Alton's Unguessable

by Jeff Sutton

  "I caught one this morning with my bare hands." Yozell looked pleased with himself. "I just walked over and picked it up."

  "That simple?" Keim felt a stab of uneasiness.

  "Fear is a learned thing." The biologist adopted his lecture voice. "Having no natural enemies, they haven't learned what fear is. Note how they congregate around the ship. I suspect that we're objects of curiosity, Roger. Remember the striped herbivores on Trypton? It was the same there."

  Keim nodded reluctantly. "They still bother me."

  "The birds? I can understand that." Yozell looked wistfully toward the grasslands. "I only wish we could take several home with us, study them under long-term conditions. Perhaps we could identify the special organ that enables them to sense the force field. That would be a real triumph, Roger."

  Keim agreed, fully understanding the longing in the biologist's voice and manner. Yozell could observe his specimens, photograph them, test and dissect and analyze them, record all that he learned about them; but he could never carry a single specimen above its own atmosphere. Men long ago had learned that the introduction of a new specimen into a strange environment could wreak havoc with the ecological balance. Stringent regulations and laws had been enacted to prevent it. When the Alpha Tauri lifted from this world, compartment by compartment would be subjected to decontamination processes designed to eliminate whatever stray microorganisms or bugs that might have been acquired during the visit. Likewise, each crewman and member of the science staff would undergo a series of injections and medication to eliminate any stray life form that might have chosen his body as a host. While not perfect, the system was the best that man yet had devised.

  Keim looked up, seeing Lara Kamm. "I never thanked you for yesterday," she apologized. "I was too excited."

  "You didn't appear to be."

  "But I was. I was simply terrified."

  He grinned. "We all shook a bit. Actually I suspect I overreacted. Next time I won't be so rough."

  "I hope there is no next time. Not that kind. Do you believe there might be?"

  "I can't say. I have a lock on my lips."

  "Why?" She regarded him curiously.

  "Woon believes I'm an alarmist."

  "Nonsense!"

  "But he has a point," he admitted. "The rumors are flying."

  "A lot of us are jittery," she confessed, "including me. I had that feeling, even before the temple, but that really shook me."

  "Why before the temple? Weber's death?"

  She wouldn't answer. "And the way you feel?"

  "I'm not prescient," he replied soberly. "I could be wrong."

  "I doubt it. You sense things that are…" she paused, "beyond most of us."

  "Mainly impressions."

  "Not at the temple."

  "It was still an impression, an impression of danger——"

  "Before it happened," she cut in.

  "There's a question there." He smiled soberly. "Visualization after the fact is natural, but when it happens, do we always realize it was 'after the fact'? I'm not so certain that our time sequences are as well ordered as we like to think."

  "Possibly." Her face held doubt.

  "The bigger question is what happened to the temple builders."

  "Civilizations come and go," she replied. "Look at our own ancient history. Scores of civilizations have vanished, and we can only conjecture why."

  "But they usually were succeeded by higher civilizations," he objected.

  "Usually is not always."

  "I'll grant that. But the Imperator and the first man still are linked by a common thread. Somehow we always manage to bridge the discontinuities. But I'm getting into your area."

  She laughed. "It's not a monopoly. The best we can do is guess. We can't cite precedents. I never before realized how much we lean on history."

  "We still have to destroy what makes this planet tick."

  "That scarcely seems possible unless we find buildings sufficiently preserved to yield records, even if just in the form of art or statuary. Alton's right on that." She tilted her head, eyeing him speculatively. "I'd like to return to the temple, sift through the rubble."

  "I wouldn't."

  "You believe it would be dangerous?"

  "We were warned once," he answered. "I'm convinced the temple was destroyed to prevent just that."

  "How was it destroyed? That's what disturbs me."

  "Energy source unknown."

  "But you have an idea?"

  "I'm keeping my mind open," he denied.

  "Evasive." Her eyes searched him. "I'd still like to return."

  "You'll never get permission."

  "Why not?"

  "Woon wants to forget that temple; so does Kimbrough." He laughed wryly. "They believe it's spooked."

  "Isn't it?"

  "In a sense, yes; but even spooks can be found."

