Will Archer and Yancey Mears snapped back to reality in a split-second.
"Speak up, Mamie," he said. "Yancey and I are going to enter permanent union."
"I advise against it," said the golden-skinned woman. "It will complicate our living arrangements." She rolled back her eyes, breathing deeply, made as though to speak, but said nothing more.
"Congratulations," said Star Macduff. "I'll plot a joint life probability line for you two."
"You needn't bother."
"It will be a pleasure, Archer." The Computator left them standing silently, a little embarrassed.
"Again I advise against it, Will andYancey. What reasons have you for permanent union at this time?"
The Clericalist smiled a little bitterly. "The same reason you have against it, madame—love."
"No!" The golden-skinned woman recoiled. "I haven't done that—my judgment is still sound!"
"Prove that by leaving us alone, madame."
The Psychologist clutched at the rim of the tube as though she were fighting gravity that tried to drag her through. Intensely, pleadingly, she said: "That's not true. You know nothing of such things—you haven't specialized. I have nothing against permanent union, but on the ship it would be suicidal—time lost and relationships unbearably complicated—think again before you do this!"
"You were asked to leave for personal reasons," stated Will Archer. "You have seen that two mature minds are in agreement on this matter. Yet you did not obey this request, nor did you respect our decision. Your behavior is irrational and anti social. Mamie, I never thought that you were our weakest link."
There was fear in his eyes as she silently departed, looking somehow crushed and shrunken.
"I was afraid of this," he said. "The most delicately balanced organism is neither flesh, fish, fowl nor good red machinery. It's the socal organism, whether the world of man or our little blob of metal, out here in the middle of a vacuum. Will you take a reading of the counters, please?"
Yancey Mears extruded the sensitive plates from the hull and checked off the slowly revolving dials as they responded to the cosmic rays impinging on the plates.
"Intensity's about twenty times the last reading."
"We're there."
"What?" she asked incredulously.
"We're there. At least, there's only an insignificant distance separating the ship and the source of cosmic rays. Bring in some of the photo-plates."
The Clericalist operated the fishing-rod arrangement that reached the cameras with which the hull was studded. For not since the voyage's beginning had any of them seen outside the ship. The Executive slipped the transparencies against a lighted screen. "Shows nothing," he said.
"What did you expect to find?"
"I didn't expect anything in particular. But I believed I was correct in anticipating a visible object. It seems I was not. We'll change course as soon as we've disposed of the other two superiors."
"What plans have you made?"
"All plans up to the point of segregation. It was plain that a situation like this—one or more members of the complement losing their grasp on our social fabric—might occur. Sphere Nine is designed to accommodate them."
Quietly he flicked a pair of inconspicuous studs under his work table.
"Madame Tung and Mr. Macduff, please report to the Executive Officer in room C7." He broke the connection.
"Where's that?"
"Off the port side of the midship slice. As soon as both are in it seals itself. Now perhaps we can get to work …"
2
Star Macduff and Madame Mamie Tung were sealed in on schedule.
The Calculator, eyes glittering, drew a rod with a pistol grip.
"Where'd that come from, Star?"
"Made it myself. In my spare time."
"You never had any spare time. Time spent on work not requisite to the sphere's needs is wasted time. I think you've made a fool of yourself.
When Will comes I hope you remember your manners."
"Will isn't going to come, madame; we've been locked in here. I don't know whether he intends to starve us to death or whether the room will be flooded with gas …"
"Nonsense."
There was a creaking, scraping noise; the walls of the room seemed to twist on their weldings. "What was that?"
"I wouldn't know, madame. You forget that I'm half human. It was, no doubt, the brain-wave of a Homo superior."
"Ai—Ai—Ai-i-i …"
The two human beings whirled back to back, wild-eyed. In a tense whisper, her gaze not lowering from the walls, the woman asked: "What was it, Star?"
