Seven Come Infinity

by Groff Conklin

  “Any number in possession of a ship or a long-range transmitter. Or any number too large for us to remove without leaving evidence of it.”

  “Have it your own way,” said Kaznitz.

  “I intend to,” Lagasta assured.

  The first boat returned with the same news as before, namely, no Terrans, no sign that a Terran had ever been within a million miles of the planet. Eight more boats came back at varying intervals and made identical reports vouching for a total lack of Terrans in their respective sectors. One pilot added that he became so convinced that Yaksid must have suffered a delusion that on his return he had gone out of his way to cut through that worthy’s sector. Yes, he had seen the stone house with his own two eyes. No, he had not observed any sign of life around the place.

  Yaksid appeared last.

  “I went straight to the house and circled it as before. Again a Terran came out and watched me. He also waved to me.”

  “It was the same Terran?” demanded Lagasta.

  “He may have been. I don’t know. One cannot study a face on the ground when flying a scout boat. Besides, all Terrans look alike to me. I can’t tell one from another.”

  “Well, what happened after that?”

  “I made low-level inspection of a surrounding area ten times larger than last time. In fact I overlapped by quite a piece the search lines of boats seven and eight. There was not another house or even a tent, much less an encampment.”

  Lagasta brooded over this information, eventually said, “The occupants of that house are by themselves in a strange world. That’s a form of loneliness sufficiently appalling to guarantee that they’d rush out headlong for a look at a ship. If six, ten or twelve Terrans were crammed in that hut, they’d get stuck in the doorway in their haste to see Yaksid’s boat. But only one showed himself the first time. Only one showed himself the second time. I think there’s not more than one in that hut.”

  “So do I,” offered Yaksid.

  Kaznitz said to Yaksid, “He waved to you on both occasions. Did he appear to be waving for help?”

  “No.”

  “Does it matter?” Lagasta asked.

  “If he were a marooned survivor, one would expect him to jump at a chance of rescue.”

  “Not at our hands. He could see at a glance that the scout boat was not a Terran one. He’d take no chance with another species.”

  Then why did he show himself? Why didn’t he hide and leave us in sweet ignorance of his existence?”

  “Because he couldn’t conceal the hut,” replied Lagasta, showing lack of patience. He wouldn’t need to,” Kaznitz persisted. “When you seek cover from a prospective enemy you don’t take your house with you.”

  “Kaznitz, there are times when you irritate me beyond measure. Just what have you got on your mind?”

  “Look, you believe that in that building is the only Terran upon this world. Right?”

  “Right!”

  “He can have got here in only one of two ways, namely, by accident or by design. Right?”

  “Right!”

  “If he doesn’t want help, he’s not here by accident. He’s here by design. Right?” Lagasta evaded the point. “I don’t care if he’s here by a miracle. It will take more than the presence of one lousy alien to make me give up a new world.”

  “I suspect there is more—more to it than meets the eye.”

  “That may be so. I am no fool, Kaznitz. Your suspicion of Terrans is no greater than mine. But I refuse to flee at first sight of one of them.”

  “Then what do you think we should do?”

  “There are eight of us with enough knowledge of Terran gabble to limp through a conversation. We should have a talk with this character. If he’s here for a purpose, we must discover what it is.”

  “And afterward?”

  “It may prove expedient to make him disappear. A deplorable necessity. But, as you never cease to remind me, Kaznitz, life is full of deplorable things. And, like everyone else, this Terran must expect to have an unlucky day sooner or later. When he and his hut have vanished from the face of creation we can defy anyone to prove that we were not here first.”

  “Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as that,” opined Kaznitz.

  “You wouldn’t. You were alarmed at birth and the feeling has never worn off.” Havarre put in uneasily, “As I said before, we should be very careful. But I see no harm in having a talk with this Terran. Neither his authorities nor ours can object to that. Nothing in our orders forbids us to speak.”

