by Henry Hasse
“Your Illimitableness!” The Head Scientist kow-towed so that his eight limbs sprawled in all directions. “The extraction of the cerebrothalamic coordinates from the static brains was performed without flaw, and the results recorded automatically on the trans-telector! Nothing could have been lost, of that we are certain. Perhaps—if I may be so bold, your Magnificence—perhaps these beings belong to a defective life-development unable to coordinate pure reason!”
Something like a smile altered the delicate features of Dhaarj, as he glanced again at Clint and Ruth. “I think differently,” he telepathed flatly. “These Earth people had enough of science and reason to build a vessel to bridge interplanetary space. Something,” he emphasized, “which even you and your entire staff have failed to achieve!”
“But only because we lack the necessary metals, your Effulgence,” came the worried reply. “Otherwise, with our formulae and multi-world equations we could—”
“Don’t interrupt!” Dhaarj thundered mentally, committing that offense himself. “I repeat, something has been lost. Or perhaps these beings include within their alchemy something we have never known. But I shall find it out! I shall find this missing pattern, even if I have to subject these two to mental integration.” His mind raised its potential to the sixth magnitude, indicating that the audience was at an end.
Slowly the scientists withdrew. This was nothing new to them. All the secrets of the universe were a constant challenge to Dhaarj—and now, to add to their scientific labors, had come these strange life-forms from Earth.
“Guard these two well,” came Dhaarj’s parting shot. “Make a complete study of the space vessel. Repair it. Improve upon it!”
“Yes, your Effulgence,” replied the Head Scientist as he backed out of the room.
So it was that Clint and Ruth, puzzled, were taken to other quarters near by. Nothing was lacking for their comfort. True, it was prison, but they did not immediately mind that. The sorrowful remembrance of their dead friends was still with them.
“Clint, why were we spared? Why did the others have to die, some of the best scientific minds of Earth, and yet we—” She gave way then, sobbing, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Yes, why?” Clint wondered bitterly. He was only a humble biochemist, and Ruth a student psychologist; their tasks: to correlate in their respective fields whatever life they found on Mars. Well, they had found it!
To pass the time, they wrote voluminously about the Martians. Ruth evolved complete, conclusive theories as to their strange behavior patterns, while Clint guessed at their biochemistry and consigned them to the kingdom of the arachne who by some quirk of evolution had become tremendously intelligent creatures.
Meanwhile, in the splendor of his imperial chamber only Dhaarj remained. Bathed in soothing radiations from the ceiling, he sat quite motionless. For hours he pondered. Stream after stream of thought flashed from his astounding mind. Every detail, every iota of the thought-patterns of these dead Earthmen was analyzed with profound care. And in the end Dhaarj knew that what he sought eluded him. He only knew that something in the pattern was strange and incomprehensible—and that was challenge enough!
“I must obtain it from the two who are alive,” he concluded. “I believe I know, now, why I failed to contact their minds. I shall try again.”
He flashed an order. Once more Ruth and Clint were brought into the august presence. Once more Dhaarj peered down from his cushiony throne. “This,” he told himself, “is beneath my dignity! To think that I should be compelled to reduce my potential to one-sixteenth of one magnitude!”
But he tried it, and this time without trouble an uninterrupted flow of thought bridged the gap of their different evolutions. To the Earthians, it was startling. But Dhaarj allowed them little time for wonderment.
You must tell me what I need to know, he began. First, why have you come here? From the brains of your companions we have obtained the history of that planet you call Earth. We are aware of the centuries of scientific effort preceding this endeavor. But we fail to understand the REASON behind it all. Your planet is infinitely richer than ours. To us it would be a paradise, yet you wilfully leave it. All this tremendous effort, this expenditure of thought and life-force . . . all for what?
Dhaarj withdrew a part of his mind, and Clint considered his answer carefully. In order, he replied, stumbling with the mental concept, in order to understand the mysteries and workings of the universe.
