The Voyage of the Space Beagle

by A. E. van Vogt

  One of the technicians, who had been watching Kent’s face, spoke up. “Look, chief, this man doesn’t seem to realize he’s speaking to the Director. How about us working him over?”

  Kent, who had been on the point of saying something more, stopped himself. He stepped back, licking his lips. Then he nodded vigorously. “You’re right, Bredder, I don’t know how I came to start arguing with him. Just a minute while I lock the door. Then we’ll—”

  Grosvenor warned, “I wouldn’t shut it if I were you. It’ll set off alarms all over the ship.”

  Kent, one hand on the door, stopped and turned. There was a set smile on his face. “All right then,” he said stiffly, “we’ll take you apart with the door open. Start talking, my friend.”

  The two technicians stepped forward quickly. Grosvenor said, “Bredder, have you ever heard of peripheral electrostatic charge?” As the two men hesitated, he went on grimly. “Touch me and you’ll burn. Your hands will blister. Your face—”

  Both men were straightening, pulling away. The blond Bredder glanced uneasily at Kent. Kent said angrily, “The amount of electricity in a man’s body couldn’t kill a fly,”

  Grosvenor shook his head. “Aren’t you a little out of your field, Mr. Kent? The electricity isn’t in my body, but it will be in yours if you lay a hand on me.”

  Kent took out his vibrator and deliberately made an adjustment on it. “Stand back!” he said to his assistants. “I’m going to give him a timed spray of one-tenth of a second. It won’t knock him unconscious, but it’ll jar every molecule in his body.”

  Grosvenor said quietly, “I wouldn’t try it, Kent. I’m warning you.”

  The man either did not hear him or was too angry to pay any attention. The tracer beam dazzled Grosvenor’s eyes. There was a hiss and a crackle, and a cry of pain from Kent. The light blinked out. Grosvenor saw that Kent was trying to shake the weapon from his hand. It clung stickily, but finally dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter. In evident agony, Kent grabbed his injured hand and stood there swaying.

  Grosvenor said with a kind of angry sympathy, “Why didn’t you listen? These wall plates are carrying a high electric potential, and since a vibrator ionizes the air, you got an electric shock that simultaneously nullified the energy you discharged, except near the muzzle. I hope it didn’t burn you too badly.”

  Kent had control of himself. He was white and tense, but calm. “This will cost you dearly,” he said in a low voice. “When the others find out that one man is trying to force his ideas—” He broke off and gestured imperiously to his two henchmen. “Come along, we’re through here for the time being.”

  Fully eight minutes after they had gone, Fander came in. It was necessary for Grosvenor to explain patiently several times that he was no longer sick. And it required even longer to persuade Dr. Eggert, whom the young man summoned. Grosvenor did not worry about being found out. It would take a definite suspicion plus considerable research to identify the drug he had used.

  In the end, they left him alone, with the advice that he remain in his quarters for a day or so. Grosvenor assured them that he would follow their instructions, and he meant it. In the hard days ahead, the Nexial department would be his fortress. He didn’t know just what might be done against him, but here he was as ready as he could be.

  About an hour after the doctors had departed, there was a click in the mail-delivery chute. It was from Kent, an announcement of a meeting called, according to the wording, at the request of Elliott Grosvenor. It quoted from Grosvenor’s first letter to Kent, and ignored all subsequent events. The printed form ended: “In view of Mr. Grosvenor’s past performances, the Acting Director feels that he is entitled to a hearing.”

  At the bottom of Grosvenor’s notice, Kent had written in longhand: “Dear Mr. Grosvenor: In view of your illness, I have instructed Mr. Gourlay’s staff to connect your communicator with the control-room auditorium, so that you may participate from your sickbed. The meeting will otherwise be private.”

  At the designated hour, Grosvenor tuned into the control room. As the image came on, he saw that the whole room was spread before him in sharp focus, and that the receiving plate must be the large communicator just above the massive control board. At this moment, his face was a ten-foot image looking down at the men. For once, he realized wryly, he was going to be present at a meeting in a conspicuous way.

