The Voyage of the Space Beagle

by A. E. van Vogt

  Several men stood by with drawn heat blasters as the crack widened. An ugly, round, scarlet head with tiny, beady eyes and a tiny slit of a mouth poked out. The head twisted on its short neck and the eyes glittered up at them with hard ferocity. With a swiftness that almost took them by surprise, the creature reared up and tried to climb out of the vat. The smooth walls defeated it. It slid back and dissolved in the flame that was poured down upon it.

  Smith, licking his lips, said, “Suppose he’d got away and dissolved into the nearest wall!”

  No one answered that. Grosvenor saw that the men were staring into the vat. The eggs melted reluctantly under the heat from the blasters, but finally burned with a golden light. “Ah,” said Dr. Eggert; and attention turned to him and to the body of von Grossen, over which he was bending. “His muscles are beginning to relax, and his eyes are open and alive. I imagine he knows what’s going on. It was a form of paralysis induced by the egg, and fading now that the egg is no longer present. Nothing fundamentally wrong. They’ll be all right shortly. What about the monster?”

  Captain Leeth replied, “The men in two lifeboats claim to have seen a flash of red emerge from the main lock just as we swept the ship with uncontrolled energization. It must have been our deadly friend, because we haven’t found his body. However, Pennons is going around with the camera staff taking pictures with fluorite cameras, and we’ll know for certain in a few hours. Here he is now. Well, Mr, Pennons?”

  The engineer strode in briskly and placed a misshapen thing of metal on one of the tables. “Nothing definite to report yet — but I found this in the main physics laboratory. What do you make of it?”

  Grosvenor was pushed forward by department heads who drew in around the table for a closer look. He frowned down at the fragile-looking object with its intricate network of wires. There were three distinct tubes that might have been muzzles running into and through three small, round balls that shone with a queer, silvery light. The light penetrated the table, making it as transparent as glassite. And, strangest of all, the balls absorbed heat like a thermal sponge. Grosvenor reached out towards the nearest ball, and felt his hands stiffen as the heat was drawn from them. He drew back quickly.

  Pennons nodded. And Smith carried on the thought. “It would appear that the creature was working on it when he suspected that something was amiss. He must have realized the truth, for he left the ship. That seems to discount your theory, Korita. You said that, as a true peasant, he couldn’t even imagine what we were going to do.”

  The Japanese archaeologist smiled faintly through the fatigue that paled his face. “Mr. Smith,” he said politely, “there is no question but that this one did imagine it. The probable answer is that the peasant category amounted to an analogy. The red monster was, by all odds, the most superior peasant we have yet encountered.”

  Pennons groaned. “I wish we had a few peasant limitations. Do you know that it will take us three months at least to get this ship properly repaired after those three minutes of uncontrolled energization? For a time I was afraid that….” His voice trailed off doubtfully.

  Captain Leeth said with a grim smile, “I’ll finish that sentence for you, Mr. Pennons. You were afraid the ship would be completely destroyed. I think that most of us realized the risk we were taking when we adopted Mr. Grosvenor’s final plan. We knew that our lifeboats could be given only partial anti-acceleration. So we’d have been stranded here a quarter of a million light-years from home.”

  A man said, “I wonder whether, if the scarlet beast had actually taken over this ship, it would have gotten away with its obvious intent to take over the galaxy. After all, man is pretty well established in it — and pretty stubborn, too.”

  Smith shook his head. “It dominated once, and it could dominate again. You assume far too readily that man is a paragon of justice, forgetting, apparently, that he has a long and savage history. He has killed other animals not only for meat but for pleasure; he has enslaved his neighbours, murdered his opponents, and obtained the most unholy sadistical joy from the agony of others. It is not impossible that we shall, in the course of our travels, meet other intelligent creatures far more worthy than man to rule the universe.”

  “By heaven!” said a man, “no dangerous-looking creature should even be allowed aboard this ship again. My nerves are all shot; and I’m not so good a man as I was when I first came aboard the Beagle.”

