by John Burke
Matthew was glad for her sake and Clifford’s, but at the same time he had to admit that he himself felt lonelier than he had done before. He and Clifford shared duties as before, but now he felt somehow remoter from his young friend. Clifford and Alida and their child belonged to another world. Whatever troubles they might have, they would never know anything like Matthew’s loneliness.
The years stretched ahead, as hazy in the distance as the great nebulae that sprawled across the heavens. Down through space and time twisted the ship.
Until at last it approached the system in which lay the planet, the first port of call, for whose solid ground and clear atmosphere they had been longing. Dazzlingly framed in the observation port was a bright sun, and round it moved four planets. The ship fell into an orbit round the outer one of these four worlds. Gradually it sank through the fine trailing clouds. Continents opened up beneath it.
But they were dead continents—vast tracts of slaughter and devastation.
* * * *
They landed on the outskirts of a shattered city. Nothing moved in the ruins. The bright sun shone mercilessly on the bleached heaps of masonry and the splintered columns of what had once been magnificent buildings.
Before opening the airlock, Matthew tested for radioactivity or the presence of any other lingering force that might prove harmful; but the instrument panel stayed reassuringly negative.
Clifford said: “This is a wonderful welcome, I must say. After all the talk there’s been these past few months—as though we were going on a carefree holiday—and now look at this!”
The biologist and Matthew were the first to leave the ship. They stood for a minute or two surveying the expanse of silent ruins; then Matthew said:
“I don’t think there’s any chance of an enemy lurking anywhere in that lot. All this happened a good time ago—some years ago, I’d say.”
The others came out cautiously into the open air. Despite the depressing sight of the crumpled city, so reminiscent of the debris they had left on their own world five years ago, they could not help exulting in the sense of freedom after all this time. One of the women fainted, and Matthew had to admit that he himself felt dizzy.
“We’d better not poke about in the ruins,” said Clifford. “We don’t want to fall into hidden cellars or pull anything down on top of ourselves. But I think we ought to take the ship up and visit one or two other of the cities we saw as we came down. There may be somebody left.”
Matthew shook his head thoughtfully. “They all looked much the same from the air. And we can’t afford to waste fuel like that. You know what a colossal drain it is, using power to force the ship through a planet’s atmosphere on mere reconnaissance work.”
Clifford nodded. “We could try sending out a radio signal, and making a regular waveband check to see if there are any incoming signals.”
Alida came up to him, her daughter staggering along over the uneven ground, holding on to her left hand.
“Before making plans of any sort,” said Alida gently, “can’t we spend a few days enjoying the fresh air?”
“She’s talking sense,” agreed Matthew. “Let’s make the most of things for a day or two. We can do any exploring later. Let’s enjoy being alive and on solid ground. And later,” he added drily, “we can see if anybody wants to stay here permanently.”
One group of men and women wanted to spend the night sleeping out in the open. It had been a common practice during the months of the Elysian summer, and the sun here was so warm that it would surely be safe to do so here.
Matthew disapproved. The day here was warm, but the nights might be cold. After having adjusted themselves to the stable temperature of the ship, it would be stupid to run unnecessary risks. For the first night they would sleep on board, and guards would be posted. The guards could report on the temperature.
His doubts were justified. The night was cold, and a strong wind blew from the distant mountains.
The next morning groups of two or three went off for walks. “Not too far,” Matthew warned them. He knew that he was regarded as a dismal killjoy, always raising objections; but he knew also that none of them was in good enough condition for more than mild doses of physical exertion, and that they could all tire themselves out too easily.
Despite instructions, the children escaped into the ruins, and one of them twisted an ankle.
At the end of the third day, Clifford again urged that they should expend a certain amount of fuel in a trip over the continents of this world. They must find out if there was nothing left alive. And somewhere there ought to be some indication of why this dreadful destruction had taken place.
They travelled above the remains of cities, flying low, and found no sign of any living being. But in one expanse of ruins they found dead bodies, thrown clear of falling buildings. Some of them were human beings; others were the bodies of four-legged creatures with large heads and furry backs. It looked as though the humans and these others had lived together on equal terms. Certainly they had died together.
And at last, on the outskirts of a small town near which the ship had landed because it stood near a refreshing inland sea, there was a sign of movement.
It was Bellhouse who saw the creature. He was standing with Dr. Richard on the shore while the biologist took samples of the water for testing. They had turned to look back at the ship, lying on the far side of the white town, and suddenly Bellhouse said:
“Something moved. There. Over there.”
They stood quite still and waited.
There was a cautious movement in the shadows of what might once have been a temple or a theatre. It was repeated. Very slowly a small animal—or was it something more than an animal, some higher form of life?—came out into the open. It was about three feet high, walking forward on short legs and seeming to lean over slightly as though ready to touch the ground and balance itself with its long, swaying arms. The sun shone brightly into its face. It turned its head from side to side as though dazzled.
