Fifth Planet

by Fred Hoyle

But Larson knew they should 'have seen it on their way out. The way they were going now made it a lot harder. He supposed they must have been tired when they did this stretch.

  They heaved and clawed their way across the sand towards the bright shining thing. Gome to think of it why hadn’t they seen it from above? They began to make better progress after climbing a ridge on to the firmer ground. The gleaming thing seemed quite steady. By now Larson was pretty sure that it must be an artefact. How come, he wondered to himself.

  It seemed to grow brighter as they came nearer. In fact it seemed so big and bright now that he was more than ever puzzled as to why they had missed it. He kept whispering to himself, ‘What the hell is it, what the hell is it?’ as they closed the distance. Even when they got to within half a mile he still couldn’t make it out. It seemed like just a set of vertical transparent sheets. They were set in a row one behind the other down a long line. He guessed they must behave rather like huge windows. If you were in the right direction you got a big blast of light from them, but if you weren’t you saw nothing. They drove the vehicle to within about two hundred yards of the nearest sheet.

  ‘I reckon you’d better stay back here, honey.’

  Ilyana said something in Russian and Bakovsky nodded at Larson, evidently agreeing with him. Larson opened up a

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  container in the back of the vehicle and took out two automatic rifles. One he handed to Bakovsky, and the two men began to walk slowly and carefully towards the strange structure ahead of them.

  Laorson stopped in front of the first. He noticed out of the corner of his eye as he gazed up at it that Bakovsky was watching the ends of the sheet in case something should come round there. He couldn’t make it out at all. It was just a plain sheet of translucent material mounted there like a huge bill-board, an enormous bill-board. He couldn’t see the slightest point in it unless it was a bill-board. They made their way very cautiously around the ends. Beyond the first bill-board there was an absolutely identical second billboard. Then a third, then a fourth, and so on. They stood there like a row of dominoes set up on end, and it was all utterly absurd.

  They must have made their way around a score of the things when they came upon something different. But it didn’t make sense any more than the bill-boards had done. It was just a box, almost cubical, made of exactly the same material. And beyond the box there was an identical row of bill-boards again.

  Larson became aware of Bakovsky at his side. It was almost as ridiculous that he should be wearing an American uniform and Bakovsky a Russian one. Maybe this thing was some sort of customs barrier. That was about as much sense as he could put on it. They spent a good hour walking in and out, through and between, as if they were in a maze. Then Larson had an idea. He went back to the machine. It had some boff stuff in it. He didn’t understand exactly what good they were, but he knew that the boffs used them for measuring electric and magnetic fields. On the far side of the vehicle he took hold of Ilyana and kissed her long and hard.

  ‘Me and you’ll work this out later, Baby,’ he whispered.

  Then he started back to the thing. Bakovsky was waiting for him in front of the first bill-board. Larson handed over

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  some of the things that he had slung around his neck, they were getting a bit heavy. They turned the dials, pressed a few switches, thumbed through a manual when nothing seemed to happen, made a few adjustments and at last got some sort of reading. They didn’t know what it meant but at least it was something. At least it meant that the bill-boards did something and that was satisfying in itself.

  When they passed from the first bill-board to the second the reading on their instrument got bigger. And it increased still more when they passed to the third. So it went on until they reached the box in the middle. All around the box something or other, whatever it was, was darn’d strong. As they started to walk along the row of sheets beyond the box it grew less and less strong until it faded out altogether at the far side. There was a pleasing symmetry about the whole business.

  Larson knew that this meant that Achilles could not be quite the simple place it appeared to be. But apart from what he could see around him, which he didn’t understand at all, he had absolutely nothing to go on.

  They marched up and down, backwards and forwards, looking at the boff instrument. It always did exactly the same thing. The readings got bigger towards the middle and less towards the outside. That was it, and that was all of it.

  Now that they had found something both Larson and Bakovsky began to think along the same lines. Theirs was the natural human reaction. What could they do to change things? They didn’t understand it, but perhaps if they could fiddle with something or other, something would happen, and then they would begin to understand it. Fiddle with it first and think about it afterwards. That was the thing to do.

  The simple thing to do would be to heave a stone at one of the transparent things, but there were no stones lying around. In any case that would be rather silly. What they must do was something electrical. It didn’t much matter what, but it must be something electrical. It occurred to

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  Larson that if they could electrify the air between two of the sheets then maybe something might happen. Something rather like a lightning stroke. The question was how to electrify the air. They hadn’t any sources of high voltage with them. But then he noticed that Bakovsky was Carrying a hand-grenade, a high-temperature hand-grenade; with the oxygen concentration as high as it was the grenade would bum splendidly. It would make quite a fair packet of ionized atoms, if they should throw it in exactly the right place between two of the sheets.

  He explained as best he could the idea to the Russian and Bakovsky nodded in agreement. So they walked back to the middle where the electricity was strongest. They chose two of the sheets nearest to the big box in the middle. Bakovsky insisted on throwing the grenade and Larson could hardly object since the Russian knew the exact weight of it. OAF the little sphere went and Larson and Bakovsky ran as far as they could in the second or two before it exploded. Crouched down, with their heads away from the explosion, they heard it go off, and, almost simultaneously it seemed, there was a crack like thunder. They were momentarily blinded as they looked up by a flash that seemed to race repeatedly between the innermost and outermost sheets.