  “You speak for us all!” came the voice of Acting Director Kent over the communicator.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Somebody whispered in Grosvenor’s ear, so softly that he could not catch the words. The whisper was followed by a trilling sound, as gentle as the whisper and equally meaningless.

  Involuntarily, Grosvenor looked around.

  He was in the film room of his own department, and there was nobody in sight. He walked uncertainly to the door that led to the auditorium door. But no one was there either.

  He came back to his workbench, frowning, wondering if someone had pointed an encephalo-adjuster at him. It was the only comparison he could think of, for he had seemed to hear a sound.

  After a moment, that explanation struck him as improbable. Adjusters were effective at short ranges only. More important, his department was shielded against most vibrations. Besides, he was only too familiar with the mental process involved in the illusion he had experienced. That made it impossible for him to dismiss the incident.

  As a precaution, he explored all five of his rooms and examined the adjusters in his technique room. They were as they ought to be, properly stored away. In silence, Grosvenor returned to the film room and resumed his study of the hypnotic light-pattern variations, which he had developed from the images that the Riim had used against the ship. Terror struck his mind like a blow. Grosvenor cringed. And then there was the whisper again, as soft as before, yet somehow angry now, and unthinkably hostile.

  Amazed, Grosvenor straightened. It must be an encephalo-adjuster. Somebody was stimulating his mind from a distance with a machine so powerful that the protective shield of his room was penetrated.

  With a frown, he considered who it might be, and finally called up the psychology department as the most likely offender. Siedel answered personally, and Grosvenor started to explain what had happened. He was cut off.

  “I was just about to contact you,” said Siedel. “I thought you might be responsible.”

  “You mean everybody’s affected?” Grosvenor spoke slowly, trying to imagine the implications.

  “I’m surprised you got any of it at all in that specially constructed department of yours,” said Siedel. “I’ve been receiving complaints for more than twenty minutes; and some of my instruments were affected several minutes before that.”

  “Which instruments?”

  “Brain-wave detector, nerve-impulse register, and the more sensitive electrical detectors.” He broke off. “Kent is going to call a meeting in the control room. I’ll see you there.”

  Grosvenor did not let him go so quickly. “Has there been any discussion as yet?” he asked.

  “We-e-1-11, we’re all making an assumption.”

  “What’s that?” he asked quickly.

  “We’re about to enter the great galaxy M-33. We’re assuming this comes from there.”

  Grosvenor laughed grimly. “It’s a reasonable hypothesis. I’ll think about it, and see you in a few minutes.”

  “Be prepared for a shock when you first go out into the corridor. The pressure out here is continuous. Sounds, light flashes, dreams, emotional turmoil — we’re really getting a dose of stimulation.”

  Grosvenor nodded, and broke the connection. By the time he had put away his films, Kent’s announcement of the meeting was coming over the communicator. A minute later, as he opened his outer door, he realized what Siedel had meant.

  He paused as the barrage excitations instantly began to affect his brain. Then, uneasily, he headed for the control room.

  He sat presently
with the others; and the night whispered, the immense night of space that pressed against the hurtling ship. Capricious and deadly, it beckoned and it warned. It trilled with frenzied delight, then hissed with savage frustration. It muttered in fear and growled in hunger. It died, revelling in agony, and burgeoned again into ecstatic life. Yet always and insidiously it threatened.

  “This is an opinion,” said somebody behind Grosvenor. “The ship ought to go home.”

  Grosvenor, unable to identify the voice, glanced around to see who had spoken. Whoever it was said nothing more. Facing forward again, Grosvenor saw that Acting Director Kent had not turned from the eyepiece of the telescope through which he was peering. Either he considered the remark had been unworthy of reply, or else he hadn’t heard it. Nor did anyone comment.