  “Thanks be to the suns for at least one bit of half-hearted support,” said Lagasta piously. “We’ll move the ship to where this stone hut is located. No need to load the scout boats on board. Let them fly with us. They’ll help to make us look more imposing.”

  “Want me to order the crew to make ready right now?” inquired Havarre. “Yes, you do that. We’ll invite our prospective victim to dinner. Some of his kind are said to be fond of strong drink. We’ll feed him plenty, sufficient to loosen his tongue. If he talks enough, he may save his neck. If he talks too much, he may get his throat cut. It all depends. We’ll see.”

  “Bet you ten days’ pay you’re wasting your time,” offered Kaznitz.

  “Taken,” agreed Lagasta with alacrity. “It will be a pleasant change to have you go moody over your losses and my gains.”

  As the ship came down Lagasta stood by a port and studied the rising house. “Neat and solid. He could possibly have built it himself. The door and windows could have come from a dismantled lifeboat. The rock slabs are local material and what looks like cement is probably hard mud.”

  “Still clinging to the theory of a lone survivor from some cosmic wreck?” asked Kaznitz.

  “It’s a likely explanation of why there is one Terran and only one.” Lagasta glanced at the other. “Can you offer a better solution?”

  “Yes. They’ve isolated a plague carrier.”

  “What?”

  “Could be. What do we know of their diseases?”

  “Kaznitz, why do you persist in producing the most unpleasant ideas?”

  “Somebody has to consider the possibilities. When one knows almost nothing about another species what can one do but speculate? The only available substitutes for facts are guesses.”

  “They don’t have to be repulsive guesses.”

  “They do—if your main purpose is to take no risks.”

  “If this character is bulging with alien bacteria to which we have no resistance, he could wipe out the lot of us without straining a muscle.”

  “That could happen,” agreed Kaznitz cheerfully.

  “Look here, Kaznitz, your morbid mind has put us in a fix. Therefore it is for you to get us out of it.”

  “How?”

  “I am appointing you to go to that house and find out why that Terran is here. It’s your job to make sure that he’s safe and sanitary before we allow him aboard.”

  “He may refuse to come aboard. It could seem much like walking into a trap.”

  “If he won’t come to us, we’ll go to him. All you need do, Kaznitz, is first make sure that he is not loaded with death and corruption. I’ve no wish to expire as the result of breathing in bad company.”

  At that point the ship grounded with crunching sounds under the keel. The ten scout boats circled overhead, came down one by one and positioned themselves in a neat row. Lagasta had another look at the house now two hundred yards away. The alien occupant could be seen standing in the doorway gazing at the arrivals but his face was hidden in deep shadow.

  “On your way, Kaznitz.”

  With a shrug of resignation, Kaznitz got going. While many pairs of eyes looked on he went down the gangway, trudged to the house, halted at the door. For a short while he and the Terran chatted. Then they went inside, remained for twenty minutes before they reappeared. They headed for the ship. Lagasta met them at the mid air lock.

  “This,” introduced Kaznitz, “is Leonard Nash. He
says we should call him Len.”

  “Glad to know you,” responded Lagasta with false cordiality. “It’s all too seldom we meet your kind.” He studied the Terran carefully. The fellow was short, broad and swarthy with restless eyes that seemed to be trying to look six ways at once. There was something peculiar about him that Lagasta could not place; a vague, indefinable air of being more different than was warranted even in an alien. Lagasta went on, “I don’t think I’ve spoken to more than twenty Terrans in all my life. And then only very briefly.”

  “Is that so?” said Len.

  “Yes,” Lagasta assured.

  “Too bad,” said Len. His eyes flickered around. “Where do we eat?”

  Slightly disconcerted, Lagasta took the lead. “This way to the officers’ mess. We are honored to have you as our guest.”

  “That’s nice,” responded Len, following.

  At the table Lagasta seated the newcomer on his right, said to Havarrre, “You speak some Terran so you sit on his other side.” Then surreptitiously to Kaznitz, “You sit on my left—I want a word with you soon.”