  "We'll find it." She nodded briefly. "I feel certain of that."

  "That should be interesting." He thought his voice sounded slightly hollow.

  Alton Yozell stroked his jaw, his eyes on the captive bird. With a? few variations in color and structure, it bore a striking resemblance to the common gull which was found on nearly all oxygen-rich planets possessing seas, moons to raise their tides, and a not-too-severe climate. The plumage was pure white, the legs black, the tail feathers conspicuously forked.

  But it wasn't those things that had caught his eye so much as the bird's manner. It was the only word he could think of to describe it. Most caged birds simply hopped around, pecked at food, or perched complacently. While occasionally they might show alarm at the presence of humans, they had never—in his experience—riveted their attention on a human for any prolonged period.

  This bird did.

  He had noticed from the first that the small black eyes seldom left him. When he circled the cage, the gull turned to keep him in view. When he set himself to some small task, as several times he had, the gull watched him intently. Intently? How could he attribute expression to eyes as blank as polished stone? And yet the word fitted.

  He was intrigued. Birds, all birds, fell low on the scale of intelligence. Creatures of stimulus-response, they acted out their lives along purely instinctual patterns. Reaction replaced reason. Yet this bird gave every indication of intelligence. Not that it had performed intelligently; he had yet to devise stratagems to test that. But the appearance of intelligence was undeniable, as was a certain wariness. Yet the bird had allowed him to walk up to it, pick it up, but had exhibited not the slightest alarm at being

  placed in the cage. Was the wariness his own imagination? He was certain not.

  He wished again that he could return a pair of the birds to Cappelle, the sector capital, for display to his colleagues. But that was impossible; not even the Director of the Survey Service could waive that restriction.

  When he retired, he lay awake watching the bird in the dim glow of the night lamp. Its eyes, catching and reflecting the light, remained fastened directly on him. Not once did they look away. Neither did the bird show any inclination to sleep. Yozell grew uneasy. There was something unnatural and ominous about the bird, an intelligent bird that could sense a force field!

  Apprehensively he sat up. Perhaps he should get rid of it, keep it outside. As if reading his mind, the bird lifted a wing, tucked its head under it in the manner in which many birds sleep. Yozell watched it for a long moment before his uneasiness began to subside. He was letting the planet get to him, he decided. He had to control his emotions, discipline himself. The creature in the cage was simply a bird, nothing more.

  After a while he slept.

  He awoke to a faint clucking noise. Groggily he sat up and switched on the night lamp. The bird's small beady eyes were fastened on him. He was wondering about it when that fragment that was Uli made the transfer.

  Yozell shuddered, crying out hoarsely. He tried to spring from the bed, but his body failed to respond. He shuddered once again. The psychic part of h
im that constituted the inner self was helplessly imprisoned, utterly subservient to the new being which possessed him. Yet he could perceive, feel, think. That last was the worst of all, for he finally knew the secret of the birds. And of Uli.

  He felt a great sorrow for mankind.

  Uli exulted.

  He possessed the biologist's memories, knowledge, vocabulary, mannerisms—everything necessary to enable him to function as Yozell for as long as necessary. And, for a short while, he would need Yozell totally. He could make the biologist's body do exactly as he wished; he could wear him as a mask. Alton Yozell was the key to the ship, the galaxy, the entire Middle Universe.

  While the biologist slept, the fragment of Uli—which for all practical purposes was Uli—contemplated the immediate future. He had to get his own body into the ship, have Yozell hide it in a secure place. Next, he had to have Yozell bring more birds into the ship, one for each key member of the crew and science staff. And he had to kill the telepath.

  He debated that. His inclination to dispose of the tele-path now, held elements of risk. But in a few days, when he controlled the ship, he could kill him at will. Ah, how easily the humans would fall! The prospect made him feel infinitely superior.

  The galaxy was open! Where first? Yozell's knowledge told him that perhaps a less populous planet would be best —one that lay at the outer fringes of commerce and travel —where government was less rigid, less organized. In Yozell's mind, "where life was more individual." The biologist had neatly categorized a score of such planets. He had but to find the proper one and fission.