  As the silence continued, Grosvenor manipulated the communicator arm of his chair, and presently he was seeing a slightly burred image of what Kent and Lester were gazing at directly through the telescope. Slowly, then, he forgot the spectators and concentrated on the night scene shown by the plate. They were near the outer environs of an entire galactic system; yet the nearest stars were still so far away that the telescope could barely resolve the myriad needle points of brilliance that made up the spiral nebula, M-33, in Andromeda, their destination.

  Grosvenor glanced up just as Lester turned from the telescope. The astronomer said, “What is happening seems incredible. Vibrations we can actually sense, spilling out from a galaxy of billions of suns.” He paused, then said, “Director, it seems to me this is not a problem for an astronomer.”

  Kent released his own eyepiece and said, “Anything that embraces an entire galaxy comes under the category of astronomical phenomena. Or would you care to name the science that is involved?”

  Lester hesitated, then replied slowly. “The scale of magnitude is fantastic. I don’t think we should assume galactic scope yet. This barrage may be coming on a beam which is concentrated on our ship.”

  Kent turned toward the men who sat in tiers of cushioned seats facing the broad and colourful control panel. He said, “Has anyone a suggestion or a thought?”

  Grosvenor glanced around, hoping that the unidentified man who had spoken earlier would explain himself. But whoever it was remained silent.

  Undeniably, the men no longer felt so free to speak up as they had under the leadership of Morton. One way or another, Kent had made it rather plain that he deemed the opinions of those other than department heads impertinent. It was also evident that he personally declined to regard Nexialism as a legitimate department. For several months, he and Grosvenor had been polite to each other on a basis of minimum contact. During that time, the Acting Director had, by way of consolidating his position, introduced several motions in the council giving his office more authority in certain activities, the ostensible reason being to avoid duplication of effort.

  The importance to this ship’s morale of encouraging individual initiative, even at the cost of some efficiency, was a point that could have been demonstrated only to another Nexialist, Grosvenor felt sure. He had not bothered to protest. And so a few more slight restrictions had been imposed on the already dangerously regimented and confined shipload of human beings.

  From the rear of the control room, Smith was the first to answer Kent’s request for suggestions. The angular and bony biologist said dryly, “I notice Mr. Grosvenor is twisting about in his chair. Can it be that he is politely waiting for the older men to have their say? Mr. Grosvenor what’s on your mind?”

  Grosvenor waited until the faint wave of laughter — in which Kent did not join in — had died away. Then he said, “A few minutes ago, someone suggested that we turn around and go home. I’d like whoever did so to give his reasons.”

  There was no reply. Grosvenor saw that Kent was frowning. It did seem strange that there was anyone aboard unwilling to acknowledge an opinion, however briefly held, however quickly discarded. Other men were glancing about in astonishment.

  It was the sad-faced Smith who said finally, “When was that statement uttered? I don’t recall hearing it.”

  “Nor I!” echoed half a dozen voices.

  Kent’s eyes were gleaming. It seemed to Grosvenor that he moved into the discussion like a man anticipating personal victory. He said, “Let me get this straight. There was such a statement, or there wasn’t. Who else heard it? Raise hands.”

  Not a single hand went up. Kent’s voice was subtly malicious as he said, “Mr. Grosvenor, what exactly did you hear?”

  Grosvenor said slowly, “As I remember them, the words were: ‘This is an opinion. The ship should go home.’” He paused. When there was no comment, he went on. “It seems clear that the words themselves came as the result of stimulation of the auditory centres of my brain. Something out there feels strongly that it wants us to go home, and I sensed it.” He shrugged. “I do not, of course, offer this as a positive analysis.”

  Kent said stiffly, “The rest of us, Mr. Grosvenor, are still trying to understand why you should have heard this request, and no one else.”

  Once again Grosvenor ignored the tone in which the words were spoken, as he replied earnestly, “I’ve been considering that for the past few seconds, I can’t help but remember that during the Riim incident my brain was subjected to sustained stimulation. It is possible that I am now more sensitive to such communication.” It struck him that his special sensitivity could also explain why he had been able to receive the whisper in his shielded rooms.

