Familiar sounds and scents, familiar colors. Murray had a sudden feeling of nostalgia, as though he gazed at some well-remembered corner of Earth itself. He looked around for Iris, wondering if she had been struck by the same impression. He saw her standing with Latham, smiling at some remark the man had made, and the moment of enchantment was abruptly gone.
The voice of one of the women rose in shrill excitement. Murray saw that biologist Dolores Sanchez was pointing toward a portion of the valley wall, opposite the cruiser’s position near the lake.
“I saw something move over there!” she said. “Looked like birds.”
PEERING in the indicated direction, Murray saw that tiny distant shapes actually were moving against the rock wall. They seemed to be soaring effortlessly through the air, but he could find nothing bird-like about their movements.
“Binoculars, someone!” Latham demanded sharply.
Gus Marczek relinquished his, and Latham peered for a long moment, his body rigid. Finally he turned.
“They’re creatures of some sort, all right—but not winged. And they’re coming this way, fast. We’d better not take any chances. Get into the ship, everyone. Ready the guns and stand by.”
Murray took up his own particular post at one of the gun mounts on the bridge. He watched the cross-haired target screen and waited for developments.
The mysterious floating creatures were not visible from his position for some minutes. Then two of them moved slowly into sight within the screen, apparently making a curious examination of this gleaming monster that had so suddenly invaded their domain.
Murray had seen strange forms of alien life on numerous other worlds, yet these creatures somehow had the capacity to startle him. They looked oddly like weather balloons—or aerial octopi. Their bodies seemed to consist mainly of a pinkish-gray sphere, some five feet in diameter, attached to the undersurface of which was a barrel-shaped mass—a trunk, or a head, or something that combined the features of both. From this projected six long tentacles or arms.
The trunk contained a number of exterior organs, but for the most part Murray could not decide what these were. There was a large, thick, snoutlike member that evidently served the function of a nose; and on stalks radiating at equal intervals around the middle of the trunk were three globular, lidded organs that clearly were eyes. These swayed and twisted about, lids blinking over the staring pupils, in obvious excitement.
There was no indication that the creatures represented civilized life, or even a high order of intelligent life. They wore no clothing or ornaments, their tentacles held no weapons or other artifacts.
As Murray watched the screen, others of the creatures appeared, rising and descending with a smooth agility or darting past with sudden bursts of speed. They moved, he realized, by expelling blasts of air through the snout-like organ in the fashion of a jet exhaust.
The creatures gave no appearance of anything more than curiosity. Nothing in their movements might have been interpreted as hostile or menacing.
Murray heard Latham speak into the ship’s intercom.
“The things out there look harmless enough. Most probably they’re nothing more than this planet’s equivalent of cattle, or the like. We’ll go outside for a closer look at them—but naturally certain precautions will be observed. Only a small armed group will go. The rest will remain beside their weapons in case of an emergency.”
Latham named anthropologist Suraya Ramkitra, psychologist Tony Lorenzo, and Murray as those to accompany him.
“The only reason I’m taking you along,” Latham told Murray, “is that you’re expendable. The fact that you have fast reactions is a minor consideration—but I’m completely in doubt regarding your other abilities.”
MURRAY felt warmth surge into his face. But he held back his anger, considering his words carefully, to avoid giving Latham the satisfaction of inciting him into remarks which could be interpreted as insubordinate.
He said quietly, “I believe, Commander, that it’s customary to consider a man innocent of guilt until evidence has proved otherwise. The evidence in my case is still missing—yet it would seem you’ve already reached a verdict.”
Latham’s sharp features hardened. “I speak from experience, Murray. I wouldn’t be commander of this expedition if I didn’t have the ability to put my finger on trouble without going through a lot of formalities. You were just clever enough to put my good judgment in doubt with the others, and ethics requires that I play along with you—but when the facts finally prove you actually were wrong, you’re going to regret your rashness.”
