The Voyage of the Space Beagle

by A. E. van Vogt

  Morton was hesitating. It seemed clear that he also regarded the remark as valueless. But it was not a moment to argue subtle points. These men were tense and afraid. They wanted action and reassurance and the feeling that adequate countermeasures were being taken. At such moments, directors of expeditions, commanders in chief, and others in authority had been known to lose permanently the confidence of their followers. It seemed to Grosvenor that those possibilities were in Morton’s mind when he spoke again, so careful were his words.

  The Director said, “We’ve thought of that. Dr. Eggert and his assistants will examine everybody, of course. Right now, he’s looking at the bodies.”

  A thunderous baritone bellowed almost in Grosvenor’s ear. “Here I am, Morton. Tell these people to make way for me!”

  Grosvenor turned and recognized Dr. Eggert. Men were already crowding aside for him. Eggert plunged forward. Without hesitation, Grosvenor pushed after him. As he had expected, each individual took it for granted that he was with the doctor. As they came up near Morton, Dr. Eggert said, “I heard you, Director, and I can tell you right now the space-madness theory won’t fit. The throats of these men were smashed by something with the strength of ten human beings. The victims never had a chance to cry out.”

  Eggert paused, then asked slowly, “What about our big cat, Morton?”

  The Director shook his head. “Pussy is in his cage, Doctor, pacing back and forth. I’d like to ask the opinion of the experts on him. Can we suspect him? That cage was built to hold beasts four or five times as large as he is. It seems hard to believe that he can be guilty, unless there’s a new science here, beyond anything we can imagine.”

  Smith said grimly, “Morton, we have all the evidence we need. I hate to say this; you know that I’d rather keep the cat alive. But I used the telefluor camera on him, and tried to take some pictures. They were all blanks. Remember what Gourlay said. This creature can apparently receive and send vibrations of any wave length. The way he dominated the power of Kent’s gun is adequate proof for us — after what has happened — that he has a special ability to interfere with energy.”

  A man groaned. “What in the name of all the hells have we got here? Why, if he can control that energy and send it out on any wave length, there’s nothing to stop him killing all of us.”

  “Which proves,” said Morton, “that he isn’t invincible, or he would have done it long ago.”

  In a deliberate fashion, he walked over to the mechanism that controlled the cage.

  “You’re not going to open the door!” Kent gasped, and reached for his blaster.

  “No, but if I pull this switch, electricity will flow through the floor and electrocute whatever is inside. We had that built into all our specimen cages as a precaution.”

  He unlocked the special electrocution switch and jerked the switch itself hard over. For a moment the power was full on. Then blue fire flashed from the metal, and a bank of fuses above Morton’s head went black. Morton reached up, took one of them out of its socket, and frowned down at it.

  “That’s funny,” he said. “Those fuses shouldn’t have blown!” He shook his head. “Well, we can’t even look inside the cage now. That wrecked the audio, also.”

  Smith said, “If he could interfere with the electric lock enough to open the door, then he very likely probed every possible danger and was ready to interfere when you threw the switch.”

  “At least it proves he’s vulnerable to our energies,” Morton said grimly. “Because he had to render them harmless. The important thing is, we’ve got him behind four inches of the toughest of metals. At worst, we can open the door and turn a semi-portable blaster on him. But, first, I think we’ll try to feed electricity in there through the telefluor power cable.”

  A sound from inside the cage interrupted his words. A heavy body crashed against a wall. That was followed by a sustained thudding, as if many objects were collapsing to the floor. Grosvenor mentally compared it to a small landslide.

  “He knows what we’re trying to do,” Smith said to Morton. “And I’ll bet it’s a very sick pussy in there. What a fool he was to go back in the cage, and does he realize it!”

  The tension was relaxing. Men were smiling nervously. There was even a ripple of humourless laughter at the picture Smith had drawn of the monster’s discomfiture. Grosvenor was puzzled. He didn’t like the sounds he had heard. Hearing was the most deceptive of senses. It was impossible to identify what had happened or was happening in the cage.