  Fission!

  But if fission meant personal death—he shuddered at the idea—would his descendants one day know who had given them the galaxy, the Middle Universe? No matter, he was acting in accordance with his kind, following a destiny deeply imprinted in the cells of his being. Still, he would like the Qua of that distant day to know the name of their benefactor; he would like the name "Uli" to ring throughout the corridors of time.

  When the biologist awakened, outwardly much the same person as when he had retired for the night, Uli directed his activities in accordance with the habit patterns ingrained in Yozell's memory. Uli had him rise, care for his bodily needs, depilate his face, shower, dress—the things Yozell had done almost every waking morning. Afterward, as the biologist's memory told him to do, he directed him toward the wardroom for breakfast.

  As the biologist walked down the corridor, Uli experienced a frightening thought: Suppose the telepath were there, scanned the biologist's mind, and sensed something amiss? He couldn't read it, of course, but that in itself could alert him.

  He was about to have Yozell turn back when he realized that such a course could have equally disastrous consequences. If Yozell broke his customary habit patterns, attention might be focused on him; especially with the present tense atmosphere. He couldn't risk that. Yozell had to go, step by step, through his usual routine. But Uli made one resolve: he would keep the telepath under constant surveillance… until he killed him.

  Yozell entered the wardroom, nodded to the few persons present, obtained his breakfast from an adjoining cubicle, and took his customary seat. Through the eyes of his newly acquired host, Uli scanned the others quickly. The ponderous, ruddy-faced man at the head of the longest table was Vernon Woon, the ship's captain. Woon's mind was a reservoir of stellar pathways through unspace, a mysterious realm that he failed to understand, but which he had traversed in many directions. His subconscious sang with the knowledge of a thousand planets. Yozell had considered him a necessary evil.

  The gaunt, stoop-shouldered man (Yozell's impression) next to Woon was Myron Kirribrough, the chief scientist. His thoughts were organized, disciplined and, at present, riding uneasily on a sea of subconscious fear. There was

  danger, danger——The fear leaped upward in stabbing spikes, breaking through into his awareness, thoughts he rigidly tried to suppress. Yozell's feelings about him had been neutral. Sam Gossett, Burl Ashford, Ivor Bascomb, Paul Ray-field… He let Yozell's eyes roam the room, relieved to find the telepath absent. A slender olive-faced man (of Asian ancestry, Yozell's memories revealed) was Henry Fong, a historian. A female of the species, a meteorologist, sat next to him. Her name was Robin Martel. At the moment, she was contemplating Harlan Duvall, a psych-medic who sat across from her, as a potential mate; but her face revealed none of that.

  Kimbrough suddenly lifted his head, his gaze riveted on the biologist. "What about the bird?"

  "It's… similar to the gull family." Uli had the biologist speak hesitantly, as was his habit. "It bears a remarkable resemblance to the ivory gull—pagophila eburnea —except for the forked tail. That particular gull breeds high in the Arctic regions of Old Earth. Or did before the nuclear exchange," he added.

  Kimbrough scowled. "Anything unusual about it?"

  "It appears quite ordinary."

  "There's nothing ordinary about any part of this planet," Paul Rayfield growled.

  "The sooner we leave, the better," Burl Ashford cut in. His moon-shaped face, turned toward Woon, all but quivered.

  "We have a job to do," snapped Woon. Silence fell over the table. Yozell's eyes rested on the geologist. Ashford's mind seethed with fear. Despite himself, it dominated almost every thought and action. Aliens! Aliens! The word screamed from the depths of Ashford's brain. Most of the others felt fear in varying degrees, but exhibited it in various mental manifestations. Paul Rayfield was tense, jittery, because he sensed danger but not its source; Ivor Bascomb clung to the hope that "it would all pass;" Sam Gossett entertained a quiet resignation. Robin Martel, when her thoughts weren't centered on Harlan Duvall, felt certain that something terrible was about to happen. Only Henry Fong, the historian, exhibited an odd mental detachment; whatever might happen, his chief interest lay in recording it.