“The facts haven’t been established yet,” Murray said doggedly. “Until they are, I’m entitled to a certain amount of courtesy and consideration. And until the facts are in, it’s open to question whether your conclusions are the result of good judgment or personal spite.”
Latham’s eyes were suddenly dangerous. “Watch your step, Murray! I’ve given you plenty of leeway in this matter, but you can go too far.”
Looking into the other’s baleful gaze, Murray had the swift, fantastic impression that death threatened him. He knew that men who carried out important duties of galactic scope were trained against glandular influences in their reactions. But some emotions were too primal and basic to be kept under effective control. And Murray sensed that Latham was dominated by certain feelings in connection with Iris that amounted to serious aberration.
No—murder wasn’t quite such a fantastic possibility.
Advanced training and education couldn’t entirely prevent men from being victims of their impulses. The shortcoming was one for evolution itself to remove.
Murder was still committed—though more cleverly, with more emphasis on patience and method. And Murray knew that murder on an unsetteled planet was the easiest of all. Accidents happened. Men often disappeared without trace. It was accepted as an occupational hazard.
Latham, as though having sensed Murray’s thoughts, abruptly turned away, his face mask-like. Murray followed with a strange new wariness.
Latham was the first to emerge from the airlock and into full view of the balloon creatures hovering outside. Murray was next, his hand resting alertly on the blast-shell pistol at his hip. After him came Suraya and Lorenzo.
AT THE appearance of the humans the floating shapes retreated with startled haste. They hung at a wary distance from the cruiser, their stalked eyes fixed in a rigid stare upon the figures below the airlock. For a long, tense moment each group regarded the other amid a complete absence of sound or motion. Then slowly one of the balloon creatures began creeping forward, a gentle, almost languid drifting, as though it were being borne on a faint, lazy current.
Murray’s fingers tightened on the butt of his gun. He heard Latham’s warning whisper and sensed the abrupt tension that had flashed into Suraya and Lorenzo. The approaching monstrosity gave no hint of threat, no indication of the manner in which it might prove dangerous. With the exception of its tentacles, it bore no deadly offensive equipment, no horns, claws, or tearing beak. Yet it seemed to Murray that there was an insidious, hidden menace about the drifting shape.
Closer the creature came, and closer. There was no change in its slow, creeping progress. Its tentacles hung relaxed, and its stalked eyes remained fixed in their curious stare.
This particular specimen, Murray noticed, was larger than the others, its tentacles longer and thicker, and its spherical over-body a darker hue than that of its companions. It seemed to exude an aura of authority, of command. The leader of the balloon creatures, perhaps, Murray thought.
Still closer came the languidly drifting shape. Presently only a few meters separated it from the group beneath the airlock.
Murray heard Suraya release a thin, stiffled sound that might have been a sob. His own nerves were jerking with tension.
Latham was the foremost of the group, and Murray realized it was upon him that the attention of the balloon creature was centered. A sly thought stole past the censors th
at training had installed in his mind. If the creature intended harm to Latham, he could delay killing it just long enough not to interfere with Latham’s death. That would remove Latham and the man’s hostility and threats. A moment’s hesitation—and it would be over. Murray knew he was faster with a gun than either Suraya or Lorenzo, fast enough so that he could delay and still fire an instant before either triggered his own weapon. The delay would thus go unnoticed. No faintest taint of blame could afterward be attached to him.
The balloon creature was now perilously close. Its creeping progress ceased. It floated in the air several feet from Latham, its stalked eyes on a level with the man’s.
In spite of himself, Murray had to admire Latham’s steely self-control. A lesser man would have fled or opened fire in sheer panic.
And suddenly Murray’s training and decent instincts asserted themselves. Latham, after all, was more than just a rival where Iris was concerned. Latham was a human being and important to the welfare of the expedition. He had his shortcomings, but Murray realized these could hardly have been great enough to allow even more serious shortcomings in himself.
