Shards of Space

by Robert Sheckley

  “Do you think it’s native to this island?” asked Monty Byrnes, a treasure-seeker from Indianapolis.

  “I doubt it,” Drake said. “If it is, why did it leave us and the animals alone for three months?”

  “That’s right,” Sorensen said. “All our troubles began just after the schooner came. The schooner must have brought it from somewhere... Hey!”

  “What is it?” Drake asked.

  “Remember that scorpion the skipper tried to squash? It came out of the detector crate. Do you think it could be the same one?”

  Drake shrugged his shoulders. “Could be. Seems to me our problem right now isn’t finding out where it came from. We have to figure out what to do about it.”

  “If it can control animals,” Byrnes said, “I wonder if it can control men.”

  They were all silent. They had moved into a circle near the copra shed, and while they talked they watched the jungle for any sign of insect or animal life.

  Sorensen said, “We’d better radio for help.”

  “If we do that,” Recetich said, “somebody’s going to find out about the Santa Teresa treasure. We’ll be overrun in no time.”

  “Maybe so,” Sorensen said. “But at worst, we’ve cleared expenses. We’ve even made a small profit.”

  “And if we don’t get help,” Drake said, “we may be in no condition to take anything out of here.”

  “The problem isn’t as bad as all that,” Byrnes said. “We’ve got guns. We can take care of the animals.”

  “You haven’t seen the bug yet,” Drake said.

  “We’ll squash it.”

  “That won’t be easy,” Drake said. “It’s faster than hell. And how are you going to squash it if it comes into your hut some night while you’re asleep? We could post guards and they wouldn’t even see the thing.”

  Byrnes shuddered involuntarily. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe we’d better radio for help.”

  Eakins stood up. “Well, gents,” he said, “I guess that means me. I just hope the batteries on the ketch are up to charge.”

  “It’ll be dangerous going out there,” Drake said. “We’ll draw lots.”

  Eakins was amused. “We will? How many of you can operate a transmitter?”

  Drake said, “I can.”

  “No offense meant,” Eakins said, “but you don’t operate that set of yours worth a damn. You don’t even know Morse for key transmission. And can you fix the set if it goes out?”

  “No,” Drake said. “But the whole thing is too risky. We all should go.”

  Eakins shook his head. “Safest thing all around is if you cover me from the beach. That bug probably hasn’t thought about the ketch yet.”

  Eakins stuck a tool kit in his pocket and strapped one of the camp’s walkie-talkies over his shoulder. He handed the other one to Sorensen. He hurried down the beach past the launch and pushed the small dinghy into the water. The men of the expedition spread out, their rifles ready. Eakins got into the dinghy and started rowing across the quiet lagoon.

  They saw him tie up to the ketch and pause a moment, looking around. Then he climbed aboard. Quickly he slid back the hatch and went inside.

  “Everything all right’“ Sorensen asked.

  “No trouble yet,” Eakins said, his voice sounding thin and sharp over the walkie-talkie. “I’m at the transmitter now, turning it on. It needs a couple of minutes to warm up.”

  Drake nudged Sorensen. “Look over there.”

  On the reef, almost hidden by the ketch, something was moving. Using binoculars, Sorensen could see three big gray rats slipping into the water. They began swimming toward the ketch.

  “Start firing!” Sorensen said. “Eakins, get out of there!”

  “I’ve got the transmitter going,” Eakins said. “I just need a couple of minutes more to get a message off.”

  Bullets sent up white splashes around the swimming rats. One was hit; the other two managed to put the ketch between them and the riflemen. Studying the reef with his binoculars, Sorensen saw an anteater cross the reef and splash into the water. It was followed by a wild pig.

  There was a crackle of static from the walkie-talkie. Sorensen called, “Eakins, have you got the message off?”

  “Haven’t sent it,” Eakins called back. “Listen, Bill. We mustn’t send any messages! That bug wants—” He stopped abruptly.

  “What is it?” Sorensen asked. “What’s happening?”

  Eakins had appeared on deck, still holding the walkie-talkie. He was backing toward the stern.

