Maltby waited, and finally the announcer said unhappily: “Please do not be alarmed. I have been told contact will probably be re-established.”
An hour went by, and the light did not reappear. Maltby had long since ceased paying more than sporadic attention to the viewplate. His mind was on what Admiral Dreehan had said about the size of the Star Cluster.
He realized the commanding officer had stated the situation fairly. It was a problem laden *with dangerous possibilities. It seemed impossible that any vessel could be as big as Grand Captain Laurr had implied. And therefore the Earth ship was putting on a bluff. At least a part of the proof would be in the number of bombs she set off.
On six successive days the Atmion entered the upper-resonance field of the Earth ship. Each time she maintained contact as long as possible; and then, having verified the enemy vessel’s route, examined the planets of nearby suns. Only once did they find evidence of destruction. And the bomb must have been badly aimed, for it had hit an outer planet normally too cold and remote for its sun to support life.
It was not cold now, but a seething hell of nuclear energy that had fired the rocky crust and penetrated to the metallic core itself. A miniature sun blazed there. The sight of it alarmed no one aboard the Atmion. The probability that one of a hundred bombs would strike an inhabited planet was mathematically so close to zero that the difference didn’t count.
It was on the sixth day of the search when Maltby’s viewplate clicked on; and the image of Vice-admiral Dreehan’s face appeared on it. “Captain Maltby, will you report to my office?”
“Yes, sir.”
Maltby went at once. The adjutant in charge nodded recognition, and admitted him to Dreehan’s cabin. Maltby found the commanding officer sitting in a chair, contemplating what looked like a radiogram. The older man laid the document face down, and motioned Maltby to sit down in the chair across the desk.
“Captain, what is your status among the Mixed Men?” So they had finally got around to that basic question. Maltby did not feel alarmed. He stared at the officer, and allowed an expression of puzzlement to creep over his face. Dreehan was a middle-aged Dellian with the fine physique and handsome appearance of his kind. Maltby said: “I couldn’t tell you exactly how they regard me. Partly as a traitor, I think. Whenever they contact me— which I always report to my superiors—I urge the agent who talks to me to tell his superiors that I recommend a policy of conciliation and integrity.”
Dreehan seemed to consider that, and then he said: “What do the Mixed Men think of this business?”
“I’m not sure. My contact is too vague.”
“Still, you probably have some idea.”
“As I understand it,” said Maltby, “a minority group among them believes that Earth will locate the Fifty Suns, sooner or later, so—they argue—advantage should be taken of the present position. The majority, which is tired of living in hiding, has definitely voted to go along with the rest of the Fifty Suns.”
“By what percentage?”
“Just over four to one.” Maltby spoke the lie without hesitation.
Dreehan hesitated; then, “Is there any possibility that the dissident minority will act unilaterally?”
Maltby said quickly: “They might want to, but they can’t—so I’ve been assured.”
“Why can’t they?”
“They do not have a really skillful space meteorologist among them.”
That was also a lie. The problem went deeper than any skill possessed by either group. The fact was that Hunston wanted to gain control of the Mixed Men by legal means. So long as he believed that he could do so, he would not take the law into his own hands—so Maltby’s advisers had informed him. On that information, he now based his verbal web of falsehood and truth.
Dreehan seemed to be considering his words. He said finally: “The governments of the Fifty Suns are alarmed by the nature of the latest ultimatum—which you have heard—in that it offers such an ideal opportunity to the Mixed Men. They can betray us, and gain advantages as great as might have been theirs had they won the war a generation ago.”
There was nothing Maltby could say to that except repeat a variation of his earlier lie: “I think the four to one victory of those who prefer to stick with the Fifty Suns shows the trend.”
Once more there was a pause. And Maltby wondered what was really behind the interview. Surely they couldn’t be basing their hopes on reassurances from Captain Peter Maltby. Dreehan cleared his throat: “Captain, I’ve heard a great deal about the so-called double mind of the Mixed Men, without ever getting a clear explanation of how it works and what it does. Will you enlighten me?”
“It’s really quite unimportant.” Maltby spoke his third lie quietly. “I think the fear of it during the war had a great deal to do with the ferocity with which the final battles were fought. You know what a normal brain is like—innumerable cells, each one separately connectable to those adjoining it. On that level, the brain of the Mixed Man is no different than yours. Go down another level, and you have in each cell of a Mixed Man a whole series of large, protein, paired molecules. Yours are not paired; his are.”
“But what does that do?”
The Mixed Man has the Dellian ability to resist the breaking down of his mind, and the non-Dellian potentiality for creative work.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all that I know of, sir,” lied Maltby.
“What about that devastating hypnosis they were supposed to have? There is no clear record of how that worked.”
Maltby said, “I understand they used hypnotic devices, a very different thing. It caused a confused terror of the unknown.”
Dreehan seemed to come to a decision. He picked up the radiogram, and handed it to Maltby. “This came for j you,” he said. He added frankly: “If it’s in code, we haven’t been able to break it.”
