by James White
"I think you're being too unselfish, sir," said McCullough bitingly. "It is my considered profes- sional opinion, for which I do not need moral support, that the mental and physical stresses involved in coping with the local situation are severe enough without also making us responsible for possible changes in the political situation at home.
"The whole idea is ridiculous! We are in the limelight as no other group of men has ever been, we know this. In a sense we may be standing trial for our whole race. But our work here will be more valuable, or reactions more honest if you like, if we don't allow ourselves to be paralyzed with stage fright!
"I would like permission, sir," McCullough ended less vehemently, "to request information and assistance from Control without having to consider mass audience reactions."
"You have a point, Doctor," said Morrison, after a short pause. "At the same time, we can't afford to ignore public opinion completely."
"But that's the way Brady talks!"
"I'll think about it, Doctor," said Morrison sharply. "Right now we must discuss the food and water situation, weapons, tactics and -- and a change of base. While we are here we may as well find out as much as possible about the Ship. And while we're talking, Doctor, I'd like you to look at my dressings."
McCullough wondered if the colonel was looking for sympathy, then immediately felt ashamed for thinking such a thing. Morrison's injury was painful and inflamed, although not infected, and it was only one of his many problems. For his physical impairment had seriously undermined his authority. With one arm virtually useless, he was dependent on his inferior officers not only for protection but for the kind of assistance which was more common in a nurse-patient relationship. And cut off as he was from direct contact with Control, he could no longer speak with all the authority of Earth behind his words. As well, the project which he headed had come thoroughly unstuck.
At the present moment the colonel must be feeling frightened and impotent and pretty much a total loss to himself and everyone else, and as a doctor, McCullough should not be aggravating these feelings.
It was a time for applying oil to the situation, or perhaps butter. Not broken glass.
McCullough stayed on the Ship three days. In that time their 'bridgehead' was moved twice, on both occasions to compartments close to the generator blister so as to facilitate the work of Hollis. Despite the Twos which attacked them at frequent but irregular intervals, and at times kept them pinned down in their base for hours on end, the work of gathering information about the Ship went on.
When friction developed, which was frequently, he applied oil. McCullough was sure that his bedside manner had never had such a strenuous workout in all its long life. But his charm did not work very well on the colonel. Despite his arguments on the necessity of gathering further data either to support or disprove his theory, Morrison would not allow him to attempt communication with the Twos.
Twos, the colonel had said . . .
chapter fourteen
During his next report to the general, McCullough 's voice was as neutral and unemotional as any human voice could be -- to begin with, anyway.
"In the light of additional data gathered within the past few days," he said carefully, "we may have to modify our thinking considerably regarding the purpose of the alien Ship and its crew.
"First, the Ship . . ."
The alien vessel had made a controlled approach and had been inserted into an orbit which showed every indication of being precalculated, McCullough went on, after which it had taken no action of any kind. This, however, did not preclude the possibility that it was gathering data, since the forward section contained a number of transparent protective blisters which might very well house sensory equipment of some kind. In fact, the primary -- perhaps the only -- purpose of the Ship was the gathering of such data.
Where the Ship's construction was concerned -- and here McCullough had to admit that they had investigated only a very small fraction of the vessel's enormous volume -- they had come to certain fairly definite conclusions.
The way they now saw it, the Ship's construction was based on a design philosophy in which weight was of little or no importance. Apparently its source of power was so efficient that there was no necessity to save an ounce or a pound here and there by putting lightening holes in structural members or designing down an angle bracket so that it would take only the amount of stress necessary to its function plus a fractional safety overlap.
All the indications pointed to the fact that the Ship had been built in space, probably in an extrasolar asteriod belt or close to a small moon where metal and the means of working it were to hand. The more sophisticated power, control and life-support systems had almost certainly been built on the home planet and transported piecemeal to the hull. What little they had seen of the layout of corridors, wall nets and numerous access points to the Ship's interior made them certain that all this had been designed to facilitate the vessel's builders rather than its crew.
They may have been guilty of grossly overestimating the intelligence and capabilities of the crews as well.
"We have complete data on only one of these three life-forms," McCullough went on, "and that is the tentacled, starfish-shaped Type Two. During all our meetings with them these beings have been completely and uniformly aggressive, so much so that after the second alien attack, Drew remarked that if they behaved like wild animals, they should be treated as such. My subsequent physiological investigation of the Two revealed a brain structure and nervous system which appeared unusually small and uncomplicated, and a lack of fine control in the appendages, facts which supported Drew's theory.