  The ship’s officers filed in, took their places. Lagasta made formal introduction while Len favored each in turn with a blank stare and a curt nod. Dinner was served. The Terran tasted the first dish with suspicion, pulled a face and pushed it away. The next course was much to his liking and he started scooping it up with single-minded concentration. He was an unashamed guzzle-guts and didn’t care who knew it.

  Lagasta grabbed the opportunity to lean sidewise and question Kaznitz in his own language. “You sure he’s not full of disease?”

  “Yes.”

  “How d’you know?”

  “Because he’s expecting to be picked up and taken home before long. In fact he has recorded the date of his return.”

  “Ah! So the Terrans do know he’s here?” Lagasta suppressed a scowl.

  “Yes. They dumped him here in the first place.”

  “Alone?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  After digesting this information, Lagasta growled, “It doesn’t make sense. I think he’s lying.”

  “Could be,” said Kaznitz.

  Stewards brought bottles. Len’s reaction to drink was the same as that to food: a wary and suspicious sip followed by lip-smacking approval and greedy swallowing. Whenever a new course was brought in his active eyes examined all the other plates as if to check that they didn’t hold more than was on his own. Frequently he signed for his glass to be filled. His general manner was that of one cashing in on a free feed. Perhaps, thought Lagasta, it was excusable in one who’d had an entire world to himself and may have gone hungry most of the time. All the same, he, Lagasta, didn’t like Terrans and liked this one even less.

  With the long meal over and the officers gone, Lagasta, Kaznitz and Havarre settled down to more drinking and an informative conversation with their guest. By this time Len was feeling good, sprawling in his chair, a full glass in one hand, his face flushed with an inward glow. Obviously he was mellow and in the mood to talk.

  Lagasta began politely with, “Company, even strange company, must be more than welcome to one leading such a lonely life as yours.”

  “Sure is,” said Len. “There’ve been times when I’ve talked to myself for hours. Too much of that can send a fellow off his head.” He took an appreciative swig from the glass. “Thank God I’ve a date marked on the wall.”

  “You mean you’re here for a limited time?”

  “I was dumped for four years maximum. Most of it’s now behind me. I’ve only seven more months to go—then it’s home, sweet home.”

  Seeing no satisfactory way of getting to the point obliquely, Lagasta decided to approach it on the straight. “How did you come to be put here in the first place?”

  “Well, it was like this: I was a three-time loser and—”

  “A what?”

  “I’d done two stretches in prison when I qualified for a third. The judge gave me fifteen to twenty years, that being mandatory. So I was slung into the jug.” He sipped his drink reminiscently. “Hadn’t been there a week when I was called to the warden’s office. Two fellows there waiting for me. Don’t know who they were. Said to me, ‘We’ve been taking a look at you. You’re in good physical condition. You’re also in a jam and plenty young enough to have regrets. How’d you like to do four years in solitary?’”

  “Go on,” urged Lagasta, managing to understand about three-quarters of it. “Naturally, I asked who was crazy. I’d been plastered with fifteen to twenty and that was suffering enough. So they said they weren’t trying to pin something more on me. They didn’t mean four years in addition to—they meant four instead of. If I wanted it I could have it and, what’s more, I’d come out with a clean sheet.”

  “You accepted?”

  “After crawling all over them with a magnifying glass looking for the gag. There had to be one somewhere. The law doesn’t suddenly ease up and go soft without good reason.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “Wanted me to take a ride in a spaceship. Said it might plant me on an empty world. They weren’t sure about that but thought it likely. Said if I did get dumped all I had to do was sit tight for four years and behave myself. At the end of that time I’d be picked up and brought home and my prison records would be destroyed.”

  “So you’re a criminal?”

  “Was once. Not now. Officially I’m a solid citizen. Or soon will be.”

  Kaznitz put in with mild interest, “Do you intend to remain a solid citizen after your return?”

  Giving a short laugh, Len said, “Depends.”