It was in code all right. Maltby saw that in the first glance. And this was what the Admiral had been leading up to.
The message read:
TO: Captain Peter Maltby,
Aboard battleship Atmion
The government of the Mixed Men wishes to thank you for acting as mediator in the negotiations with the governments of the Fifty Suns. Please be assured that agreements will be lived up to fully, and that the Mixed Men as a group are anxious to obtain the privileges which have been offered.
There was no signature. Which meant that the call for help had been sent by sub-space radio, and monitored directly by the Atmion.
He had to pretend of course that he didn’t know that— until he could make up his mind what to do. He said in a puzzled tone: “I notice there’s no signature. Was that left off on purpose?”
Vice-admiral Dreehan looked disappointed. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Maltby felt briefly sorry for the officer. No Dellian or non-Dellian would ever break the code of that message. Solving the secret of it depended on having two minds trained to associate. The training was so basic in the education of Mixed Men that Maltby had received a full quota before he was captured more than twenty years before.
The essential meat of the real message was that the minority group had announced its intention of contacting the Star Cluster, and had begun a week-long campaign to gain support for the action. Their platform warned that only those who supported them would benefit from the betrayal.
He would have to go there in person. How? His eyes widened a little as he realized that he had only one available method of transportation: this ship. Abruptly, he knew that he had to do it. He began to tense his muscles in the Dellian fashion. He could feel the electric excitement of that stimulation. All in a moment his minds were strong enough.
He sensed the near presence of another mind. He waited till the sensation seemed to be a part of his own body, then he thought: “Blankness!” For a moment he held conscious thought away from his own brain. Finally, he stood up. Vice-admiral Dreehan stood up also in exactly the same way, with the s
ame movements, as if his muscles were controlled by Maltby’s brain. Which they were. He walked to the instrument board, touched a switch. “Give me the engine room,” he said.
With Maltby’s mind directing his voice and his actions, he gave the orders that set the Atmion on a course that would bring it presently to the hidden capital city of the Mixed Men.
Chapter
Four
GRAND CAPTAIN LAURR read the notice of “Nullification,” sat for a few minutes with fists clenched, in anger. And then controlling herself, called Captain Wayless. The officer’s face stiffened as he saw who it was, “Captain,” she said plaintively, “I have just read your document with its twenty-four signatures.”
“It’s legal, I believe,” he said in a formal tone.
“Oh, I’m very sure of that,” she retorted. She caught herself, and went on: “Captain, why this desperate determination to go home immediately? Life is more than legality. We’re engaged in a great adventure. Surely you have some of that feeling left in you.”
“Madam,” was the cool reply, “I have both admiration and affection for you. You have tremendous administrative ability, but you do tend to project your own ideas, and are amazed and hurt when other people have notions different from your own. You are right so often that you lose sight of the fact that once in a while you may be wrong. That is why a big ship like this has thirty captains! to advise you, and, in an emergency, or actually at any time, overrule you according to prescribed regulations; Believe me, we all love you. But we know our duty to the rest of those aboard.”
“But you’re wrong. We can force this civilization out into the open.” She hesitated, then: “Captain, won’t you please go along with me just this once?”
It was a personal appeal, and she regretted almost immediately that she had made it. The request seemed to release his tension. He laughed, tried to hold himself, then laughed again.
“Madam, I beg your pardon,” he said finally, “Please forgive me.”
She was stiff. “What amused you?”
He was sober-faced again. “The phrase ‘Just this once.’ Lady Laurr, have you no recollection of ever having asked us to support some plan of yours before?”
“Perhaps a couple of times.” She spoke with abrupt caution, remembering.
“I haven’t figured it out,” said Captain Wayless, “But just on a rough estimate I would say that you have either asked for our support on a personal basis or else have used your legal command-status no less than a hundred times on this voyage to put over or enforce some idea of your own. Now, for once, the legality is being used against you. And you resent it bitterly.”
“I’m not bitter. I’m—” She broke off. “Ohhhhh, I can see there’s no use talking to you. For some reason or other you’ve decided that six months is all eternity.” “It’s not a matter of the time. It’s a matter of the purpose. You believe without evidence that you can find fifty suns scattered among a hundred million. A big ship just does not take a one-in-two million chance of that kind. If you can’t see that, then for once we have to overrule you, regardless of our personal affection for you.”
The Grand Captain hesitated. The argument was going against her. She saw the need for a more careful presentation of her reasons. She said slowly: “Captain, this is not a mechanical problem. If we were depending on chance alone, then your attitude would be correct. Our hope must be based on psychology.”
Captain Wayless said quietly: “Those of us who signed the ‘Nullification’ did not do so lightly. We discussed the psychological aspect.”
“And on what did you base your rejection of it? Ignorance?”
It was a sharp remark, and she saw that he was irritated. He said formally: “Madam, we have on occasion noted with misgivings your tendency to rely almost exclusively on the advice offered you by Lieutenant Neslor. These meetings you have with her are always private. What is said in them Is never brought into the open, except that suddenly you make a move based on what she has told you.”
