‘Yes,’ said Chappell. ‘Logic tells us that they know quite a bit about us. Logic also tells us that, in order for them to have gained that knowledge, they must have contacted us at some time. And so—’
‘They were waiting for us,’ said Legrain, slowly. ‘They knew when we’d Breakout. They had the ship in position and this room all ready.’
‘But why?’ insisted Sears. ‘Why?’
Chappell didn’t answer. Twenty-five centimetres from his right foot, a metre from the wall which he would have sworn was one solid piece without crack or flaw, stood what appeared to be a paper cup containing some ten ounces of fluid.
* * * *
It was water. He tested it with a cautious sip, finding it pleasantly cool and slightly brackish, resisting the impulse to gulp it all. Instead he shared it out, one swallow to a man, the cup collapsing into a sodden mess as he drained the final drops. Walsh, who had been the first to drink, turned from his examination of the wall.
‘Nothing,’ he said disgustedly. ‘It’s as solid as ever.’
‘Try again!’ Legrain was impatient and showed it. ‘The cup must have come from somewhere. It couldn’t have been passed through a solid. There must be a door or hatch.’
‘There isn’t.’
‘There has to be!’
‘Forget it.’ Chappell broke up the incipient quarrel. ‘Sit down, Legrain! You too, Walsh. The last thing we want is to lose our tempers.’ He waited until the others had settled themselves with a slap of bare flesh. ‘Let’s think this thing out. Sears! Have you any ideas?’
‘They could have used their device again,’ said Sears thoughtfully. ‘Blacked us out, entered with the water, left and then woke us up again.’
‘How did they manage to get in?’ snapped Walsh. ‘The walls are solid.’
‘So how did we get in here?’ Sears glared at the big man. ‘Use your head. Maybe they can swing up an entire wall or open the roof or something.’
‘All right,’ yielded Walsh. ‘So I spoke without thinking.’ He ran his tongue over his lips. ‘Hell, that water tasted good. I could use about five gallons of it. Iced and poured through a funnel.’
‘Me too!’ Legrain wiped his hand over his bare chest and licked at the dew on his palm. Chappell watched him with mounting certainty.
Quietly he said, ‘We were pondering a question. Why are we here?’
‘Prisoners,’ said Walsh shortly.
‘That isn’t answering the question. Try again.’
‘Quarantine, then.’
‘That’s hardly likely,’ objected Legrain. ‘What about the rest of us or are we something special?’
‘A sample batch,’ elaborated Walsh. ‘They could be exposing us to various bacteria and viruses to see what will happen.’
‘How about hostages?’ suggested Sears. Chappell shook his head.
‘That’s hardly logical. For us to be hostages pre-supposes that somewhere some of our kind could do our captors harm. Hostages are held to ensure the good behaviour of other members of the same tribe, or group or clan. As the only conceivable persons who could be influenced by our welfare are the others on the Prometheus and as they were in all probability captured with us it hardly seems logical that we are held as hostages for their good behaviour.’
Sears cleared his throat. ‘All right, that was a bad guess, but how about them keeping us as specimens?’
‘I don’t believe that is true, either. For one thing if we were we would have been supplied with food and drink. The main objection, however, is that our captors are intelligent. Intelligent people don’t put other intelligent people into a zoo. If they did they wouldn’t be intelligent.’
Walsh snorted. ‘That doesn’t leave us much, does it? According to your brand of logic if we can’t find a good reason for us being here, we shouldn’t be here. We can’t therefore we’re not. Let’s go home.’
Legrain glared his irritation. ‘Use your head, Walsh. This isn’t a game. This is serious.’ He appealed to Chappell. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Doc?’
‘You’re both right,’ said Chappell flatly. ‘It is serious -deadly serious. And Walsh is right also. We are being subjected to intense strain.’ He looked at their intent faces. ‘I believe that we are a part of a controlled experiment. A test, if you like and, if we don’t pass it, we and all on the Prometheus will die.’
* * * *
There was, he thought, nothing like dramatic emphasis to gain attention. Next to it came the dramatic pause and he used it now, letting his gaze drift from one to the other, allowing the silence to grow until it was time for him to break it.
‘And explanation, to be feasible, must fit all the known facts and none other that I can think of does it better. Everything points to it. A sealed, escape-proof cell. No method of determining the passage of time. No clothing. No contact with either our own people or our captors. Sterile surroundings. Reduced to our basic primevality.’ He looked around the room. ‘Laboratory conditions. A group reduced to a common norm. Carefully regulated stimulus provided and the results noted. I’ve done the same thing myself a hundred times with rats and mice. Test conditions to determine what will happen in particular situations.’
Legrain frowned. ‘But what do they hope to learn? I thought we decided that they must know all about us.’
‘They probably do,’ agreed Chappell. ‘Physically at least, but maybe they want to learn more.’ He frowned, thinking, automatically rubbing his chin and feeling the harsh stubble.