  Later, Uli directed Yozell outside to procure a skimmer. Although he was aware of the prohibition against leaving the ship alone, he decided he would have to risk the violation. When no one was watching, he had Yozell take off in the direction of the rising sun, toward a distant range of hills that edged the grasslands.

  Yozell felt no desire to watch the strange lands that fled past beneath him. He felt no wonder, no emotion, no consciousness of self; neither did he know that he felt none of those things. The last spark deep in his brain, that had enabled him to think, had died. He no longer felt the sorrow for mankind.

  He brought the skimmer down in a rock-brimmed clearing far beyond the borders of the hills. Before him rose a jagged slope, awesome in its lithic protuberances and overhanging ledges. A deep gorge, cut by the million-year passage of a swiftly-flowing river, wound through the heart of the tangled scape.

  Yozell scanned the scene blankly. Higher up, he spotted the black mouths of caves. Uli contemplated them through the biologist's eyes. They appeared little changed from that day, many thousands of years before, when he had selected one for his hiding place. But that particular cave no longer was visible; it was blocked by a huge granite slab that measured greater in volume than the Alpha Tauri. Uli had placed it there.

  Guided by Yozell's eyes, he exerted the mind power. The granite slab lifted, moved far to one side, and settled into a rocky gorge. Now the mouth of another cave was visible in the scar. Uli gave more directions.

  Yozell scrambled up the slope to this new cave. Although quite blind in its dark interior, he walked straight ahead. At the rear of the cave, he paused; groping upward, he located a rocky ledge. He moved his hand carefully until his fingers encountered a small, oval-shaped object that was smooth to the touch. Gingerly he lifted it.

  Out in the sunlight again, Uli examined his body through Yozell's eyes. It was the first time he'd seen himself in… how many thousands of years? Ah, the polished beauty of it. The symmetry. The small crease at one end that could open to expose the dark eye beneath. He remembered when last he had opened it.

  His first host, a biped, had exhibited him to another biped, and
to another and another. To each, his host had called attention to "the thing that looked like an eye in the egg-shaped stone;" and each in turn had become a host. The drama had been repeated ten thousand times before he'd had himself hidden in the cave, had securely blocked it with the gigantic slab. Since then, he'd had no use for the eye; he'd used those of his hosts as visual funnels through which to transfer his mind fragments at will. But the beauty of his being, the exquisite form … it was pleasant to look upon himself again.

  With the memories flooding back, he gave thanks that his deliverance from this particular planet was near. How he ached for the stars, the waiting worlds. Tlo, Xexl, Zimzi, Yilill—the names from long ago flowed like sweet honey (Yozell's term!) through his mind. Alone of his kind, he had crossed the gulfs; ahead lay his destiny.

  He returned his attention to the biologist.

  Yozell slipped the strange object into a specimen bag and returned to the skimmer. When he landed alongside the Alpha Tauri, Myron Kimbrough was waiting, his face a mixture of anger and relief. "Where have you been?" he demanded."

  "Making a sweep." Yozell blinked owlishly in the morning light. "Why?"

  "The orders are that no one goes out alone," snapped Kimbrough.

  "Good Lord, I forgot." Yozell feigned the proper amount of startlement.

  "Why didn't you answer your communicator? We've been calling you for two hours."

  "Communicator?" Yozell blinked again. "I never thought to turn it on."

  "This isn't a planet on which one can afford carelessness, Alton."

  "I'll remember," he apologized.

  "We can't set bad examples."

  "I'll apologize to Captain Woon."

  "I would if I were you." Kimbrough's tone changed. "See anything interesting?"

  "Nothing new." Yozell shook his head. When the chief scientist turned away, he proceeded immediately to his quarters. Uli plumbed the borrowed mind for a safe place to hide. Finally, because it appeared so innocuous, he had the biologist place him in a small drawer that held personal effects. It would be but for a day or two at most!

  Secure in his new quarters, Uli dispatched the biologist outside to bring back five or six of the host birds, a number which he knew wasn't large enough to attract attention. Later he could have him make a second trip. Tonight, while the ship slept, he would have Yozell distribute the birds in strategic places—the quarters of the captain, the chief scientist, and those of other key men. Within a short while he would have as many hosts as he would need.