  “What I’d like to know,” said Pennons, the chief engineer, “is why did the telefluor-meter dial jump and waver at full power when pussy made that noise? It’s right here under my nose, and I’ve been trying to guess what happened.”

  There was silence both within and without the cage. Abruptly, there was a stir in the doorway behind Smith, Captain Leeth and two officers in their military uniforms stepped into the corridor.

  The commander, a wiry man of fifty, said, “I think I’d better take charge here. There seems to be some conflict between the scientists as to whether or not this monster should be killed — is that right?”

  Morton shook his head. “The conflict is over. We all feel now he should be executed.”

  Captain Leeth nodded. “That was the order I was about to give. I believe the security of the ship is threatened, and that’s my province.” He raised his voice. “Make room here! Get back!”

  It took several minutes to ease the pressure in the corridor. Grosvenor was glad when it was done. If the creature had come out while those in the foreground were unable to move back quickly, he’d have been able to destroy or injure many men. That danger wasn’t completely over, but it was alleviated.

  Somebody said, “That’s funny! The ship seemed to move just then!”

  Grosvenor had felt it, also, as if for an instant the drive had been tested. The big ship trembled as it settled back from that moment of straining.

  Captain Leeth said sharply, “Pennons, who’s down in the engine room?”

  The chief engineer was pale. “My assistant and his helpers. I don’t see how they—”

  There was a jerk. The big ship careened, and threatened to fall on its side. Grosvenor was flung with cruel violence to the floor. He lay stunned, and then in alarm fought back to consciousness. Other men were sprawled all around him. Some of them were groaning in pain. Director Morton yelled something, an order Grosvenor didn’t hear. Then Captain Leeth was struggling to his feet. He was cursing. Grosvenor heard him say savagely, “Who the devil started those engines!”

  The frightful acceleration continued. It was at least five, possibly six gravities. Having assessed its tremendous force as being within his capabilities, Grosvenor climbed agonizingly to his feet. He rumbled with the nearest wall communicator, and punched the engine-room number, not really expecting that it would work. Behind him, a man let out a bass bellow. Grosvenor turned in surprise. Director Morton was peering over his shoulder. The big man called out, “It’s pussy! He’s in the engine room. And we’re heading out into space.”

  Even as Morton spoke, the screen went black. And still the pressure of acceleration continued. Grosvenor staggered through the door into the salon, and across the great room into a second corridor. There was, he remembered, a space-suit store-room there. As he approached it, he saw that Captain Leeth was ahead of him and was in the act of fumbling his body into a suit. As Grosvenor came up, the commander closed up the suit and manipulated its anti-acceleration unit.

  Quickly he turned to help Grosvenor. A minute later, Grosvenor sighed with relief as he reduced the gravity of his suit to one G. There were two of them now; and other men were stumbling up. It took only a few minutes to exhaust the supply of space suits in that store-room. They went down to the next floor and brought up suits from there. But now dozens of the crew members were available for the job. Captain Leeth had already disappeared; and Grosvenor, guessing the next step to be taken, hurried back to the cage where the big cat h
ad been imprisoned. He found a score of scientists assembled at the door, which had apparently just been opened.

  Grosvenor pressed forward and peered over the shoulders of those who were ahead of him. There was a gaping hole in the rear wall of the cage. The hole was big enough for five men to have squeezed through at one time. The metal looked bent, and had numerous jagged edges. The hole opened on to another corridor.

  “I’ll swear,” whispered Pennons through the unclosed headpiece of his space suit, “that it’s impossible. The ten-ton hammer of the machine shop couldn’t more than dent four inches of micro-steel with one blow. And we heard only one. It would take at least a minute for the atomic disintegrator to do the job, but the whole area would be poisonously radio-active for several weeks at least. Morton, this is a super-being!”

  The Director made no reply. Grosvenor saw that Smith was examining the break in the wall. The biologist glanced up. “If only Breckenridge weren’t dead. We need a metallurgist to explain this. Look!”

  He touched the broken edge of the metal. A piece crumbled between his fingers and slithered away in a fine shower of dust to the floor. Grosvenor pushed his way in.