  A quick glance over the room showed that most of the department heads were already seated. Directly below the receiving plate, Kent was talking to Captain Leeth. It must have been the end, not the beginning of a conversation, because he looked up at Grosvenor, smiled grimly, and then turned to face his small audience, Grosvenor saw that he wore a bandage on his left hand.

  “Gentlemen,” said Kent, “without further preamble I am going to call on Mr. Grosvenor.” Once more he looked up at the communicator plate, and the same savage smile was on his face. He said, “Mr. Grosvenor, you may proceed.”

  Grosvenor began, “Gentlemen, about a week ago, I had enough evidence to justify this ship’s taking action against the alien intelligence of this galaxy. That may seem like a tremendous statement, and it is an unfortunate fact that I can merely give you my interpretation of the available evidence. I cannot prove to everybody present that such a being does actually exist. Some of you will realize that my reasoning is sound. Others, lacking knowledge of certain sciences, will feel that the conclusions are distinctly controversial. I have racked my brain over the problem of how to convince you that my solution is the only safe one. Telling you what experiments I made happens to be one of the steps which it seemed reasonable to take.”

  He made no mention of the fact that he had already had to evolve an elaborate ruse in order to obtain a hearing at all. In spite of what had happened, he had no desire to antagonize Kent any more than was necessary.

  He continued, “I now want to call on Mr. Gourlay. I am sure you will not be too surprised when I tell you that all this goes back to automatic C-9. I wonder if you would tell your colleagues about it.”

  The communications chief looked at Kent, who shrugged and nodded. Gourlay hesitated, then said, “Its impossible to say just when C-9 came on. For the benefit of those who are feeling ignorant right now, C-9 is a minor screen that is activated automatically when the dust in the surrounding space reaches a density that could be dangerous to a ship on the move. The apparent density of the dust in any given volume of space is of course relatively greater at high velocities than at low. The fact that there was enough dust around to affect C-9 was first noticed by a member of my staff shortly before those lizards were precipitated into the control room.”

  Gourlay leaned back in his seat. “That’s it,” he said.

  Grosvenor said, “Mr. von Grossen, what did your department find out about the space dust in this galaxy?”

  The bulky von Grossen shifted in his chair. He said without getting up, “There’s nothing about it that we could regard as being characteristic or unusual. It’s a little denser than that in our own galaxy. We collected a small amount of the dust by means of ionizing plates with a very high potential, and scraped off the deposits. It was mostly solid, a few simple elements being present and traces of many compounds — which could have been formed at the moment of condensation — and a little free gas, mostly hydrogen. Now, the trouble is that what we got probably bears very little resemblance to the dust as it exists outside, but the problem of collecting it in its original form has never been satisfactorily solved. The very process used in capturing it causes it to change in many ways. We can never more than guess at how it functions in space.” The physicist lifted his hands helplessly. “That’s all I can say now.”

  Grosvenor continued. “I could go on asking various department heads what they found out. But I believe I can summarize their discoveries without doing anyone an injustice. Both Mr. Smith’s and Mr. Kent’s departments ran into much the same problem as did Mr. von Grossen’s. I believe that Mr. Smith by vari
ous means saturated the atmosphere of a cage with the dust. The animals he put into the cage showed no ill effects, so he finally tested it on himself. Mr. Smith, have you anything to add to that?”

  Smith shook his head. “If it’s a life form, you can’t prove it by me. I admit that the closest we got to getting the real stuff was when we went out in a lifeboat, opened all the doors, then closed them, and let air into the boat again. There were slight changes in the chemical content of the air, but nothing important.”

  Grosvenor said, “So much for the factual data. I also, among other things, performed the experiment of taking out the lifeboat and letting the space dust drift in through open doors. What I was interested in was: If it’s life, what does it feed on? So after I had pumped the air back into my lifeboat, I analysed it. Then I killed a couple of small animals, and again analysed the atmosphere. I sent samples of the atmosphere as it was before and after to Mr. Kent, Mr. von Grossen, and Mr. Smith. There were several very minute chemical changes. They could be attributed to analytical error. But I should like to ask Mr. von Grossen to tell you what he found.”