The hysteria was gone from Star Macduff's face; in a cold, determined fury of concentration he wrinkled his brow, running down the possibilities—considering the chances of capture by a star or planet; the chances of a fault in the ship's structure; sabotage by one of the ratings; sudden lunacy of the E.O.; the chance that he himself was mad and undergoing hallucinatory experience—with all the power of his brain.
His was a brain of no mean power, you will recall. In lightning order he assembled probabilities, some two hundred of them, ran through them each in a second's time, dismissing them one after another as they were contradicted by facts in his possession. It could not be a planet that they were near, for the instruments showed no planets within light-years. The instruments could not be faulty, for he had checked them personally yesterday.
His clear, white light of concentration viewed each possibility in turn, and each was dismissed.
"Madame," he said softly, "I know of no explanation for what has happened." "
The grotesque creaking sounded again. Star Macduff, feeling curiously weak, fell to the floor. "Easy, Star! What's the matter with you?"
"Feel like jelly …shouldn't—perfect health …"
The woman took the chance to relieve him of the weapon he had made.
"What does it do?" she asked.
"Metal-fatigue …crystallizes cross-fiber 'stead of lengthwise."
"Ai-i-i…"
MadameTung felt herself sinking, raised the gun and fired at the lock.
The door smoothly swung open into the communication tube that ran the length of the ship.
"Come!" She lugged Star Macduff with her, pushing him ahead through the tube, to the Executive's Office.
"Sorry to interrupt. This must blow your plans up into the air, I know.
But this man's sick and I don't feel—very—well …"
Her iron will gave way and she collapsed at the feet of the Executive and Yancey Mears. "Whatever it is, it hasn't hit us yet. Check with the ratings, Yancey."
"E.O.'s office—count off, somebody, and report."
"All present and in good order, Officer. What's that noise we heard?"
"Experiments. Cut!"
"Cut, Officer."
"They heard it too, Will. What is it?"
"Star—couldn't explain mathematically …doubt if you can."
"Thanks, Mamie."
"Ai-i—lul-lul-lul-lull…"
The Computator and the Psychologist rose, looking startled.
"How do you feel?"
"All right. It passed like a shadow. Now let's get down to work. What's the noise? That is the immediate problem."
"Mamie said you couldn't crack it. If you can't by using logic I doubt that anybody can. How about opening the direct window?"
"Use all precautions and checks if you do. I say yes."
"You women?"
They nodded silently; Will Archer set into operation the motors that would unlock a segment of the hull and peel it aside like an orange.
Noiselessly the bolts slipped; into the brilliantly lighted office there seemed to steal the gloom of blackest space as a section of the wall apparently slid aside and opened into the vacuum. There was the merest hint of reflection from the synthetic transparent which masked them from space, and that was due to the lightly tinted shields in operation.
"Look at this index jump," said Mamie Tung, pointing a
t an instrument board with a sharp finger. "It's sky-high when you take the hull off.
Metal's stopping the cosmic rays."
"It shouldn't," observed the Executive Officer.
"Let the logician in," said Star Macduff studying the dial. "If we're near the source of the rays, it well might. Metal has failed in the past to stop diffused cosmic rays, the things that reach Earth after plowing through trillions of cubic miles of dust, free electrons, air and what have you. If we're encountering them direct from the source, unaltered by reflection, diffraction or diffusion, their properties may be entirely altered."
"Very good, Star. The Question is still unanswered as to what the cosmic rays are. We have not yet seen the source of which we're speaking.
Madame, ask the ratings to revolve the ship about its axis. We need a clean sweep of the heavens. Keep them on the wire."
"Ai lull-lull—luh …"
"E.O.'s office. Rating Five, revolve the Sphere on its axis at low speed."
"All right, Officer."
Will Archer reclined in an angled seat commanding the direct window; he extinguished the lights of the office with a flick.
"Commence the rotation."
"Commence, Rating Five."
"Yes, Officer."
The starless heaven wheeled and spun above him as the E.O. stared through the invisible synthetic.
"Stop!"