  “Hermit crabs,” he said. “They climbed up the anchor line, I’m going to swim to shore.”

  “Don’t do it,” Sorensen said.

  “Gotta do it,” Eakins said. “They’ll probably follow me. All of you come out here and get that transmitter. Bring it ashore.”

  Through his binoculars, Sorensen could see a solid gray carpet of hermit crabs crawling down the deck and waterways of the ketch.

  Eakins jumped into the water. He swam furiously toward shore, and Sorenson saw the rats turn and follow him. Hermit crabs swarmed off the boat, and the wild pig and anteater paddled after him, trying to head him off before he reached the beach.

  “Come on,” Sorensen said. “I don’t know what Eakins figured out, but we better get that transmitter while we have a chance.”

  They ran down the beach and put the launch into the water. Two hundred yards away, Eakins had reached the far edge of the beach with the animals in close pursuit. He broke into the jungle, still clinging to his walkie-talkie.

  “Eakins?” Sorensen asked into the walkie-talkie.

  “I’m all right,” Eakins said, panting hard for air. “Get that transmitter, and don’t forget the batteries!”

  The men boarded the ketch. Working furiously, they ripped the transmitter off its bulkhead and dragged it up the companionway steps. Drake came last, carrying a twelve-volt battery. He went down again and brought up a second battery. He hesitated a moment, then went below for a third time.

  “Drake!” Sorensen shouted. “Quit holding us up!”

  Drake reappeared, carrying the ketch’s two radio direction finders and the compass. He handed them down and jumped into the launch.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  They rowed to the beach. Sorenson was trying to re-establish contact with Eakins on the walkie-talkie, but all he could hear was static. Then, as the launch grounded on the beach, he heard Eakins’ voice.

  “I’m surrounded,” he said, very quietly. “I guess I’ll have to see what Mr. Bug wants. Maybe I can swat him first, though.”

  There was a long silence. Then Eakins said, “It’s coming toward me now. Drake was right. It sure isn’t like any bug I’ve ever seen. I’m going to swat hell out of—”

  They heard him scream, more in surprise than pain.

  Sorensen said, “Eakins, can you hear me? Where are you? Can we help?”

  “It sure is fast,” Eakins said, his voice conversational again. “Fastest damned bug I’ve ever seen. Jumped on my neck, stung me, and jumped off again.”

  “How do you feel?” Sorensen asked.

  “Fine,” Eakins said. “Hardly felt the sting.”

  “Where is the bug now?”

  “Back in the bush.”

  “The animals?”

  “They went away. You know,” Eakins said, “maybe this thing doesn’t work on humans. Maybe—”

  “What?” Sorensen asked. “What’s happening now?”

  There was a long silence. Then Eakins’ voice, low-pitched and calm, came over the walkie-talkie.

  “We’ll speak with you again later,” Eakins said. “We must take consultation now and decide what to do with you.”

  “Eakins!”

  There was no answer from the other end of the walkie-talkie.

  IV.

  Returning to their camp, the men were in a mood of thorough depression. They couldn’t understand what had happened to Eakins and they didn�
��t feel like speculating on it. The ravaging afternoon sun beat down, reflecting heat back from the white sand. The damp jungle steamed, and appeared to creep toward them like a huge and sleepy green dragon, trapping them against the indifferent sea. Gun barrels grew too hot to touch, and the water in the canteens was as warm as blood. Overhead, thick gray cumulus clouds began to pile up; it was the beginning of monsoon season.

  Drake sat in the shade of the copra shed. He shook off his lethargy long enough to inspect the camp from the viewpoint of defense. He saw the encircling jungle as enemy territory. In front of it was an area fifty yards deep which they had cleared. This no man’s land could perhaps be defended for a while.

  Then came the huts and the copra shed, their last line of defense, leading to the beach and the sea.

  The expedition had been in complete control of this island for better than three months. Now they were pinned to a small and precarious beachhead.

  Drake glanced at the lagoon behind him and remembered that there was still one line of retreat open. If the bug and his damned menagerie pressed too hard, they could still escape in the ketch. With luck.