HE WAS shocked and chilled by the malevolent glandular influence that had momentarily overpowered him. Training and culture were little more than a flimsy tightrope over a yawning abyss of emotion. It was so incredibly easy for a man to slip.
Again there was an interval of complete motionlessness. Both Latham and the floating alien seemed to be hesitating, as though each sought some crucial sign of friendship or hostility from the other.
Murray discovered that a heavy, musky odor exuded from the balloon creature. The skin of its barrel-shaped underbody appeared thicker than that of the sphere immediately above, leathery and wrinkled in texture. The underside of this was covered with tawny hair, looking like a beard on some huge, misshapen face.
In another moment, with a motion as slow and gentle as its approach, something emerged from the creature’s beard, uncoiling and lengthening as it came, a thin, whip-like organ that ended in a profusion of fleshy, hair-fine growths. With this the creature reached delicately toward Latham.
Latham stood frozen, slightly crouched, knuckles white against the gun at his side. His sharp features glistened in the hard sunlight.
Murray was scarcely breathing. Anything could happen in the next instant. Anything at all. His fingers were aching bone on moist gunmetal.
Draw! his primal impulses told him. Don’t wait! Kill! Kill in a mindless orgy of fear and revulsion! For here was the strange, the unknown. Here was terror out of man’s ignorant, unreasoning past. Therefore kill!
The end of the whip-like organ or antenna gingerly touched Latham’s forehead. Latham seemed to twitch spasmodically at the contact, and a faint gasp broke from his lips. Then he became transfixed and rigid, a man turned suddenly to stone.
Murray’s gun was half drawn. A wild hesitation filled him. His every instinct was to fire, to destroy this floating monster that even now, in some incredible fashion, might be sucking the life from Latham’s body. But solid training was a foundation for cold reason. He could see no evidence that harm was being done. And to kill one of the balloon creatures without just cause would have retributive effects upon its companions which would seriously hamper the work of the survey crew.
Latham remained unmoving, as did the antenna touching him. A long, frozen moment passed. The situation seemed queerly unreal to Murray, dreamlike and nightmarish. He flashed a glance at Suraya and Lorenzo, and saw in their anxious, perplexed eyes the same hesitation that gripped him.
Then Latham straightened. His eyes seemed oddly glazed. “Why . . . why, it’s incredible!” he muttered dreamily. “These creatures are like . . . like gods!”
The antenna remained on Latham’s forehead. For some unfathomable reason that disturbed Murray.
“They . . . they’re telepathic,” Latham went on dreamily. “At least through contact with their girra organ. They call themselves the Gods of Madness. They’re intelligent . . . wonderfully intelligent. And they’re curious about us. They . . . they mean no harm.”
LATHAM’S glazed eyes touched Murray. “The others . . . we must tell them. It’s safe for them to come outside.”
Latham raised one hand to speak into the ring radio he had slipped on his finger before leaving the ship.
“Wait!” Murray burst out. “There’s something funny about this. Are you all right? Are you sure this isn’t a trick of some kind?”
“Of course not!” Latham returned sharply. “These beings are god-like! Do you understand? God-like!”
Murray indicated the whip-like antenna touching Latham’s forehead. “Why is it keeping that thing on you?”
“The girra makes possible telepathic communication,” Latham said. “I’ve already learned a lot about these people. There’s nothing to be afraid of . . . . See for yourself. Let Strong-Thought touch you with his girra.”
Murray stiffened. He knew very suddenly that he didn’t want the antenna to touch him. His fingers tightened on his gun. He was starting to draw it, when Latham, stepping back, jarred against him. Murray’s arm was momentarily imprisoned against his side, and before he could jerk it free, the floating monster’s antenna flicked out—touched his forehead.
THE WORLD of Lieutenant Murray changed as he himself changed—instantly. Strange how, for the first time, he knew himself as he really was; how he became fully aware of the mental laziness which had been a part of him all his life. A mistake in navigation? Certainly he’d made a mistake—a bad one—and, deep in his mind, he’d known it all along.
