Alton's Unguessable

by Jeff Sutton

  Aware that Lara was watching him, he moved out into the corridor and closed the door behind him. He ran to an corridor, he glimpsed two figures retreating in the oppo-intersecting passageways, reached a stairwell and started down. His heart was thumping a wild beat. In the lower corridor, he glimpsed two figures retreating in the opposite direction.

  "Harlan," he hissed. The psychmedic spun around, jerking up the laser before he recognized the telepath. Robin threw a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. Duvall gestured and hurried toward him.

  "Watch out for the birds," he rasped.

  "I saw them." Jerking his head for them to follow, he spun around and raced back toward Yozell's quarters. When they were inside, he closed and locked the door.

  Duvall's eyes lighted at sight of Lara. "Thank God you're alive."

  Keim whirled toward him. "What did you find?"

  "Dead… all dead." Duvall's eyes mirrored his horror.

  "Everyone?"

  "Hester Kane, Carol Rusnak, Dave Shepherd, Peter Diamond, Karl Borcher"—he tolled off the names, his face twisted with anger. "Someone entered their rooms, used a laser on them. Thank God Robin escaped."

  "You said everyone?" Keim's eyes glittered.

  "A figure of speech. I don't know how many."

  "Sam Gossett?"

  "Dead."

  "Oh!" Lara's mouth moved convulsively.

  "Guy Starbuck?"

  "Dead."

  "Arden?"

  "Dead. We started down toward the crew quarters hoping for help. Someone heard us coming, shouted they'd kill us if we came any closer. They're crazy down there."

  "Can you blame them?" Keim brooded. "But we still have to reach them, get organized."

  The psychmedic rustled in his pocket and brought out two dart guns and several additional lasers. "Thought we might need them," he explained.

  Keim pocketed one of the dart guns and said, "We have to contact the alien."

  "You said that before," Duvall answered tersely. "It's dangerous."

  "Not if I keep out of its visual field. Besides, do we have a choice?"

  "We're not dealing with a human," Duvall remonstrated, "we're dealing with a monster. What makes you believe it would listen?"

  "Wouldn't you listen if someone offered you the choice between life and death?"

  "But I'm human." DuvalTs eyes pleaded with Lara. "What about it? You're the Alien Culture specialist."

  "Not this trip." She laughed nervously.

  "You must have some ideas," he insisted.

  "I'd have to know something about its history, its values, its culture. What form of life is it? What are its objectives?"

  "Conquest of the galaxy," Keim interposed.

  She shook her head impatiently. "What does that tell us? Practically nothing except that it must consider it has the means to accomplish conquest. And that could well be, from what we've seen. We know that it possesses almost unimaginable mental powers, but that still doesn't tell us much. We're looking at a skeleton, bones without substance. Usually we have to study a culture for a considerable time before passing even a tentative judgment. In this case we don't even know what it is that you're asking me to judge." She looked at Keim. "But if the decision to contact it were mine, I'd be horribly afraid."

  "You believe I'm not?" A smile touched his lips. "But is there an alternative?"

  "If we could take over the astrogation bridge…" suggested Duval.

  "I doubt that we could hold it."

  "There must be a way," exclaimed Robin.

  Keim glanced at her. "Can you suggest one?"

  "The lifeboats?"

  "Abandon the ship and let the alien reach the Empire?"

  "I didn't mean that," she protested. "If we could destroy the ship, escape."

  "Not- while we're in unspace." Keim shook his head. "We'd have to gain control of the bridge, drop back into normal space, locate a sun with a planet on which we could survive. All that takes more time than we have." He shifted his gaze to Lara. "But you're right, we have to know more about the alien. That's the best reason yet for making the contact."

  Duvall's eyes showed defeat. "How do you propose to do-"

  "Through one of the people he controls." He snapped his fingers. "Henry Fong!"

  "Fong?"

  "If he hasn't regained consciousness." He saw the question in the psychmedic's eyes and explained what had happened. "Perhaps he's still knocked out," he ended.

  "I'll check him," Duvall volunteered.

  "It's safer for me." Keim sent swift probes outward. He could detect no sign of life either in the adjacent corridors or Lara's quarters, yet knew it proved nothing. Regardless of where Fong might be, his mind would be blank. Finally he went to the door, peered out, turned.