Stubble! But he hadn’t been here long enough for his beard to grow - or had he? It was impossible to determine the passage of time, the utter sameness of the room, the probability of frequent blackouts of which he would remain unaware. No wonder he felt so thirsty. They could have been here for days in sweltering conditions ideal for the creation of dehydration. And now that his mind was on the subject he couldn’t leave it alone. Water! Crystal clear mountain streams, gurgling faucets, limpid pools, the calming beat of rain.
Irritably he wrenched the images from his immediate consciousness. ‘What would happen if you put a dozen rats in a cage and only provided enough food for one?’
‘They would fight,’ said Legrain.
‘And if you provided a way out of the cage with ample food at the exit?’
‘If it was plain and they didn’t follow it you’d know that they weren’t very bright.’
‘An intelligence test,’ said Chappell. ‘But we know there isn’t a way out of this room so the analogy isn’t correct. What else would the behaviour of the rats indicate?’
‘They wouldn’t be intelligent,’ said Sears. ‘Or they wouldn’t fight over one ration of food.’
‘Intelligent?’
‘Wrong word. Try civilized.’ Sears narrowed his eyes. ‘The water?’
‘Yes.’ Chappell looked from one to the other. ‘We can take it that we are under constant observation. Every action, every word we speak is either watched or recorded. What we do and how we do it is important. Probably far more important than we realize.’
Walsh scowled at his fists. ‘So I was right. We’re specimens. Just what are we supposed to do?’
Chappell drew a deep breath. ‘Decide who is to live and who is to die.’
‘No!’ said Legrain. ‘We can’t! We—’
‘— have no choice,’ interrupted Chappell curtly. ‘That was made by our captors and we have to abide by it. There are four of us. If we receive only the same amount of water as we did last time, and I believe that we will, then only one of us has a hope in hell of staying alive. The rest will die of thirst. The problem is - who is going to be the lucky man?’
No one said anything but, unconsciously, Walsh flexed his muscles.
‘That isn’t the way,’ said Chappell quietly. ‘It isn’t as simple as that. We’re not animals but, if we act like animals we must expect to be treated like them. What we do may not be as important as how we do it.’
Walsh spread his fingers. ‘What do you mea
n?’
‘Look at it this way. We are strangers arriving unheralded and perhaps unwanted in a sector of space already occupied by an intelligent race. They know of us but that knowledge could be thousands of years out of date. So how are we to be treated? Are we decadent? Are we brutes prematurely advanced and bent on conquest? Or are we a race which has kept its culture in step with its technological progress? How are they to know?’
Sears licked his swollen and cracking lips. ‘Make a test.’
‘Exactly,’ said Chappell. ‘What else.’
Legrain coughed. He held a paper cup of water in one hand. ‘I think it’s feeding time again. I just found this.’ He began to raise it to his lips.
Walsh roared and lunged at the other man. Legrain saw him coming and tried to dodge. Chappell and Sears joined the fray. When it was over Legrain had a bruised cheek. Walsh a torn ear and both Chappell and Sears ugly marks on belly and torso.
The water had spilled and gone to waste.
* * * *
Chappell said, ‘We’d better come to a decision. I don’t want to go through that again.’
‘He was going to drink it all,’ said Walsh. ‘I tried to stop him.’
‘You mean that you wanted to drink it all yourself.’ Legrain was shaking with anger. ‘I was only taking a swallow.’
‘That’s what you say!’
‘Shut up, Walsh,’ snapped Chappell before Legrain could answer. ‘You too, Legrain. The water should have been handed to me. Don’t let it happen again.’ He tried to put what authority he could into his voice; but it was little enough, simply that of age and experience. ‘As I see it we have a limited choice. We can fight over the water - and we know what will happen then. We can refuse it - all die on the basis of absolute equality. Or we can decide who is to get it - and the rest will have to make sure that he does.’
Sears frowned, ‘I don’t get that.’
‘When men get really thirsty, when the craving for water gets too strong, good resolutions are quickly forgotten.* Chappell looked at the others. ‘As yet any one of us could be picked to receive the entire ration. That ration means continued life and, perhaps, a chance to get out of this place. But it will do him no good if three thirst-crazed men gang up on him. He wouldn’t stand a chance and we’d be back to the first alternative where we all fight and no one gets the water. So those who go without must restrain not only themselves but each other. Agreed?’
‘I guess so,’ said Walsh. The others nodded.
‘Good. Now to decide.’ Chappell pulled four hairs from his head, knotted one, held it with the others in his hand. ‘The hair with the knot is the winner. Who picks first?’
Walsh swallowed, put out his hand, hesitated. Sears shrugged. ‘One chance in four.’ He drew. No knot.
