problem that is only partly mechanical
“Listen well now, people of the Fifty Suns. We know who you are. We know that you are the Dellian and non-Dellian robots—so called; not really robots at all, but flesh and blood humanoids. And, in looking through our history books, we have read about the foolish riots of fifteen thousand years ago that frightened you, and made you leave the main galaxy and seek sanctuary far away from human civilization.
“Fifteen thousand years is a long time. Men have changed. Such unpleasant incidents as your ancestors experienced are no longer possible. I say this to you in order to ease your fears. Because
you must come back into the fold. You must join the Earth galactic union, subscribe to certain minimum regulations, and establish interstellar commercial ports.
“Because of your special reasons for concealing yourselves, you are allowed one sidereal week to reveal to us the location of your planets. During that time, we shall take no action. After that time, for each sidereal day that passes without contact being established, there will be a penalty.
“Of this you may be sure. We shall find you. And quickly!”
The speaker was silent, as if to let the meaning of the words sink in. Near Maltby, a man said: “Only one ship. What are we afraid of? Let’s destroy it before it can go back to the galaxy and report our presence.”
A woman said uneasily: “Is she telling the truth, or is she bluffing? Does she really believe they can locate us?”
A second man spoke gruffly: “It’s impossible. It’s the old needle in the haystack problem, only worse.”
Maltby said nothing, but he was inclined to agree. It seemed to him that Grand Captain Laurr, of the Earth ship, was whistling in the greatest darkness that had ever hidden a civilization.
On the radio, the Right Honorable Gloria Cecily was speaking again:
“In the event that you do not keep time the way we do, a sidereal day is made up of twenty hours of a hundred minutes each. There are a hundred seconds in a minute, and in that second light travels 100,000 miles exactly. Our day is somewhat longer than the old style day in which a minute was sixty seconds, and light-speed 186,300-odd miles a second.
“Govern yourselves accordingly. One week from today I shall call again.”
There was a pause. And then the voice of a man—not the one who had introduced the woman—said:
“Citizens of the Fifty Suns, that was a transcribed message. It was delivered about an hour ago, and was rebroadcast on the instructions of the Fifty Suns council in accordance with our desire to keep the populace abreast of all developments in this, the most serious danger that has ever threatened us.
A. E. Van Vogt - Novel 18 - Mission to the Stars Page 2