  "If I don't come back…" His eyes held the psychmedic's.

  "Don't worry." Duvall feigned cheerfulness. "I've always wanted to command a ship."

  Keim nodded, satisfied, and slipped out into the corridor. Where was Woon, Kimbrough, the others? Where were the birds? His scalp tingled with anticipation as he hurried toward Lara's quarters.

  He found the historian precisely as he had left him— slumped on the floor unconscious, his breath a harsh rasp in his throat. Keim felt a touch of pity for him. Henry Fong had been intelligent, resolute, an articulate spokesman for the past. He also had been a pleasant companion. Now he was… what? Looking down into the historian's slender face, he knew that although Fong still lived, he had used up his time. Now he was just a body, a dangerous one. He wondered if the alien was there now, lurking behind the closed eyes.

  Fabric from a decorative pillow provided a quick blindfold, then Keim slung the body over his shoulders and hurried back through the deserted corridors.

  Danger! Abruptly the clangor rose in his mind. Halting, he whirled, saw nothing. Quick probes of the nearby rooms and side corridors returned negative results. The alarm signal rose to a shriek. Waiting, his body jerked and twitched under the tension.

  The danger was behind him! Twisting around, he saw the bird. Almost at ceiling level, it floated toward him through, the shadowy light. He fancied he could see its small beady eyes. An icy finger stabbed at his brain. A coldness touched his mind.

  A dark planet under a purple sun. Vast crumbling buildings. Nine small shadows fleeing through the huge canyons of the sky. Tlo, Glomar, Xexl dying. Cities, towns, villages uprooted, streaming like vertical rivers into the air, vanishing…

  "No!" The cry strangled in his throat, Keim tugged up the laser, fired wildly, staggered against the bulkhead with his load. The smell of burned feathers reached his nostrils. Dazed, he stumbled up the stairwell with his burden. Gradually his thoughts cleared, became coherent.

  With Duvall's help, he tied the historian to a chair, made the blindfold more secure. Finished, he stepped back. "Can you awaken him?"

  The psychmedic's hands explored the base of Fong's neck, where the telepath's chopping blow had struck. Satisfied that nothing was broken, he took Fong's pulse, listened to his heartbeat, started to lift an eyelid, but desisted. Searching the cabinets in Yozell's laboratory, he returned with a small container. "This should do it."

  He removed the cap and held the bottle under the historian's nose. The reaction was almost instantaneous. Fong's body twitched convulsively. His shoulders straightened, his hands jerked spasmodically, then suddenly were still.

  "He's awake." Lara's warning touched Keim's mind. Gesturing the others to silence, he jerked a thumb toward the sleeping quarters. Duvall nodded, touched Robin's arm and began to withdraw.

  Lara lingered a moment. "Be careful."

  When the door closed behind her, he riveted his attention on the still figure. Behind the blindfold, he was certain, the dark eyes were watchful. A quick probe of the historian's mind revealed only the curious blankness that told how completely Fong had surrendered his identity. Even his subconscious was totally quiescent. The consciousness, then, was not the consciousness of Fong, but of the thing t
hat lived within Fong.

  Uli! Keim felt his tensions rise. Although Fong was blindfolded, the alien would be listening through the historian's ears, assessing the situation through Fong's tactile senses. Keim knew it was a dangerous moment.

  "Uli?" He spoke the name softly. The figure on the chair grew even more still. Only the slight rise and fall of Fong's chest told of life. What was the alien thinking, planning? What weapons was it attempting to bring into play?

  Keim felt the sweat on his forehead. Repeating the name, he watched for the slightest indication of response. Suddenly the bindings on Fong's ankles and wrists shredded; his hand leaped up, tore the blindfold from his eyes. Keim jumped to one side, cursing himself for having neglected the alien's psychokinetic powers.

  Fong swiveled in his chair to keep the telepath in view. Keim groped for his laser, suddenly found himself unable to move. "The dart gun," he screamed silently. Arms, legs, every part of him suddenly seemed detached from his will. He became aware of Henry Fong's eyes. Deep, dark pools that whispered of unknowable gulfs, they stared out from a slender, absolutely expressionless face. Only the eyes lived!