  Grosvenor was not surprised at Kent’s slight frown. The chemist had shown that he preferred not to think about the bird people and what they had done to the minds of the members of the expedition. Now Kent said acidly, “I had the privilege of listening to a transcription of your account of the episode. If I recall correctly, you stated that the reason for your victory was that these Riim beings did not realize that it was difficult for a member of one race to control the nervous system of a member of an alien life form. How then do you explain that whatever is out there” — he waved in the direction the ship was heading — “reached into your mind and stimulated with pinpoint accuracy those areas in your brain that produced exactly the warning words you have just repeated to us?”

  It seemed to Grosvenor that Kent’s tone, his choice of words, and his attitude of satisfaction all seemed unpleasantly personal. Grosvenor said pointedly, “Director, whoever stimulated my brain could be aware of the problem presented by an alien nervous system. We don’t have to assume that it can speak our language. Besides, its solution of the problem was a partial one, because I’m the only person who responded to the stimulation. My feeling is that we should not at the moment discuss how I received it, but why, and what are we going to do about it.”

  Chief geologist McCann cleared his throat and said, “Grosvenor is right. I think, gentlemen, we had better face the fact that we have entered somebody else’s stamping ground. And it’s some somebody!”

  The Acting Director bit his lip, seemed about to speak, then hesitated. In the end, he said, “I think we should be careful about letting ourselves believe that we have evidence enough to draw a conclusion. But I do feel that we should act as if we are confronted by an intelligence larger than man — larger than life as we know it.”

  There was silence in the control room. Grosvenor noticed that men were unconsciously bracing themselves. Their lips tightened and their eyes narrowed. He saw that others also had observed the reaction.

  Kellie, the sociologist, said softly, “I am glad — ah — to see that no one shows any sign of wanting to turn back. That is all to the good. As servants of our government and our race, it is our duty to investigate the potentialities of a new galaxy, particularly now that its dominating life form knows we exist. Please note that I am adopting Director Kent’s suggestion and talking as if we actually are dealing with a sentient being. Its ability to stimulate more or less directly the mind of even one person aboard indicates that it has definitely observed us and there
fore knows a great deal about us. We cannot permit that type of knowledge to be one-sided.”

  Kent was at ease again, as he said, “Mr. Kellie, what do you think of the environment we’re heading into?”

  The balding sociologist adjusted his pince-nez. “That — ah — is a large one, Director. But this whispering could be the equivalent of criss-crossing radio waves that blanket our own galaxy. They — ah — may be simply the outward signs, like coming out of a wilderness into an area of cultivation.”

  Kellie paused. When no one commented, he went on. “Remember, man also has left his imperishable imprint on his own galaxy. In the process of rejuvenating dead suns, he has lighted fires in the form of novae that will be seen a dozen galaxies away. Planets have been led from their orbits. Dead worlds have come alive with verdure. Oceans now swirl where deserts lay lifeless under suns hotter than Sol. And even our presence here in this great ship is an emanation of man’s power, reaching out farther than these whispers around us have ever been able to go.”

  Gourlay, of the communications department, said, “Man’s imprints are scarcely permanent in the cosmic sense. I don’t see how you can speak of them in the same breath with this. These pulsations are live. They’re thought forms so strong, so all-pervading, that the whole of space whispers at us. This is no tentacled pussy, no scarlet monstrosity, no fellah race confined to one system. It could be an inconceivable totality of minds speaking to each other across the miles and the years of their space time. This is the civilization of the second galaxy; and if a spokesman for it has now warned us—” Gourlay broke off with a gasp, and flung up an arm as if to defend himself.

  He was not the only one who did just that. All over the room, men crouched or slumped in their seats — as Director Kent, in a single spasmodic movement, snatched his vibrator and fired it at his audience. It was not until Grosvenor had instinctively ducked that he saw that the tracer beam from the weapon pointed over his head, and not at it.