"Yes, Officer!"
"Back three degrees."
"Back three degrees, Officer."
The sphere wheeled slowly, cautiously.
"See it?" demanded Will Archer.
The others stared into the blackness.
"I believe I do," finally said Yancey Mears. "A sort of luminescence?"
"That's right. Like stars beginning to come out as a fog lifts. Anybody else see it?" "I. It's changing shape—see the upper left there?"
"Portside of the universe, beyond any Earthly telescope. They could just barely see us from Andromeda with a thousand-incher. I'd say we're about on the edge of the cosmos. I'd give you the figures, only they wouldn't mean anything to you."
"Ai-luh …"
"Now explain that one, Star."
"The appearances are: we are approaching a body which is like no known star, nebula, planet, dust-tract or gas-cloud. It seems, furthermore, to be the source of cosmic rays. As out nearness to this body became significant, stresses have been appearing in the ship which make very alarming noises. Two of the complement passed out temporarily for no known reason and with no after-effects yet noticeable."
"Fine. Take the specific gravity of that thing now."
Star Macduff stared curiously, shrugged, and ran the observations off.
Silently he handed over the tape.
"Protoplasm," said the executive officer.
"It could be. Then the cosmic rays are …"
"Mitogenic."
The ship trembled again; the Psychologist stared in horror at Will Archer. "What's happening to us?" she cried.
"I don't know. We're working out the problem assigned, however. I assume that you and Star succumbed to the mitogenic rays temporarily, the way yeast-buds die under a concentrated stare from a human being. Since you're both tougher than yeast-buds you recovered. I don't know what kept Yancey and me from going under."
"Consider, Will," said Star Macduff agitatedly. "Think of what you're doing. This ship's going right into the eye of a monster piece of protoplasm that's nearly knocked off two of the complement without even trying."
"If anybody has an alternative to suggest…?"
They were silent.
"Thanks for the endorsement. I wouldn't be driving us to death if there were any other course. It's not yet certain that we're going to die; it's not yet certain that this stuff is alive. But if it is, we're going to find out why and how. What's the size of it, Star?"
"I don't know—maybe in the decillion order."
Again sounded the grating noise that shivered from every part of the ship. In words.
"I—live."
Instantly the telephone jangled; the Clericalist snapped: "E.O.'s office.
What is it?"
"Commons room, Officer. Is everything all right? We heard …"
"We'll call you when we need you, rating. Cut!"
"Cut, Officer."
"Too bad we haven't got a psychic along," said Yancey Mears. "One of those'd be able to tell us what we're up against."
The watch from Will Archer's pocket zipped through the fabric and clanged against a bulkhead, clinging. Rapidly there followed pencils, instruments and the pistol-weapon. They made a compact, quivering bunch on the metal wall.
"Magnetized," mused Star Macduff. "Now what did it?"
"I think," said Yancey Mears, "that at this point we'd better scrap logic."
"What do you propose to substitute for it?"
"Nothing. I propose that we take things as they come. Mamie, would you be so good as to run an association series on me?"
"Certainly. You two men keep your ears open; when something strikes you, speak up." Yancey Mears seated herself comfortably, not far from the heap of portables on the wall, closed her eyes, blanked her mind to go by pure intuition.
The golden-skinned woman scribbled hastily in a notebook, then began to read off the words clearly, Yancey Mears responding like an automaton.
" White. Road. " "Sing."—"High." " Race. "—"Win. " " Pone. "—"
Damned."
Further down the list they went, the Psychologist droning out the words in measured tones, the subject replying like a machine. In about five minutes the reaction time had reached its lowest and was nearly exactly equal in each case; the subject was drawing on her unconscious knowledge and those short-cuts that go by the name of "intuition."
Mamie Tung droned: "Life."
"Boat."
"Round."