  Sorensen came over and sat down beside him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Drake grinned sourly. “Planning our master strategy.”

  “How does it look?”

  “I think we can hold out,” Drake said. “We’ve got plenty of ammo. If necessary, we’ll interdict the cleared area with gasoline. We certainly aren’t going to let that bug push us off the island.” He thought for a moment. “But it’s going to be damned hard digging for treasure.”

  Sorensen nodded. “I wonder what the bug wants.”

  “Maybe we’ll find out from Eakins,” Drake said.

  They had to wait half an hour. Then Eakins’ voice came, sharp and shrill over the walkie-talkie.

  “Sorensen? Drake?”

  “We’re here,” Drake said. “What did that damned bug do to you?”

  “Nothing,” Eakins said. “You are talking to that bug now. My name is the Quedak.”

  “My God,” Drake said to Sorensen, “that bug must have hypnotized him!”

  “No. You are not speaking to a hypnotized Eakins. Nor are you speaking to a creature who is simply using Eakins as a mouthpiece. Nor are you speaking to the Eakins who was. You are speaking to many individuals who are one.”

  “I don’t get that,” Drake said.

  “It’s very simple,” Eakins’ voice replied. “I am the Quedak, the totality. But my totality is made up of separate parts, which are Eakins, several rats, a dog named Oro, a pig, an anteater, a cassowary—”

  “Hold on,” Sorensen said. “Let me get this straight. This is not Eakins I’m speaking to. This is the—the Quedak?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And you control Eakins and the others? You speak through Eakins’ mouth?”

  “Also correct. But that doesn’t mean that the personalities of the others are obliterated. Quite the contrary, the Quedak state is a federation in which the various member parts retain their idiosyncrasies, their individual needs and desires. They give their knowledge, their power, their special outlook to the Quedak whole. The Quedak is the coordinating and command center; but the individual parts supply the knowledge, the insights, the special skills. And together we form the Great Cooperation.”

  “Cooperation?” Drake said. “But you did all this by force!”

  “It was necessary in the beginning. Otherwise, how would other creatures have known about the Great Cooperation?”

  “Would they stay if you released your control over them?” Drake asked.

  “That is a meaningless question. We form a single indivisible entity now. Would your arm return to you if you cut it off?”

  “It isn’t the same thing.”

  “It is,” Eakins’ voice said. “We are a single organism. We are still growing. And we welcome you wholeheartedly into the Great Cooperation.”

  “To hell with that,” Drake said.

  “But you must join,” the Quedak told them. “It is the Quedak Mission to coordinate all sentient creatures into a single collective organism. Believe me, there is only the most trifling loss of the individuality you prize so highly. And you gain so much more! You learn the viewpoints and special knowledge of all other creatures. Within the Quedak framework you can fully realize your potentialities—”

  “No!”

  “I am sorry,” the Quedak said. “The Quedak Mission must be fulfilled. You will not join us willingly?”

  “Never,” Drake said.

  “Then we will join you,” the Quedak said.

  There was a click as he turned off the walkie-talkie.

  From the fringe of the jungle, several rats appeared. They hesitated, just out of rifle range.. A bird of paradise flew overhead, hovering over the cleared area like an observation plane. As the men watched, the rats began to run forward in long zigzags.

  “Start firing,” Drake called out. “But go easy on the ammo.”

  The men began to fire. But it was difficult to sight on the quick-moving rats against the grayish-brown clearing. And almost immediately, the rats were joined by a dozen hermit crabs. They had an uncanny knack for moving when no one was watching them, darting forward, then freezing against the neutral background.

  They saw Eakins appear on the fringe of the jungle.

  “Lousy traitor,” Cable said, raising his rifle.

  Sorensen slapped the muzzle of the rifle aside. “Don’t do it.”

  “But he’s helping that bug!”

  “He can’t help it,” Sorensen said. “And he’s not armed. Leave him alone.”

  Eakins watched for a few moments, then melted back into the jungle.