  Staring at him as if seeing him for the first time, Lagasta remarked, “If it were possible to make a person acquire respect for society by depriving him of the company of his fellows, it could be done in jail. There would be no need to go to the enormous trouble and expense of putting him on some faraway uninhabited planet. So there must be some motive other than the reformation of a criminal. There must be an obscure but worthwhile purpose in placing you here.”

  “Search me,” said Len indifferently. “So long as I get the benefit, why should I care:

  “You say you’ve been here about three and a half Earth-years?”

  “Correct.”

  “And nobody has visited you in all that time?”

  “Not a soul,” declared Len. “Yours are the first voices I’ve heard.”

  “Then,” persisted Lagasta, “how have you managed to live?”

  “No trouble at all. When the ship landed the crew prospected for water. After they’d found it they put down a bore and built the shack over it. They fixed a small atomic engine in the basement; it pumps water, heats it, warms and lights the place. They also swamped me with food, books, games, tape-recordings and whatever. I’ve got all the comforts of the Ritz, or most of them.”

  “Then they left you to do nothing for four years?”

  “That’s right. Just eat, sleep, amuse myself.” Then by way of afterthought, “And keep watch.”

  “Ah!” Lagasta’s long ears twitched as he pounced on that remark. “Keep watch for what?”

  “Anyone coming here.”

  Leaning back in his seat, Lagasta eyed the other with ill-concealed contempt. Under clever questioning and the influence of drink the fellow’s evasions had been driven from the sublime to the ridiculous. Persistent liars usually gave themselves away by not knowing when to stop.

  “Quite a job,” commented Lagasta, dangerously oily, “keeping watch over an entire planet.”

  “Didn’t give me any gray hairs,” assured Len. He exhibited an empty glass and Havarre promptly filled it for him.

  “In fact,” Lagasta went on, “seeing that you have to eat and sleep, it would be a major task merely to keep watch on the relatively tiny area within your own horizon.”

  “Sure would,” Len agreed.

  “Then how is
it possible for one man to stand guard over a planet?”

  “I asked them about that. I said, ‘Hey, d’you chumps think I’m clairvoyant?’”

  “And what was their reply?”

  “They said, ‘Don’t worry your head, boy. If anyone lands north pole or south pole, your side or the other side, by day or by night, you don’t have to go looking for them. They’ll come looking for you!’” A smirk, lopsided and peculiarly irritating, came into Lens face. “Seems they were dead right, eh?”

  Lagasta’s temporary sensation of impending triumph faded away and was replaced by vague alarm. He slid a glance at Kaznitz and Havarre, found their expressions studiously blank.

  “One can hardly describe it as keeping watch if one waits for people to knock on the door,” he suggested.

  “Oh, there was more to it than that,” informed Len. “When they knock I press the button.”

  “What button?”

  “The one in the wall. Got a blue lens above it. If anyone comes, I press the button and make sure the blue lens lights up. If the lens fails to shine, it shows I’ve not pressed hard enough. I ram the button deep enough to get the blue light. That’s all there is to it.”

  “In view of our arrival I presume the button has been pressed?” asked Lagasta.

  “Yeah, couple of days ago. Something came snoring around the roof. I looked out the window, saw your bubble boat, recognized the pilot as non-Terran. So I did my chore with the button. Then I went outside and waved to him. Fat lot of notice he took. Did he think I was thumbing a lift or something?”

  Ignoring that question, Lagasta said, “What happens when the button is pressed?”

  “Darned if I know. They didn’t bother to tell me and I didn’t bother to ask. What’s it to me, anyway?”

  “There is no antenna on your roof,” Lagasta pointed out.

  “Should there be?” Len held his drink up to the light and studied it with approval. “Say, this stuff varies quite a lot. We’re on a bottle much better than the last one.”

  “For the button to transmit a signal there’d have to be an antenna.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Therefore,” Lagasta baited, “it does not transmit a signal. It does something else.”