  “I know something of metallurgy,” he said.

  Several men automatically made way for him. And presently he was standing beside Smith. The biologist frowned at him. “One of Breck’s assistants?” he asked pointedly.

  Grosvenor pretended not to hear. He bent down and ran the fingers of his space suit through the pile of metallic debris on the floor. He straightened quickly, “No miracle here,” he said. “As you know, such cages as this are made in electro-magnetic moulds, and we use a fine metallic powder for the job. The creature used his special powers to interfere with the forces holding the metal together. That would account for the drain on the telefluor power cable that Mr Pennons noticed. The thing used the electric energy, with his body as a transforming engine, “broke down the wall, ran along the corridor, and so down into the engine room.”

  He was surprised that he was allowed to complete the hurried analysis. But it seemed clear that he had been accepted as an assistant of the dead Breckenridge. It was a natural error in so big a ship, where men had not yet had time to identify all the lower-rank technicians.

  “In the meantime, Director,” Kent said quietly, “we are faced with a super-being in control of the ship, completely dominating the engine room and its almost unlimited power, and in possession of the main section of the machine shops.”

  It was a simple statement of the situation. And Grosvenor felt its impact upon the other men. Their anxiety showed on their faces.

  A ship’s officer spoke up. “Mr. Kent is wrong,” he said. “The thing doesn’t dominate the engine room completely. We’ve still got the control bridge, and that gives us first control of all the machines. You gentlemen, being supernumeraries, may not know the mechanical set-up we have. Undoubtedly, the creature could eventually disconnect us, but right now we could cut off all the switches in the engine room.” “For God’s sake!” said a man, “why didn’t you just shut off the power instead of putting a thousand men into space suits?”

  The officer was precise. “Captain Leeth believes we are safer within the force fields of our space suits. It is probable that the creature has never before been subjected to five or six gravities of acceleration. It would be unwise to give up that and other advantages in panicky moves.”

  “What other advantages have we got?”

  Morton spoke up. “I can answer that. We know things about him. And right now I’m going to suggest to Captain Leeth that we make a test.” He turned to the officer. “Will you ask the commander to authorize a little experiment I want to make?”

  “I think you’d better ask him yourself, sir. You can reach him by communicator. He’s up on the bridge.”

  Morton came back in a few minutes. “Pennons,” he said, “since you’re a ship’s officer and head man in the engine room, Captain Leeth wants you to take charge of this test.”

  It seemed to Grosvenor that there was a hint of irritation in Morton’s tone. Evidently, the commander of the ship had been in earnest when he had said that he was taking charge. It was the old story of partially divided commands. The dividing line had been defined as precisely as possible, but obviously the authorities could not predict all contingencies. In the final issue, much depended on the personality of the individuals. Until now, the ship’s officers and crew, all military people, had meticulously carried out their ship duties, subordinating themselves to the purpose of the tremendous voyage. Nevertheless, past experience on other ships had proved to the government that for some reason military men did not have a high opinion of scientists. In moments such as this, the hidden hostility showed itself. Actually, there was no reason why Morton should not be in charge of his own experimental attack.

  Pennons said, “Director, there isn’t time for you to explain the details to me. You give the orders! If I disagree with any of them, we’ll talk it over.”

  It was a graceful surrender of prerogative. But then Pennons, as chief engineer, was a fully-fledged scientific man in his own right.

  Morton wasted no time. “Mr. Pennons,” he said crisply, “detail five technicians to each of the four approaches to the engine room. I’m going to lead one group. Kent, you take number two. Smith, number three. And Mr. Pennons, of course, number four .We’ll use mobile heaters and blast through the big doors. They’re all shut, I noticed. He’s locked himself in.

  “Selenski, you go up to the control bridge and shut off everything except the drive engines. Gear them to the master switch, and cut them all off at the same time. One thing, though. Leave the acceleration on full blast. No anti-acceleration must be applied to the ship. Understand!”

  “Yes, sir!” The pilot saluted, and started along the corridor.