  The attack by the rats and crabs swept across half of the cleared space. Then, as they came closer, the men were able to pick their targets with more accuracy. Nothing was able to get closer than twenty yards. And when Recetich shot down the bird of paradise, the attack began to falter.

  “You know,” Drake said, “I think we’re going to be all right.”

  “Could be,” said Sorensen. “I don’t understand what the Quedak is trying to accomplish. He knows we can’t be taken like this. I should think—”

  “Hey!” one of the men called out. “Our boat!”

  They turned and saw why the Quedak had ordered the attack. While it had occupied their attention, Drake’s dog had swum out to the ketch and gnawed through the anchor line. Unattended, the ketch was drifting before the wind, moving toward the end of the reef. They saw it bump gently, then harder. In a moment it was heeled hard over, stuck in the coral.

  There was a burst of static from the walkie-talkie. Sorensen held it up and heard the Quedak say, “The ketch isn’t seriously damaged. It’s simply immobilized.”

  “The hell you say,” Drake growled. “For all you know, it’s got a hole punched right through it. How do you plan on getting off the island, Quedak? Or are you just going to stay here?”

  “I will leave at the proper time,” the Quedak said. “I want to make sure that we all leave together.”

  V.

  The wind died. Huge gray thunderheads piled up in the sky to the southeast, their tops lost in the upper atmosphere, their black anvil bottoms pressing the hot still air upon the island. The sun had lost its fiery glare. Cherry-red, it slid listlessly toward the flat sea.

  High overhead, a single bird of paradise circled, just out of rifle range. It had gone up ten minutes after Recetich had shot the first one down.

  Monty Byrnes stood on the edge of the cleared area, his rifle ready. He had drawn the first guard shift. The rest of the men were eating a hasty dinner inside the copra shed. Sorensen and Drake were outside, looking over the situation.

  Drake said, “By nightfall we’ll have to pull everybody back into the shed. Can’t take a chance on being exposed to the Quedak in the dark.”

  Sorensen nodded. He seemed to have aged ten years in a day’s time.

>   “In the morning,” Drake said, “we’ll be able to work something out. We’ll...What’s wrong, Bill?”

  “Do you really think we have a chance?” Sorensen asked.

  “Sure we do. We’ve got a damned good chance.”

  “Be realistic,” Sorensen said. “The longer this goes on, the more animals the Quedak can throw against us. What can we do about it?”

  “Hunt him out and kill him.”

  “The damned thing is about the size of your thumb,” Sorensen said irritably. “How can we hunt him?”

  “We’ll figure out something,” Drake said. He was beginning to get worried about Sorensen. The morale among the men was low enough without Sorensen pushing it down further.

  “I wish someone would shoot that damned bird,” Sorensen said, glancing overhead.

  About every fifteen minutes, the bird of paradise came darting down for a closer look at the camp. Then, before the guard had a chance to fire, he swept back up to a safe altitude.

  “It’s getting on my nerves, too,” Drake said. “Maybe that’s what it’s supposed to do. One of these times we’ll—”

  He stopped abruptly. From the copra shed he could hear the loud hum of a radio. And he heard Al Cable saying, “Hello, hello, this is Vuanu calling. We need help.”

  Drake and Sorensen went into the shed. Cable was sitting in front of the transmitter, saying into the microphone, “Emergency, emergency, Vuanu calling, we need—”

  “What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Drake snapped.

  Cable turned and looked at him, his pudgy pink body streaked with sweat. “I’m radioing for help, that’s what I’m doing. I think I’ve picked up somebody. But they haven’t answered me yet.”

  He readjusted the tuning. Over the receiver, they could hear a bored British voice saying, “Pawn to queen four, eh? Why don’t you ever try a different opening?”

  There was a sharp burst of static. “Just move,” a deep bass voice answered. “Just shut up and move.”

  “Sure,” said the British voice. “Knight to king bishop three.”

  Drake recognized the voices. They were ham radio operators. One of them owned a plantation on Bougainville; the other was a shopkeeper in Rabaul. They came on the air for an hour of chess and argument every evening.