"We are all now of the opinion that we have been trying to establish intelligent communication with the alien equivalent of guinea pigs!"
Their current theory was that the Ship was an interstellar probe of some kind carrying experimental animals which had escaped and overrun the Ship and killed its crew. There was also a strong possibility that it did not, and had never had, a crew, and that the life-support system and internal lighting was initially for use during the vessel's construction and was subsequently being used by the animal passengers. This being the case, they felt free to fight a defensive war against the alien life-forms infesting the Ship while they mapped, photographed and learned everything they could about the vessel's equipment and function.
Priority, however, would be given to finding a method of patching-in to the alien life-support system. The reason for this, as had been already explained, was that the water used by the marooned men was almost completely lost since only a fraction was recoverable to be put through the P-ship's recycling system.
"Our water is being carefully rationed," McCullough continued, "and at the present rate of consumption the supply will last for thirty-two days. This will take us three days past the arrival time of the supply vehicle, but it will carry only a forty-day supply of water! A few minutes simple computation will show that unless we can return the marooned men to the P-ships where the water supply can be recycled properly, our supply problem is logistically insoluble.
"We have already drawn heavily on the food meant for the return trip," McCullough ended grimly, "and if we don't find a local source of water we can never come home."
About the only thing McCullough did not have to worry about was General Brady's reaction to this latest report. Earth and Prometheus Control were only a few weeks off the time when they would pass behind the sun, the relay vehicle designed to circumvent this difficulty was not yet in operation, and incoming messages were rendered almost unintelligible by interference.
Not completely unintelligible, of course. By asking Control to repeat every sentence anything up to ten times, Walters was usually able to piece together a complete message. Unlike McCullough, however, Walters had nothing better to do, and somehow a signal lost a good deal of its urgency and emotional content when it had to be repeated so many times.
Precisely on time, the high-acceleration supply rocket home
d-in on P-One's beacon and was taken aboard the alien Ship. It contained, in addition to the promised water, a twenty-day supply of food, film, paper, and a collapsed, carefully packed spacesuit. Some well-wisher had tucked a .45 automatic inside the spacesuit, probably on impulse and without taking time to think about packing it properly, and the forty-G acceleration of the supply vehicle had caused the heavy gun to tear a large hole in the hip and leg sections, rendering the suit completely useless.
They had lost a spacesuit and gained an automatic pistol for which there was no ammunition.
Their search pattern took the form of a flat spiral which wound slowly around the lateral axis of the Ship while moving even more slowly forward. At regular intervals a temporary base was set up with a search radius of twenty-five yards or more, depending on the available accommodation and the hostility and numbers of the local population. When completed, the search pattern would still leave a long, empty core of unexplored territory in the three-dimensional map they were constructing.
They found only storerooms and compartments, packed with equipment whose shapes and purpose were slowly becoming familiar to them, and the ever-present netted corridors linking them together. It seemed obvious that the crew's quarters, if any, the life-support system and other essential services were deep in the as yet unexplored center of the Ship.
"It is very bad tactics to cut ourselves ofT from the outer hull and contact with our ships," said the colonel as they paused, between sorties, to fill in another small section of their map, "but it seems to me that there are certain periods when the risk is lessened. You must all have noticed the regular decrease in alien activity and numbers which seems to occur every five or six hours. If we assume this to be due to periodic feeding, we can, at these times, push the search deeper into the Ship. Or we might try following some of the e-t's -- at a safe distance, of course -- in the hope of their leading us to the source of the food and water."
Hollis said, "The absence of e-t's is not entirely regular, sir. There seems to be a longer absence, possibly due to a sleep period, between every few meals. This could be an important datum in calculating the length of their day and the rotation of their home planet."
"Personally," said Drew impatiently, "I am more interested in gathering data which will aid our survival. For instance, if one of us should lose his weapon, is there enough known about their physical makeup for us to use an e-t form of karate on them? Or put another way, Doctor, where is the dirtiest spot I can plant my boot?"
Reluctantly, McCullough told him.
They did not deliberately try to kill the aliens, doing so only when the Twos attacked them -- which was always. Once they came on a dead Two whose condition suggested that it had been partially eaten. This was another important datum, Hollis said, which gave strong support to McCullough's theory that the e-t's were experimental animals running wild rather than sentient beings.
This did not comfort McCullough as much as it should have done, because he was developing a new theory. It rested on the premise that the Ship had suflered some kind of nonmaterial catastrophe -- the psychological pressures of a too lengthy voyage, perhaps -- which had driven the crew insane so that the Twos were either the survivors or descendants of the original personnel, now reduced to little more than animals.