"Lives …" The woman opened her eyes and stood up. "That brought it out into the open. The whole ship's alive. Mitogenic rays, cosmic rays, whatever you want to call them now, they've done something to this awesome work of metal. I imagine impulses go by wire when there are wires, or by traveling fields. Like that magnetized plate there …"
"Where's its brain?" snapped Archer.
"I don't know. I don't know if it has a brain. But I'd advise you not to enter the calculations room up forward."
"That would be it. And eyes—ears—memory …?"
"They have no bearing on us, Will. But I hope—I hope—that Sphere Nine hasn't got phagocytes."
"Hi, microbe."
"That's it. Meanwhile, let's send in for that Rating Seven you were going to dispose of."
"Commons room?"
"Yes, Officer."
"Rating Seven will pick up a blank tape from the calculations room and bring it to the E.O.'s office. Cut!"
"Cut, Officer."
"We'll see if he survives it. It's his line anyway—mechanical vermin.
Though the ship's bigger than those tincs he made."
They distributed themselves about the office, jumping like nervous cats whenever the ship strained or squeaked.
Eventually—after no more than five minutes—the face of Rating Seven appeared, pale, distorted.
"Reporting—with the tape, Officers," he said shuffling nervously. "The Gentleman in the computations room wished to see you."
"What Gentleman, Rating Seven?"
"The—the—oh God!" sobbed the ordinary, dropping the tape, wrinkling up his face like a child. He sat on the floor and began to cry. He stopped as his eyes caught the tape-spool, unrolling along the floor. He poked it gently as it reached the end of the roll and ceased unreeling, he looked up at the officers like a puzzled baby, willing to be amused. The meaningless smile of infancy flickered across his face.
Steadily Mamie Tung unscrewed a bowl-shaped lamp shade.
"Hold this, Yancey. It's to catch the blood. Hold it still while …"
Silently the two men eased Rating Seven into a chair and leaned him ove
r while Mamie Tung drew a slim knife of transparent plastic.
As they eased through the pipe to the computations room Star Macduff asked: "Was he curable?"
"Of course. Only we didn't have the time or the facilities. And the effect on the other ratings would be much worse that way."
"Who do you suppose the Gentleman in the computations room is?"
"Perhaps a hallucination. Perhaps the logical translation which the mind of an ordinary made of some very foreign phenomenon. You needn't fear for your own mind if we find the—Gentleman. The h.s. is notoriously inadaptable. Shows a distressing weakness in the presence of the alien. Remember what happened when the first rockets squirted themselves to Mars and Luna? The finest slew of mass hypnosis and delusion since the days of the tarantella. In the streets of Boston a crowd assembled and looked up for days—till they dropped of thirst, hunger and fatigue. What else can you expect from homo sap?
"That poor creature—Rating Seven—blew out like an overloaded fuse.
He raced backwards into infancy and couldn't get far enough away from the Gentleman in the computations room. Without treatment he would have curled up like a fetus and died in a matter of days."
"Maybe," said Star Macduff, "the Gentleman is a sort of projection of that protoplasmic body out there."
Will Archer halted and turned blazing, golden eyes on the mathematician. "Star," he said grimly, "we've stood a lot from you on this trip. We've made allowances for your human strains and excused you much on the score of your undoubted ability to juggle figures. But even the most extraordinary knack with numbers won't excuse a remark like that.
"What you said was unfounded in reason. Its only effect could have been to confuse us and yourself. As your Executive, I warn you that if you slip like that again you'll be with those apes whose sole asset is their ability to take orders. And if you prove unable to do that …"
The Psychologist wiped her knife again, angling its light onto Star Macduff's face. Her eyes were hard as the transparent blade; Yancey Mears' mouth was one thin line.
"I'm sorry," said Star Macduff. "It won't happen again." The wrinkles between his eyes seemed to indicate that he most fervently hoped so.
They eased through the pipe, one after another, into the computations room. It was filled with the soft clicking of the machines that jammed it from one wall to the other. Will Archer walked down the center aisle.
His Share of Glory The Complete Short Science Fiction Page 102