  ‘My God, look at the box,’ shouted Larson.

  There, inside the box, was a bluish-green light, pulsating wildly. At its brightest it was a fine, steely point of light, at its most diffuse it filled the whole gigantic box. Fascinated they watched as it went rhythmically through these cycles about every five seconds. After four minutes or so the colours began to change, first to a lemon-yellow and finally to orange-red. Then to their intense regret the whole spectacle faded slowly away. Larson gave Bakovsky a friendly pat on the back and the Russian looked up at him and smiled.

  Larson wondered if they could do it again. Only the row of sheets on the far side of the box had discharged. There was a chance they could manage it again on the near side. So they took their instruments to the two sheets nearest to

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  the box on the near side — that is to say on the side where the vehicle and Ilyana were waiting. To their delight the instruments were still giving the same high value. Larson held up his hand in a knowing gesture, and while Bakovsky waited he walked to the far side of the box with the instruments. Sure enough there was nothing there. They’d fixed that side good and proper.

  When he got back to Bakovsky, Larson nodded, and the Russian proceeded to unhook another grenade. Suddenly it seemed to Larson that his whole personality, his very self, was lifted upwards and dissipated like a puff of smoke. It was as if he could feel himself trailing away into nothingness. —

  Ilyana was astonished to see a mem running at full speed from out of the inside of t
he thing. He ran at an angle to her so that he passed about two hundred yards away on her right-hand side. It was Bakovsky. She said afterwards that he looked like a man who was being chased by something. But that couldn’t be true because she could see for herself that there wasn’t anything behind him.

  Bakovsky ran for nearly half a mile, his face strained with the utmost terror, until he reached a place where an arm of the sandy lake could be seen. At first the water only covered the tops of his boots, but even though it rose up to his knees and to his thighs he still plunged on, not slackening his frenzied thrust until the waters at last dosed over his head.

  Ilyana ran to the machine. She had watched Larson drive the vehicle and managed to get it started without much difficulty. The controls proved more awkward, but at length she was moving towards the water. She found footprints leading to the arm of the sea but the water was transparently clear and empty. Bakovsky had disappeared completely.

  Puzzled and frightened, Ilyana drove the machine back and walked slowly towards the bright shining screens. She knew it was foolish to go in there, but she was determined to

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  find out what she could. She knew perfectly well she’d been sent on this expedition for political reasons — as a toy, a cat’s paw, of the men in power. She must behave at least as bravely as a man.

  She found Larson at last. He was Obviously dead. The expression on 'his face terrified her. It wasn’t a look of horror, such as she felt must have been on Bakovsky’s face as he raced past her in the distance, it was a look of complete vacancy and blankness. It was a complete negation of life. Very slowly she walked the whole length of this thing, whatever it was, with its awful power. She saw the places where the discharges had tom jagged holes in the transparent sheets. She saw that the inner box was not quite transparent, the walls were very slightly discoloured. She found Larson’s body again, and was considering how she should best bury it, when a strange numbness overcame her. It lasted, as it seemed, for only a fraction of a second, but when she recovered she found herself outside the whole structure, halfway back to the vehicle itself. And she knew quite certainly that she must not return inside.

  Driving to the spot where they had parked before, she got out the camera. She must take what photographs she could, otherwise who would be willing to believe her. Certainly not the hard-faced men in Moscow.

  There was something there that could kill a man without a blow, that could drive a man out of his senses. For some reason the thing that had killed her two companions had spared her, but if it wanted it could kill her too. She had no doubt about that.

  Feeling helplessly inadequate and suddenly very much alone, she sat for a while thinking what she should do.

  As she raised the camera she had a horrible certainty that something was going to happen. But nothing did. Whatever it was in there didn’t object to the pictures being taken. It was her upbringing that had frightened her, an upbringing in which it was an offence to photograph almost every object on sight. She took a dozen pictures, realizing vaguely that if

  T—B

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  die camera were faulty the number of pictures wouldn’t help.

  Pictures wouldn’t help her either unless she managed to get back to the American rocket. Like most passengers she hadn’t taken any real notice of the way they’d come. She had only a general idea of the direction. There would be enough fuel in the vehicle for the return trip by the most direct route, but there wouldn’t be much to spare for trial and error. She started up the motors and set off. As the machine moved over the ground with a rattle, roar, and thud, she looked back over her shoulder, fearful of what she had left behind.

  She gave up all thoughts of making a detour to her own ship. It was useless. It would never soar into this blue sky above her head. Momentarily distracted she made the mistake of looking up towards Helios and was instantly blinded. The amount of light from the star was pretty close to that which we normally receive on Earth from the Sun. But the disc of Helios had only about a quarter of the apparent area, so it could easily blind anyone looking at it for more than a brief flash.

  She waited impatiently until the bright lights in front of her eyes disappeared and she was able to see around her again. She had instinctively braked the vehicle to a stop, and now she turned round in the cabin and looked back over the way she had come. The thing with its huge transparent sheets had vanished. Nothing remained but peaceful rolling grassland.