  Morton called after him, “Report to me through the communicators if any of the machines start to run again!”

  The men selected to assist the leader were all members of the fighting crew. Grosvenor, with several others, waited to watch the action from a distance of about two hundred feet. He felt an empty sense of waiting for disaster as the mobile projectors were brought up and the protective screens arranged. He appreciated the forcefulness and the purpose of the attack that was about to be made. He could even imagine that it might be successful. But it would be a hit-or-miss success, not actually predictable. The affair was being handled on the basis of an old, old system of organizing men and their knowledge. Most irritating was the fact that he could only stand by and be negatively critical.

  Morton’s voice came over the general communicator. “As I’ve said, this is largely a test attack. It’s based on the presumption that he hasn’t been in the engine room long enough to do anything. That gives us an opportunity to conquer him now, before he’s had time to prepare against us. But aside from the possibility that we can destroy him immediately, I have a theory. My idea is this: Those doors are built to withstand powerful explosions, and it will take fifteen minutes at least for the heaters to burn them down. During that period, the creature will have no power. Selenski is about to shut it off. The drive, of course, will be on, but that’s atomic explosion. My guess is he can’t touch stuff like that. In a few minutes you’ll see what I mean — I hope.”

  His voice went up in pitch as he called, “Ready, Selenski?”

  “Ready.”

  “Then cut the master switch!”

  The corridor — the whole ship, Grosvenor knew — was abruptly plunged into darkness. He clicked on the light of his space suit. One by one, the other men did the same. In the reflections from the beams, their faces looked pale and tense.

  “Blast!” Morton’s command was clear and sharp in the communicator.

  The mobile units throbbed. The heat that sprayed out of them, though not atomic, was atomic generated. It poured upon the hard metal of the door. Grosvenor could see the first molten drops let go of the metal and begin to flow. Other drops followed
until a dozen streams moved reluctantly out of the path of the energy. The transparent screen began to mist, and presently it was harder to see what was happening to the door. And then, through the misted screen, the door began to shine with the light of its own hotness. The fire had a hellish look to it. It sparkled with a gemlike brightness as the heat of the mobile units ate at the metal with slow fury.

  Time went by. At last Morton’s voice came, a husky sound. “Selenski!”

  “Nothing yet, Director.”

  Morton half whispered, “But he must be doing something. He can’t just be waiting in there like a cornered rat, Selenski!”

  “Nothing, Director.”

  Seven minutes, then ten, then twelve went by.

  “Director!” It was Selenski’s voice, taut. “He’s got the electric dynamo running.”

  Grosvenor drew a deep breath. And then Kent’s voice sounded on the communicator. “Morton, we can’t get any deeper. Is this what you expected?”

  Grosvenor saw Morton peering through the screen at the door. It seemed to him, even from the distance, that the metal was not as white-hot as it had been. The door grew visibly redder, and then faded to a dark, cool colour.

  Morton was sighing. “That’s all for now. Leave the crew men to guard each corridor! Keep the heaters in place! Department heads come up to the control bridge!”

  The test, Grosvenor realized, was over.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  To the guard at the entrance of the control bridge, Grosvenor handed his credentials. The man examined them doubtfully.

  “I guess it’s all right,” he said finally. “But so far I haven’t admitted anyone in here who’s under forty. How did you rate?”

  Grosvenor grinned. “I got in on the ground floor of a new science.”

  The guard looked again at the card, and then said as he handed it back, “Nexialism? What’s that?”

  “Applied whole-ism,” said Grosvenor, and stepped across the threshold.

  When he glanced back a moment later, he saw that the man was gazing after him blankly. Grosvenor smiled, and then put the incident out of his mind. It was the first time he had been on the bridge. He gazed around him with curious eyes, impressed and fascinated. In spite of its compactness, the control board was a massive structure. It was built in a series of great curving tiers. Each arc of metal was two hundred feet long, and a full sweep of steps led steeply from one tier to the next. The instruments could be manipulated from the floor, or, more swiftly, from a jointed control chair that hung from the ceiling at the end of a power-driven, upside-down crane structure.