Then it stopped. It shaded its eyes with a curving arm, and looked straight at the two men.
The noise it made was indescribable. It was a scream: and whatever differences there might be between life on this planet and life on the world that Bellhouse and the doctor had known, both of them would have been prepared to swear that the scream was one of undiluted terror.
“Its hair stood on end,” said Bellhouse afterwards. “It associated us with something it knew...and hated.”
In a flash it had gone, burrowing back into the ruins. They heard it cry out once more, perhaps issuing a warning to others that crouched in the shadows or cellars. Bellhouse hurried back to report.
“What has happened?” asked Clifford for the hundredth time. “Is there some race that has travelled through the universe intent on destruction? Elysium was attacked and our people massacred. Here a whole civilisation has been destroyed. If anyone is left alive, there’s no sign apart from this one we’ve just had: if there are any human beings, they are in hiding.”
Matthew said slowly: “Remembering what that creature in the spaceship said just before it died, I’m beginning to think there has been a deadly war. A rebellion of some sort, followed by war. And the human race isn’t too popular. That thing Bellhouse and Richard saw, whatever it was, was terrified. What had human beings done to it in the past—or what sort of upheaval did it associate with human beings?”
“If it’s like this all the way across the universe....”
In all their minds was the mutual agreement that they must leave this planet. Even the men who had once talked of staying and settling down felt that the bleakness of destruction was too demoralising: the only thing to do was to go on.
One fearful question nagged at them: what would they find at their next stopping place?
* * * *
They leaped out into space again, speeding along an arc that dropped them after two years into the atmosphere of another planet that had once, according to Matthew�
��s memory and its interpretation of the charts, received a small group of Earthmen and their wives.
There was silence in the ship as it sank through cloud. No one dared to be optimistic.
The white veil parted, and they were moving with ponderous grace above a twisting river. The sharp crests of mountains reached up into the sky as though to trap the spaceship. The river cut its way down a valley and came out eventually on a plain of a dull red colour.
Clifford said: “A town—at the end of the valley.”
They nosed down towards it. Red towers thrust up in noble patterns. In one area there had been a great deal of destruction, but the larger part of the town was intact. And above its roofs and pinnacles, darting to and fro like agitated bees, were swift helicars not unlike those that Matthew remembered.
“This is somewhere that hasn’t been wiped out,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s try making radio contact.”
He sent out a signal of greeting. There was no response from the speaker on the panel. Again the message went out; and this time a spluttering and crackling burst from the speaker against their eardrums. It meant nothing. It was no more than blurred stuttering, with no resemblance to language or to any signalling system that Matthew knew.
“Must be vastly different equipment,” he said. “Let’s leave it open, though. We can set the transmitter to repeat, and maybe after a while they’ll be able to adjust their sets to match up with ours.”
The speaker continued to crackle as the ship made a slow circle and settled not far from the riverbank.
The bobbing, scurrying flyers above the town all seemed to converge on some special focal point, and then they disappeared.
Nothing moved outside, yet Matthew had a sense of being watched—of thousands of eyes watching the ship.
“They’ve emptied the streets,” said Clifford. “We’d better get out and make friendly overtures before they all start screaming with fear like our last little acquaintance.”
The chummering in the speaker swelled and grew more and more confused, as though on some adjoining wavelength messages were being hurriedly passed to and fro.
“Atmosphere check?” said Clifford, pushing himself out of his chair.
“Safe,” said Matthew. “Slight surplus of oxygen. Don’t get light-headed.”
He followed Clifford along the corridor. Bellhouse emerged from the engine-room and said abruptly:
“Let me go. You and Clifford were first last time. You never know what risks there are: we ought to take it in turn,”
Matthew hesitated. Then he saw Clifford’s eager face. His heart warmed to the younger man. The sense of adventure was still strong in Clifford. He wanted to be the first to set foot on this planet.
Matthew said: “I think we’ll let Clifford make the preliminary exit. He’s all set to go.”
Clifford flashed him a smile of gratitude, and stepped into the airlock. Both doors opened wide, and there was a rush of sweet-smelling air that seemed to penetrate to the depths of the ship.
Matthew, framed in the opening, watched Clifford walk away from the ship and then turn back to wave.
As he did so, a helicar came streaking out from the city. It made a swift circle above the ship, and then darted back as though afraid of being snatched out of the sky if it lingered.
Clifford stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the towers and blocks of buildings that lay spread out before him.
Behind Matthew, Alida spoke urgently.
“Look—those things coming out of the town.... Call him back.”
A group of helicars had formed above the roofline, and were skimming towards the ship.
“Official welcome delegation,” said Matthew uncertainly.
Clifford looked up, and spread his arms to indicate friendship.
Matthew suddenly called: “Clifford. Better come back. We’re not sure. Don’t take any chances.”