Legrain stepped forward, quickly, snatched a hair, pursed his lips as he found it smooth. Walsh smiled, ‘Even odds.’ He drew and muscles bunched on his thick shoulders.
Chappell looked at the remaining hair. It was knotted. As if in ironical reward a cup of water appeared at his feet.
* * * *
The aliens were cunning, he thought, bleakly. Diabolically so. They had struck at the prime dynamic, the instinct of self-preservation, the fundamental urge of the entire human race. Perhaps of all races. That, at least, was a thing they would hold in common.
The water had tasted like nectar but he hadn’t really enjoyed it. He had gulped it down, conscious of the envious stares, the barely restrained craving of his companions. Almost he had felt ashamed; but deep within something had gloated because he was going to survive.
Until, of course, Walsh realized that he was the strongest, that agreements meant nothing, and that he could have all the water, safely and completely, simply by first killing the other three.
That would be the barbaric solution to the problem and the red proof of the survival of the fittest; but no society which hadn’t risen above such primitive methods could call itself civilized. Was that, he wondered, the purpose of the test? To determine if the veneer of civilization was strong enough to imprison the beast?
And why had no women been included in the group? Would that have made it too easy? The procreators of the race were always protected unless they were old and ugly and, in civilized societies, even then.
Chappell stirred restlessly on the floor. He lay apart from the others as if already isolated. For want of anything better to do he rose and again examined the walls. They were smooth, of a peculiar substance which gave them the appearance of vertical pools, the surface highly polished with highlights within so that the fingers met the obstruction before the mind was ready for it. An optical illusion, of course, he had seen something like it in a hall of marble with panels of polished jet.
Time passed. The next drink appeared directly before Walsh, almost touching his foot, His arm twitched but he made no other move. Chappell hesitated then drank it down. The same with the next. The third was wasted.
Like the others it appeared directly before the big man. Both he and Chappell reached for it together. Before the others could interfere the damage had been done.
Chappell reeled back, head singing, the salt taste of blood in his mouth from hammered lips. The water spread in an evaporating pool at the side of the struggling trio.
‘You see what I mean?’ he said, bitterly. ‘Is it impossible to prove that we are human, not animal? Don’t you realize that is just what they were waiting to see if we would do?’
‘All right, Doc,’ croaked Legrain. ‘Don’t be too hard on him. He’s half crazy. We’ll see it doesn’t happen again.’
Chappell turned, nursing his bruises, sitting apart and staring at the far wall. His thirst was maddening, the worse for having anticipated the water, seeming to burn his tissues, his very ability to think. What more could the test prove? How much longer would it last?
One thing he was sure about. He would share the next drink. No matter how illogical it was, how senseless, he would share it. He couldn’t just sit and watch his companions die.
He must have stared at it for a good five seconds before he recognized the cup. It was directly before him, twenty-five metres from the wall, and had appeared as mysteriously as the others. Even as he picked it up something made him hesitate. He looked and confirmed the impression of lightness. The cup was empty.
A croak made him turn. Walsh stared at him, eyes imploring, one hand outstretched.
‘It’s finished,’ said Chappell, tightly, and upended the container. ‘There is no more water. There won’t be any more water. The experiment is over.’
But not quite. With an effort of will Chappell forced himself to ignore his physical discomfort, the agony of his companions, the desperate need of haste. He took deep, even breaths, lying on the floor and relaxing as far as he was able. When he had achieved some kind of detachment he began to think over the whole thing again as he would an interesting problem.
After a while he smiled, opened his eyes, climbed to his feet - and walked through the wall.
* * * *
‘It was a test, of course,’ he said to the captain. ‘We realized that quite early. The only thing we had doubt about was exactly what it was designed to prove. And I also fell into the error of being a bit too clever for my own good.’
Foreman shook his grizzled head. ‘It still seems unbelievable. If it weren’t for the instruments and your testimony I’d swear that nothing at all could have happened. As far as I’m concerned we achieved Breakout and saw an alien vessel. That vessel.’ His arm lifted and pointed to where a monstrous artifact hung against a backdrop of stars.
‘They’ll be contacting us soon,’ said Chappell. His eyes were thoughtful. ‘They must have blacked out the entire ship, selected us four, put us to the test and then returned us before allowing you to regain awareness.’
‘But why?’ demanded Foreman. ‘Why didn’t they contact us in the normal manner?’
‘Perhaps they did, normal for them, that is. After all th
ey are probably experienced in meeting alien cultures. We are not.’
Foreman nodded. ‘I see. You think that they have devised some sort of test as a working basis. But what made you walk through the wall? You said that it was solid.’
Chappell smiled. ‘It was. As I said I was just a little too clever. I thought it was a simple test to determine how we would react to a given situation. And that is exactly what it was. The trouble was that I only fully recognized half of the problem.’
New Writings in SF 29 - [Anthology] Page 11