But he did not mention his new theory to the others because it would have made them unhappy and uncertain again.
Hollis and Berryman were becoming expert at identifying and tracing power and control lines without actually knowing what it was the lines powered or controlled. It should be possible, they insisted, to utilize one of these currently dead circuits to carry radio messages from deep inside the Ship to the metal of the outer hull. In effect, the circuit or section of plumbing would be an extension of their suit antennae and, since the signals would be in the form of radio frequency impulses rather than a flow of current, there was little danger of them inadvertently switching on one of the alien controls or mechanisms.
In order to test this idea and also to get a line on the whereabouts of the Twos' feeding place, the next base was established some forty yards inboard.
It was a large, gray-walled compartment filled with disciplined masses of plumbing and the usual sealed cabinets growing out from all six sides. A quick search showed it to be empty, and McCullough guarded the only entrance, which was a sliding door rather than the airtight seals found under the hull area. Hollis, Berryman and Drew were bunched together with Morrison floating close by, when they started to argue about a Two they had killed and whether they had defended themselves before or after it had actually attacked. They began talking loudly vehemently, obviously feeling safe in this bright alien cupboard, when the Two which had been hiding somewhere in the compartment landed among them.
There were shouts, curses and a scream that jerked on and off regularly, as if someone was trying to hold a high note while his back was being clapped. McCullough swung round and raised his weapon, but the center of the room was a confused mass of twisting, struggling bodies which were rapidly becoming obscured by a growing red fog and there was nothing he could do. The Two had wrapped its tentacles around someone and was furiously disembowelling him with its horn while the others tried to tear it loose and kick and stab it to death.
When they finally succeeded in pulling it away, McCullough launched himself toward the man, grabbed him around the waist and held him tightly face to face so that he would not be able to see his terrible wounds. Then he told the man lies in a gentle, reassuring voice until Drew separated them, saying harshly that the colonel was dead.
Berryman, Hollis and Drew were watching him, obviously waiting for instructions, or possibly for some indication that he was unwilling to accept his responsibility. McCullough squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to obliterate the sight of Morrison's body from his mind's eye as well as from normal vision. He tried to picture the colonel alive, as he had been a few days or hours ago, but great soft balls of coagulating blood like tacky grapes drifted against his face as a reminder that all images of Morrison alive would inevitably lead to the one he was trying to blot out of Morrison dead. It was impossible for McCullough to think of the colonel without seeing the grisly thing which spun slowly beside him like a bloody Catherine wheel. Because it had once been Morrison it inhabited every second of the past as well as the present. It was only in the future that the colonel did not really exist.
There was a feverish sort of logic about that thought, McCullough told himself. He must think only of a time when the colonel did not exist, and avoid bringing up memories of him; he must think only of the future. But there were a number of futures and they began flickering past his mind's eye like pictures from the Black Museum. A drowning man was supposed to see his past life passing before his eyes, but McCullough was seeing an endless succession of future deaths, so he opened his eyes and stared back at the others.
He said, "Berryman, find an empty tool locker or something and put the colonel's body in it. Wire or wedge the fastening so's those animals won't be able to get at him. When you've finished, go to the nearest hull lock chamber and report what has happened to Walters. Today we planned to follow the Twos to their food and water supply, and that is still at the top of our list of priorities.
"However," he concluded, "if you hear a disturbance, don't come charging to our rescue. Stay in a safe place until the next lunch break and then make your way back here. Understand?"
Berryman looked from Hollis to Drew and then back to McCullough. Despite the differences in rank and the military discipline which was supposed to bind them, this, McCullough knew, was something in the nature of an election. From his expression it was obvious that Hollis was voting a timid positive, Drew's features registered an angry negative, and Walter's opinions, since he was no longer directly involved in the Two-human running battle which was being waged in the Ship, were not being considered. It was Berryman, therefore, who had the casting vote in this election, and while the silence dragged on, McCullo
ugh wondered what qualities this normally lighthearted pilot thought important in a leader, and if his qualifications were insufficient, how exactly Berryman would let him know about it.
He would be an extremely tactful and kindly mutineer, McCullough thought.
Finally Berryman nodded and said drily, "The Colonel is dead. Long live the Lieutenant Colonel . . ."
It had been Morrison's intention to probe the Ship as deeply as possible today, and to follow the aliens to their feeding place, despite the risk of the Earth party ending up being surrounded by practically every Two in the Ship. McCullough's instructions were not unexpected, and they probably thought he was carrying on as planned out of respect for their dead colonel, or if they were feeling cynical, because he could think of nothing better to do.