Now, some new force had entered his mind to tear away the mists and confusions which had blinded him for so long. And he was sickeningly aware of the boredom and monotonies of precise mathematics. Plot an astral course? Never again. The very thought made him slightly ill. Desperately, he tried to defend himself before, the impersonal entity probing his brain—a bodiless force with no human traits save intelligence.
And at the same time, Latham was also undergoing a soul-searching. A wave of chaos, swept through his brain, but in spite of the whirling and the plunging, he knew. He knew. If he could get this ship back to its starting point—and he would be able to do it only through sheer luck—he would resign. He was not, and never had been, capable of handling such a command. Murray had made a grave error—certainly—but Latham had been glad. That, in itself, disqualified him as a commander. Glad for what reason? Because Murray’s error caused him to reflect badly in the eyes of Iris Carlton.
Latham shuddered at the thought—lives placed in jeopardy because of one man’s biological urge.
“I bobbled it,” Murray said quietly. “It was sheer stupidity coupled with the fact that I don’t like mathematics and was never very good with figures in the first place.”
“I know,” Latham answered, just as quietly, “but my shortcomings are far worse. A commander should be able to view things impersonally. I have not been able to do that, therefore I should not be in command.”
“What’s happened?” Murray asked. “Who—or what—did this to us?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Latham answered. “These—these bodiless entities. We must destroy them.”
A peculiar feeling passed through Murray—a strange mixture of questions. Why had Latham suggested killing the entities? Yet it seemed, even to Murray, like a good idea. He was envious of Latham for suggesting it. Murray passed a hand over his forehead. Odd. He had the feelings of a child—the certainty that he was acting and thinking as a child in an adult body. And that the entities were aware—even amused by this. Kill them—yes, for survival—an instinctive knowledge that only in killing them lay survival.
And he knew the entities were amused. Knew this because, as the thought of how to kill them came to his mind, the answer was furnished—furnished by the entities themselves.
You have a weapon to which we are vulnerable. The flourine gas in your storage tanks—the tanks—the spray guns. We would die instantly.
And Murray found himself questioning the strange creatures mentally. The answers came instantly.
“You have no defense against the gas?”
No weapons—no tangible defense. None, other than you yourselves.
“That doesn’t make sense. If we decided to kill you we would certainly not defend you at the same time.”
Of course you would.
“Buy why should we kill you? Are you dangerous to us?”
Very dangerous.
There was hidden laughter behind the thought—sinister laughter.
“Dangerous in what way?”
We would make slaves of you.
“You are strange creatures. You commit suicide by telling us how to destroy you.”
No. We told you of the weapon which would destroy us.
“The same thing.”
No.
Murray realized that Latham was also tuned in on the strange conversation. Their eyes locked. The knowledge of what they had to do for survival-hit them at the same instant. Wordless, they moved toward the ship. They entered it and returned soon with the vicious gas weapons.
The shots had come to their ears in the passageway and now they saw the rest of the crew. All dead—all cut down by their own hands in a frenzy of suicide.
As Murray died, he heard the soft laughter of the strange gods. The words of the gods.
They would have made poor slaves. Too arrogant. Too engrossed in the illusion of their own power.
Now death lay over the place. Death and the Gods of Madness, laughing quietly.
Gods Under Glass
RAL DUCKED under the jagged arch of the white stone archway and entered the smoothed-out room. The man who rose to greet him was old. His description agreed with that which Orn had given for Grul, the superintendent.
“I’m Ral, Kan Grul,” he said, expending the identification card.
“Good, Kan Ral,” the older man said. “We’re shorthanded. You’ll start your duties at once. We can go through the formalities later. Follow me.” He accepted the identification card and tossed it on the glazed stone desk, then went to another arched opening, his stride quick and nervous. “We aren’t saving enough of them,” he said over his shoulder to Ral.
The 47th Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 22