  Icy fingers touched Keim's mind. He had the instant impression of awesome time, awesome space—galaxies so far apart that each burned like a dim star, yet he knew them for what they were. Suns were born, flamed, died; new suns were born. Time—endless time—telescoped so that the totality of the galaxy's existence was but the short, flickering life of a burning match.

  Strange, dwarfish-appearing humans sped over the face of the planet in odd mechanical vehicles; cities flowered, were obliterated. Looking out through strange eyes—the eyes of a gull—he saw a starship hovering above a grassy meadow. The Alpha Tauri!

  "Roger?" Lara's voice shrieked in his mind.

  "Uli," he gasped.

  "Shall I—F'

  no

  "Wait!" He managed to scream the plea from one small corner of his mind while he battled to stem the icy encroachment. Vision of a small, egg-shaped body flared in his consciousness, was blotted out. A sickening, vertiginous sensation gripped him. Where in God's name was Duvall? Cold needles stabbed at his brain.

  "Uli?" The name exploded from his lips. "Withdraw or she'll destroy the ship!" Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed the inner door opening; Duvall popped into view, a dart gun in hand. Fong whirled around. Too late Keim realized that the alien shared his thoughts, had seen Duvall through his eyes. An invisible force slammed the psych-medic against a wall and he collapsed in an inert heap. "Destroy the ship," Keim shouted.

  "No, wait!" The icy ringers in his brain instantly ceased probing'. Dimly he realized that the cry had come from Henry Fong's lips—from the alien who inhabited Fong's body. Simultaneously, the binding force that had gripped him ceased. He threw himself behind the historian.

  "Lara, wait," he bellowed. Duvall pulled himself to his knees and scrambled back through the open door. Someone slammed it behind him.

  Keim saw the historian start to swivel toward him and shouted, "Move and I'll have her destroy the ship!" Fong halted, then slowly turned until he faced away from the telepath. In the sudden silence, Keim realized that the harsh breathing that reached his ears came from his own lips.

  "You wished to speak to me?" The words fell suddenly, mechanically, from Henry Fong's lips.

  Startled, Keim groped for words. "You'll never reach the Empire," he grated.

  "Ah, but I'm on my way."

  "Until I decide to stop you."

  "You're a fool, Roger Keim."

  "Perhaps." Keim fought to control his anger. "We'll return you to Krado 1. It's either that or death."

  "You have the power?" The words, flat and emotionless, nevertheless held a note of mockery.

  "I can destroy the ship."

  "And die?"

  "Humans don't fear death that much."

  ^'You forget, I've possessed the minds of humans."

  "Some humans," he corrected.

  "You still couldn't kill me, Roger Keim."

  "If I destroyed the ship?"

  "Not even then."

  "I don't believe that," replied Keim; and yet he did believe it. The words had held too much certainty. He asked, "You're trying to tell me you can't be killed?"

  "You are beginning to understand."

  "No life can live in the vacuum of space," he gritted harshly.

  "No?" The mocking impression came again. "I lived in the vacuum of space for far longer than the sun Krado has existed, Keim. Perhaps you glimpsed that in my mind. Destroy the ship and I shall go on as before. Only now, in this star-filled galaxy, can I find a suitable planet readily enough."

  Keim knew the truth of the claim. It was the thing he had sensed—the knowledge of infinity, eternity, of life moving like small black shadows across the tremendous chasms between galaxies. My God, what kind of life had taken the body of Henry Fong? What had man come against? He struggled to pull his thoughts together. "Do you claim to be immortal?"

  "As you conceive of time, yes."

  "I don't believe it," he rasped.

  "It makes scant difference what you believe, Roger Keim."

  "If you don't fear death, why did you withdraw so quickly from my mind when I threatened to destroy the ship?"

  "I prefer to reach my destination as soon as possible."

  "You won't, I can promise that."

  "No?" The single word held a guarded note that pinged at Keim's mind. Despite the alien's claim to immortality, he'd sensed a tinge of fear. The knowledge caused his heart to pound. What was the alien's weakness? What did he fear? Unspace? Perhaps he could live in space, but if the Alpha Tauri were destroyed in unspace, he was forever doomed. But that wasn't it; he could have Woon, or whoever he controlled on the bridge, bring the ship into normal space quickly enough. Or perhaps it was death itself that he feared. If so, the corollary was that he could be killed!