  Von Grossen blinked and sat up. “Was that evidence?” he asked in surprise. He turned in his seat, and faced his colleagues with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t see the significance,” he said, “but the molecules of air in the sample marked ‘After’ carried a slightly higher electric charge.”

  It was the decisive moment. Grosvenor gazed down at the upturned faces of the scientists and waited for the light of understanding to come to at least one pair of eyes.

  The men sat solid, puzzled expressions on their faces. One individual said finally, in a wry voice, “I suppose we’re expected to jump to the conclusion that we are dealing with a nebular-dust intelligence. That’s too much for me to swallow.” Grosvenor said nothing. The mental jump he wanted them to make was even more farfetched than that, though the difference was subtle. Already, the feeling of disappointment was strong in him. He began to stiffen himself for the next step.

  Kent said sharply, “Come, come, Mr. Grosvenor. Explain yourself, and then we will make up our minds.”

  Grosvenor began reluctantly. “Gentlemen, your failure to see the answer at this point is very disturbing to me. I foresee that we are going to have trouble. Consider my position. I had given you the available evidence, including a description of the experiments which led me to identify our enemy. It is already clear that my conclusions will be regarded as distinctly controversial. And yet, if I am right — I’m convinced of it — failure to take the action I have in mind will be disastrous for the human race and for all other intelligent life in the universe. But here is the situation: If I tell you, then the decision is out of my hands. The majority will decide, and there will be no legal recourse from their decision, so far as I can see.”

  He paused to let that sink in. Some of the men glanced at each other, frowning. Kent said, “Wait, I have already come up against the stone wall of this man’s egotism.”

  It was his first hostile comment of the meeting. Grosvenor glanced at him quickly, then turned away, and went on. “It is my unhappy lot to inform you, gentlemen, that under the circumstances, this problem ceases to be scientific and becomes political. Accordingly, I have to insist that my solution be accepted. A satisfactory propaganda must be launched, in which Acting Director Kent and every head of a department commits himself to the notion that the Space Beagle will have to remain in space the equivalent of five Earth years extra, though we should act as if it were five star years. I am going to give you my interpretation, but I want each head to adjust himself to the notion that he must irrevocably stake his reputation and good name on this matter. The danger, as I see it, is so all-embracing that any petty squabbling we do will be disgraceful according to the time we spend on it.”

  Succinctly, he told them what the danger was. Then, without waiting for their reaction, he outlined his method of dealing with it.

  “We’ll have to find some iron planets and set the productive capacity of our ship to the making of atomically unstable torpedoes. I foresee that we will have to spend nearly a year traversing this galaxy and sending out such torpedoes in great numbers at random. And then, when we have made this entire sector of space virtually untenable for him, we depart and offer him the opportunity of following us, this last at a time when he will have literally no recourse but to pursue our ship in the hope that we will lead him to another and better source of food than is available here. Most of our time will be taken up in making sure that we do not guide him back to our own galaxy.”

  He paused, then said quietly, “Well, gentlemen, there you have it. I can see on various faces that the reaction is going to be a split one and that we are in for one of those deadly controversies.”

  He stopped. There was silence, and then a man said, “Five years.”

  It was almost a sigh, and it acted like a cue. All over the room, men stirred uneasily.

  Grosvenor said quickly, “Earth years.”

  He had to keep pressing that. He had deliberately chosen what seemed the longer way to estimating time, so that, when translated into star years, it would seem somewhat less. The fact was that Star Time, with its hundred-minute hour, its twenty-four hour day, and its three-hundred-and-sixty-day year, was a psychological device. Once adjusted to the longer day, people tended to forget how much time was passing according to their older ways of thinking.

  In the same way, now, he expected them to feel relieved when they realized that the extra time would amount to just about three years, Star Time.

  Kent was speaking: “Any other comments?”