  She began to shiver. It wasn’t just shock. Being frightened didn’t describe the way she felt. It was almost like being without limbs altogether. She could still think and that was about all. She could not feel the wheel in her hands and the vehicle seemed to go where it wanted. It went on after Helios had set beyond the distant horizon, it went on pounding and thrashing throughout the night, the crackling exhaust shattering the air as it passed by. After three hours the sun rose in what might have been described as the East. As it moved up into the sky its glow sent a strange red radiance

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  over the whole countryside. It was as if she were driving through a sea of liquid fire.

  Pitoyan saw the vehicle coming in about an hour after dawn. He was more than glad to see it returning, for the condition of Mike Fawsett worried him. For the most part Fawsett was in a feverish condition, but every now and then his temperature would fall and he would become quite coherent. But the questions he would ask were strange even to Pitoyan who knew that he didn’t speak English very well. So he was glad that the big American, Larson, was coming back. He was also glad that Ilyana was coming back. He managed to descend the fixed ladder with his one good arm. The vehicle was only half a mile away now and he ran to meet it. He could see Ilyana, strangely enough in the driver’s seat. The machine stopped almost in front of him. He opened the cabin door and Ilyana tumbled out. She stared at him wildly for a moment, then threw her arms around his neck, and burst into uncontrolled, but healthy, sobs.

  Fiske knew that he was reaching the end of his control. His nerves had been almost unbearably frayed by Rein- bach’s breakdown. Twice more they had tried together to get away from this same spot. Twice more they had found themselves baok again. Then Reinbach had refused to go on. In a way, if you were always returning to the same bloody place, there was a sort of crazy sense in that.

  But you couldn’t give up. If you gave up you were finished. So he’d made a try by himself. He’d concentrated on every inch of the way, concentrated until he felt his eyes would jump out of their sockets. He’d been sure that it was all different this time, until he came over a little ridge and found Reinbach lying there in a more or less unconscious state. ,

  By now most of the fuel was gone. They’d simply wasted it in just driving round and round, driving round a circle with about a ten-mile radius as far as he could judge. He estimated this from the time it took and from the speed

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  of the machine. It was as if they were in the bottom of a bowl, just going round in circles, only they weren’t in the bottom of a bowl.

  Tom Fiske wouldn’t have cared if it had been the machine that had been leading them wrong. He wouldn’t have cared if the gyros had gone stark-naked screwball. But the thing that really did frighten him was that they’d tried to make their way by the stars. Tom Fiske knew that you can’t play about with the stars, nothing could do that. Yet it had been just the same, they’d come back exactly to the same bloody place.

  It meant that you couldn’t trust your own eyes. Fiske smoked for a moment and thought that one over. That was just about it, that was the truth of it, you couldn’t trust your eyes. He remembered Bakovsky and the servo switch. Wasn’t that what had happened to the Russian ship? Surprisingly this calmed him a bit. Somehow it seemed better to think that it was they who had gone crazy and not the world outside.

  He thought of telling Reinbach about th
is idea and went across to him. At first he thought that Uli had fallen asleep, but then he saw that his eyes were open and that he was staring up to the sky. He shook him gently by the shoulder and said, ‘Hey, I’ve got an idea.’ And a hell of an idea it was too. To his relief the fever which seemed to have been growing on Reinbach had gone down. He could see that when Uli looked at him.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be getting back to the ship?’ The poor devil seemed to have lost his memory. Probably some sort of nervous protective device.

  ‘We’ll try again as soon as it’s light.’

  ‘I’m sure we can make it now. It’s all pretty smooth going.’

  Well, if that was what Uli wanted they might as well make another circuit, thought Tom.

  After an hour and a half’s driving they ran at last out of fuel. Tom jumped down from the cabin fully expecting to find himself back to square one. But as far as he could see

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  this wasn’t the place. Then he remembered that what he saw didn’t signify. Reinbach had come down from the cabin. ‘What is it?’he asked.

  ‘We’re out of fuel.’

  ‘Then we’d better walk.’

  This was what had been worrying Fiske all along. Sooner or later they’d have to walk if they were to get out of this place. But they might just as well find themselves walking in circles as driving in circles. The mad idea occurred to him that maybe in some way all this was connected with the vehicle and not with themselves. Maybe they could walk out. It didn’t figure, but then nothing he could think of figured. The danger of course was that they couldn’t carry much food and water. For the first time it occurred to Fiske that there were no streams. The rain just fell on to the grass, where it was absorbed into the roots until the moisture evaporated again. He wished there had been streams. He remembered that he’d always liked the sound of running water.

  They started to walk, still following a course set by the stars. The Sun came up, and they found themselves walking through the same liquid fire that Ilyana had driven through. Reinbach was going well now. There were times when he would plough ahead, and then Fiske was worried because Uli didn’t seem to take much notice of the course he was trying to set. Reinbach had the air of a man who didn’t care much where he was going so long as he got to hell out of the place. The trouble was that they didn’t know how to get out of the place.