The leading car, an angry droning little midge, swooped. Light stabbed like a bright lance from its side. There was a spurt of dust a few yards in front of Clifford, and then the ray struck him.
His arms were still outspread. They glowed for a fraction of a second. His body was outlined in flame. Then he crumpled and dissolved: where he had been there was a haze of dust, a swirl of movement that retained the shape of a man of a moment and then was dispersed.
Alida screamed. She would have flung herself past Matthew and out into the open, but he caught her arm and held her back.
“Bellhouse—the doors!” he shouted.
Bellhouse thumbed the switch, and the airlock door closed with a thud. As its echoes died away there was a sharp sound as though a great fingernail had scratched piercingly down the outside of the spaceship.
“It’ll take more than that to pierce the hull,” snapped Matthew.
The sound came again. Through the ports they saw the helicars swooping and plunging, sending out against the side of the ship a succession of vicious bright rays.
Alida was crying, her body racked by bitter sobs. Matthews’ eyes narrowed with pain. He tried to put an arm about her shoulder, but she shook him off and showed him a face contorted by hatred.
“You!” she spat. “This is your fault. Your expedition to Earth...your selfishness...and it was you who let Clifford go out there.”
He said: “Alida....”
“Where will it end? What hope is there now?”
Two of the women took her arms and led her gently away, trying to soothe her. The sound of her sobs came back with a hollow, resonant note as she went down the corridor.
Bellhouse said, not looking at Matthew: “Before we start any arguments, we ought to get clear of this place.”
“Run away?” said Matthew, enraged. “We’ll man the disruptors and blow those little insects out of existence.”
“That’s a fair-sized town over there,” said Bellhouse, “and if I’m not mistaken they’ve got other resources. There’s something moving over there now.”
The two of them looked out of a port. Visibility was poor because of the columns of dust that lashed up out of the ground every time one of the helicar’s rays swept across But Bellhouse was right. A vague shape of some heavy vehicle was moving into position at the end of one of the town’s wide streets.
Matthew said; “We can stand up to it. We can give as good as we get.”
“Can we? They’ll be calling up reinforcements. They don’t like the look of human beings—that’s plain enough. And one hole blown in the side of the ship means we’re stuck here until we can make repairs. What’s it going to be: do we clear out before we’re damaged, or do we make a last stand?”
Matthew’s every impulse was to stand fast. The need to avenge Clifford’s death burned in his mind.
“Of course,” said Bellhouse ironically, “we might be able to make them understand, after a while, that we mean no harm. But whether we’d get a chance of explaining is open to question.”
The ground almost directly below the port burst into a fury of flame. The ship rocked violently, and Matthew was thrown back against the corridor wall.
Then another tremor ran through the ship, as the disruptors opened fire. Matthew thrust himself upright with a scowl of satisfaction.
Then he said, sharply: “You’re right. Of course you’re right. We can’t expect to have a quiet talk with creatures who fire as soon as they see a human being, and we can’t defeat them. It would be madness to come this far and then be wiped out because we were too proud to cut and run.”
He called for one of the auxiliary pilots. Bellhouse went back into the engine-room. Matthew did not go to his usual seat, nor did he strap himself into position with the others in the lounge. He sent his rapid instructions booming through the ship, but he himself wrapped his arms around a corridor stanchion, and glared out of the window.
Another great blast of force struck at the ship. Matthew closed his eyes and cursed. Tears ran down his cheeks. He mouthed Clifford’s name, and went on cursing b
itterly until the roar of the take-off drowned out every sound, and pressure weighed on him so that everything went black and he hung limply by his arms from the stanchion.
Space claimed them again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Now they were conscious of nothing but a spirit of resignation. A sense of fatality settled on them all. Eternity stretched ahead of them, and eternity lay behind. They were rejected by the spinning worlds of the cosmos: they were doomed to wander out across the vastness of interstellar space with no hope, no promise of rest and contentment at last.
Alida was the only one who was not resigned. When she passed Matthew, her face glowed with hatred. If he tried to stop her and make her speak to him, she would wrench herself away and call him a murderer.
The others sank into sullenness. The years could roll on. There had never been such a place as Elysium, and there would be no such destination as Earth.
There were times when Matthew felt that he was too weak to go on any further with his weary odyssey. He sat at the control panel and was tempted to bring the whole thing to an end by hurling the ship out of its course and letting it spin madly off, like a stone from a catapult, into the furnace of some blazing sun.
At other times he merely wished that he would one morning not awaken. Let the end come for him, and for all of them, quietly. Call it a day. For him it had been a long day—a day composed of centuries.
They visited another world. It was dead. It had never lived. Lost in the cold, far from its sun, it showed no sign of ever having offered its bleak hospitality to any human being or other creature.
They left it and went on their way.
The men and women aged. The children grew up. Alida’s beautiful face set into the sadness of maturity. She was marked by lines of suffering. There was only her daughter to give her comfort.