The picture startled her a little. She said defensively: “I confess I hadn’t thought of it that way. I merely went to the legally appointed chief psychologist aboard this ship.”
Captain Wayless went on: “If Lieutenant Neslor’s advice is so valuable, then she should be raised to Captain’s rank, and permitted to air her views before the other captains.” He shrugged; and he must almost have read her thought. Because, before she could utter the words, he said: “And please don’t say that you will immediately make the appointment. It takes a month for such a promotion to be put through even if no one objects; and the new captain then sits silent for two months learning the procedure at a council meeting.”
Lady Laurr said grimly: “You won’t permit such a three months delay?”
“No.”
“You won’t consider by-passing ordinary procedure in making such an appointment?”
“In an emergency, yes. But this is merely a notion of yours for finding a lost civilization—which will be searched for, and found eventually, by an expedition dispatched for that purpose.”
“Then you insist on ‘Nullification’?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I shall order a plebiscite for two weeks from today. If it goes against me, and if nothing else turns up, we start for home.”
With a gesture, she broke the connection.
She thought of herself consciously as engaged in warfare on two levels. On the one level, there was the struggle against Captain Wayless, and the four-fifth majority that had enabled him to force a plebiscite. On the other there was the fight she was waging to force the Fifty Suns people out into the open. On both levels, she had just begun to fight. She called “Communication.” Captain Gorson answered. She said: “Are we still in touch with the Fifty Suns ship that is observing us?”
“No. I reported to you when we lost contact. It has not yet been established.” He volunteered: “They’ll probably pick us up again tomorrow when we broadcast our position at that time.”
“Advise me.”
“Of course.”
She broke that connection, and called “Weapons.” A subordinate answered, but she waited patiently till the Captain in charge was called. Then:
“How many bombs have you dropped?”
“Seven altogether.”
“All dropped random?”
“It’s the simplest method, Madam. Probability protects us from hitting a planet capable of supporting life.”
She nodded, but sat frowning anxiously. She said, finally, feeling the need to re-state the situation: “Intellectually, I agree with that. Emotionally—” She broke off. “A single mistake, Captain, and you and I would be put on trial for our lives if it were ever found out.”
He was grim. “I am familiar with that law, your excellency. It is one of the hazards of being in charge of ‘Weapons.’ ” He hesitated, then: “My feeling is that you made a very dangerous threat—dangerous to us, that is. People should not be subjected to such pressures.”
She said curtly: “That’s my responsibility!” And broke the connection.
She stood up then, and paced the floor. Two weeks! It seemed impossible that anything could happen before then. In two weeks, as she had planned it, the psychological pressure on the Dellians and non-Dellians would barely have begun.
Thought of them reminded her. She walked swiftly to the matter transmitter, made the adjustments—and stepped through to the centrally located library, just over a third of a mile from her quarters.
She found herself in the private office of the chief librarian, who was sitting at her desk, writing. The Grand
Captain began instantly: “Jane, have you got that information on the Dellian riots of—”
The librarian started, half-rose from her chair, then sat down again. She sighed. “Gloria, you’ll be the death of me. Can’t you even say hello before you start in?”
The Grand Captain felt contrite. “I’m sorry. I was intent. But have you—”
/> “Yes, I have. If you’d waited another ten minutes, it would have been sent up to you in an orderly fashion. Have you had dinner yet?”
“Dinner! No, of course not.”
“I love the way you say that. And, knowing you, I know exactly what you mean. Well, you’re coming to dinner with me. And there’ll be no discussion of Dellians or non-Dellians until after we’ve eaten.”
“It’s impossible, Jane. I just can’t give the time right now—”
The older woman had climbed to her feet. Now, she came around the desk, and took Lady Laurr firmly by the arm. “Oh, you can’t. Then just consider this. You will not receive any information from me until you’ve had dinner. And go right ahead and invoke your laws and regulations, and see if I care. Come along now.”
For a second she resisted. Then she thought wearily: “It’s this damned human factor. It’s too hard to make people realize!” That tension ended also, and she had a sudden picture of herself, grim and intent, as if the fate of the universe rested on her shoulders. Slowly, she relaxed. She said: “Thank you, Jane. I’d love to have a glass of wine and some dinner.”
But she did not forget that she was right; that, though she might relax for an hour, the reality remained. The Fifty Suns had to be found now for a reason that was only gradually maturing in her brain in all its deadly potentialities.
After dinner, with soft music playing in the background, they discussed the Fifty Suns civilization. The historical outline, as given by the librarian, was remarkably simple and straightforward.
Some fifteen thousand years before, Joseph M. Dell had developed an early variation of the matter transmitter. The machine required mechanical synthesis of certain types of tissue, particularly of the endocrine glands, that could not be properly scanned. Since a human being could step in at one end, and emerge an instant later a thousand miles or more—or less—away, it was not immediately noticed that extremely subtle changes were taking place in the individuals who used the method of teleportation.
A. E. Van Vogt - Novel 18 - Mission to the Stars Page 5