  Von Grossen said unhappily, “I cannot honestly accept Mr. Grosvenor’s analysis. I have great respect for him in view of his past performances. But he is asking us to take on faith what I am sure we could understand if he actually had valid evidence. I reject the notion that Nexialism provides so sharp an integration of sciences that only individuals trained by its methods can hope to understand the more intricate interrelated phenomena.”

  Grosvenor said curtly, “Aren’t you rejecting rather hastily something which you have never troubled to investigate?” Von Grossen shrugged, “Perhaps.” “The picture I have,” said Zeller, “is of us spending many years and much effort, and yet not once will we have anything but the most indirect and insubstantial evidence that the plan is working.”

  Grosvenor hesitated. Then he realized that he had no alternative but to continue to make antagonistic statements. The issue was too important. He could not consider their feelings. He said, “I’ll know when we’ve been successful, and if some of you people will deign to come to the Nexial department and learn a few of our techniques, you’ll know it also when the time comes.”

  Smith said grimly. “Mr. Grosvenor has this in his favour. He is always offering to teach us how to be his equal.”

  “Any more comments?” It was Kent, his voice shriller, and edged with triumph.

  Several men made as if to speak, but seemingly thought better of it. Kent went on, “Rather than waste any time, I think we should take a vote as to what the majority feels about Mr. Grosvenor’s proposal. I’m sure we all want to have a general reaction.”

  He walked forward slowly. Grosvenor could not see his face, but there was arrogance in the way the man held himself. Kent said, “Let’s have a showing of hands. All in favour of accepting Mr. Grosvenor’s method — which involves remaining five extra years in space — please raise your hands.” Not a single hand came up.

  A man said querulously, “It’ll take a little while to think this through.”

  Kent paused to answer that. “We’re trying to get the as-of-now opinion. It’s important to all of us to know what the chief scientists of this ship think.”

  He broke off, and called out, “Those definitely against, raise your hands!”

  All except three hands came up. In a lightning glance, Grosvenor identified the three who had abstained. They were Korita, McCann, and von Grossen.

&n
bsp; Belatedly, he saw that Captain Leeth, who stood near Kent, had also abstained.

  Grosvenor said quickly, “Captain Leeth, this is surely a moment when your constitutional right to take control of the ship would apply. The danger is obvious.”

  “Mr. Grosvenor,” said Captain Leeth slowly, “that would be true if there were a visible enemy. As it is, I can act only on the advice of the scientific experts.”

  “There is only one such expert aboard,” said Grosvenor coldly. “The others are a handful of amateurs who dabble around on the surface of things.”

  The remark seemed to stun most of those in the room. Abruptly, several men tried to speak at once. They spluttered into angry silence.

  It was Captain Leeth who said, finally, in a measured tone, “Mr. Grosvenor, I cannot accept your unsupported claim.”

  Kent said satirically, “Well, gentlemen, we now have Mr. Grosvenor’s true opinion of us.”

  He seemed unconcerned with the insult itself. His manner was one of ironic good humour. He seemed to have forgotten that he had a duty as Acting Director to maintain an atmosphere of dignity and courtesy.

  Meader, head of the botany subsection, reminded him angrily, “Mr. Kent, I do not see how you can tolerate such an insolent remark.”

  “That’s right,” said Grosvenor, “stand up for your rights. The whole universe is in deadly danger, but your sense of dignity must be maintained.”

  McCann spoke for the first time, uneasily. “Korita, if there were a kind of entity out there such as Grosvenor has described, how would that fit in with cyclic history?”

  The archaeologist shook his head unhappily. “Very tenuously, I’m afraid. We could postulate a primitive life form.” He looked around the room. “I am far more concerned with the evidences of the reality of cyclic history among my friends. Pleasure in the defeat of a man who has made us feel a little uneasy because of his achievements. The suddenly revealed egomania of that man.” He gazed regretfully up at Grosvenor’s image. “Mr. Grosvenor, I am very disappointed that you have seen fit to make the statements that you have.”