  Keim drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. Perhaps that was the strength he had that the alien lacked—the willingness to die. The idea became a certainty in his mind. Death to a human was chilling enough; to an immortal it must be terrifying. Death could be his weapon.

  "Why not?" the alien asked, this time more sharply.

  "You'll know just before you die," Keim promised.

  "You're a fool!" Henry Fong's lips snapped shut, his head swiveled on his neck, farther and farther. Snap! Keim heard the sickening sound, glimpsed the historian's bulging eyes in the instant before his head fell loosely to one side. He felt sick. Had he actually witnessed Fong's death, or had the historian died the instant the alien possessed his mind? If the latter, then Kimbrough, Woon, Coulter—all who had fallen prey to the alien—were the walking dead. The once men! The term swept back to chill him.

  The alien feared death! He was certain of that. He forced himself to think rationally, carefully, logically—to review, point by point, everything he had learned about Uli. He had to gird his weapons, force the alien into a showdown. And soon. The road to the Empire through unspace was swift. >

  "Roger?" Lara called anxiously.

  "A moment, give me a moment," he answered impatiently. He needed time to think, to concentrate, to recall every aspect of his brief glimpse into the alien's mind. Dark shadows fleeing through the huge canyons of the sky—what was the significance? Were there more like the alien? Logic said yes, for what form of life could exist as the only one of its kind? Yet Yozell, Kimbrough and Bascomb had spoken as if the alien were unique, a single being. If so, what had happened to the others of its kind? A dark planet under a purple sun; vast, crumbling buildings—could Uli be the sole survivor of some cataclysmic disaster? More important, how could he kill a being he couldn't see? Couldn't see? A small, egg-shaped body hidden in a dark chamber—was that the shape of the most powerful brain in the universe? If so, Uli must be immobile, utterly dependent upon its hosts.

  Keim pulled his thoughts together. Uli was aboard the ship, a small, egg-shaped body; that dispensed with the myth of invisi
bility. Immortal? How did one go about killing an immortal, especially an immortal who could live in space? But Tlo, Glomar and Xexl had died! How? They had been crossing the vast gulfs…

  He snapped his fingers; he had it! Death would be certain, even for a so-called immortal! Death to the alien! And death to the ship! He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Death to Lara and to Robin and to Harlan Duvall— to those nameless crewmen now huddled in fear in the bowels of the ship. But life to the Empire! That was all that really mattered.

  Death! He let the word run through his mind. Yet need they die? Suppose, at the last moment… He let the hope grow, fade, grow again. Could he outsmart the alien? His mind spun with the possibility. If so, he might die, but not the others. Lara, Robin, Duvall, a handful of crewmen—they, at least, would return to the Empire.

  But he had to let the alien inside his mind! He had to let him probe deeply, to uncover a plan that seemingly he was struggling to hide. And if he let the alien inside his mind? Gazing at the body of Henry Fong, a shudder ran through his muscular frame.

  Movement in the corner of his eye brought up his head with a jerk. A metal desk at the far end of the room had lifted. He threw himself flat against the floor as it hurtled straight toward the spot where he had been standing. As it whipped past him, he heard a sickening thud.

  "Roger," Lara screamed. Scrambling madly to his feet, he saw that the body of Henry Fong was gone. His eyes darted to the wreckage of the desk; behind it, smashed against the wall, was Henry Fong's bloody figure. He felt a quick revulsion, at the same instant aware of Lara's frightened face in the doorway.

  He shouted a warning as the wreckage lifted, hurtled toward him, missed by scant inches to crash against the opposite wall. A heavy chair shot past him with terrifying speed. The mind power! It was the forest all over again—the alien's answer to his threat! Duvall, at Lara's side, stared hypnotically at the wreckage.

  "Get out before the room explodes," bellowed Keim. He saw the chair hurtling back and dove to one side. "My God, what is it?" cried Duvall.

  "Psychokinesis," he shouted, "get out!" The words were still on his lips when the laboratory door was ripped from its hinges, sent whirling toward him. A long metal workbench the biologist had used to hold his specimens suddenly was torn from the wall. Suspended lengthwise in the air, it began to whirl madly, smashing everything it touched. "Down," he bellowed.