But WHY is it so important for you to understand these things? Dhaarj said, utterly disregarding his own curiosity.
So as to— Here Clint hesitated. To dispel certain misconceptions about the nature of life and the universe in general. It is only thus, perhaps, that we as individuals can understand the ultimate—
The ultimate? Dhaarj’s thought stabbed like a rapier.
The ultimate meaning of right and wrong, of good and evil—perhaps even of life and death and their meaning.
Good and evil? Dhaarj repeated mentally. Then he seemed to ponder. His next thought appalled Clint. By that, do you mean efficient and inefficient? Or perhaps logical and illogical?
No! By good, I mean that which brings the greatest possible benefit to the greatest number; and evil, that which is harmful and negative—such as—as the baser emotions. In trying to explain, Clint floundered. How, he wondered, could he transmit universals like these to such an alien intellect?
Emotions! Dhaarj pounced upon the thought-form. What are they? I seem not to intuit your mental pattern, Earthman. You are not clear. Send!
Clint began to realize the task before him. When I use the term emotions, I mean—feelings, which are part of our race-consciousness, our philosophy of life, our extension of being! Such as—anger, and revenge, and love! He made a supreme effort with each word, and waited for Dhaarj’s reaction. He saw that he had succeeded in conveying the meaning of revenge—which Dhaarj translated as efficiency! And anger—which to Dhaarj was merely the increase of a thought-potential to neutralize an opposing mentality!
But love . . . that was something Dhaarj was unable to comprehend. Consequently, he seized upon it eagerly. A terrific struggle ensued, in which Clint tried to make clear the emotion he felt for the slender, grayeyed girl at his side. Ruth sensed the struggle and joined her mind with his, while Dhaarj probed to the recesses of their minds in an effort to find the meaning of this thing that seemed so all-important to them.
We fail, Earthman, Dhaarj’s thought crackled at last. We must cease. You could not stand my increased potential, and that would be inefficient, as I would defeat my ends with your annihilation. He paused. You believe that this thing you term love is the most powerful force in existence . . .
It was not so much a question as a statement, and Clint sensed a cunning behind it. But he answered without hesitation.
Yes! Existence may cease and planets may die, and the stream of life take other forms. But for us of Earth, love will always be the greatest force. It is life itself!
Dhaarj frowned down at him. You are wrong, Earthman.
Stubbornly, Clint shook his head. He summoned all of his thought-faculty and reiterated his belief. And all around him, dozens of Martians who crowded the chamber caught his vibrations.
You are wrong, Dhaarj contradicted again, coldly this time. His antennae went taut, he seemed to sit a little straighter on his throne. Survival, Earthman! Survival is the greatest force! It rules all existence.
The atmosphere was electric, as the Martians sensed this conflict of minds. They were appalled at this puny Earth creature who dared contradict the Dhaarj! Clint felt Ruth’s hand tighten in his, as if bidding him to desist. But a well of anger rose in him, and he continued to project mentally what to him was irrefutable truth.
Dhaarj’s limbs twitched with impatience on the cushions. So you persist in the belief that this figment you call love is greater than Survival? You and the slender one whom you guard so well, he pointed out, are the only survivors of t
he crash. I had thought of subjecting you to mental integration in order to ascertain the element that is missing. His bulbous body leaned forward. However, I have a better plan. If you can prove by experiment the power of this thing that seems so important to you, I believe you will have shown me what I want to know. If you can do this, you may return to your own planet. I shall see to it!
Clint felt Ruth go tense with hope. But he sensed an ominous undertone to Dhaarj’s thoughts.
By what experiment? Clint sent the question. How can we prove anything so intangible?
By MY experiment. I will conduct it! You will know when it begins! Whereupon the interview ended, as Dhaarj’s mental defenses rose in magnitude and communication between them ceased.
They were returned to their suite, where they rested from the mental ordeal. Clint’s head was throbbing. He felt as though his brain had been wrung dry. They were not disturbed again.
In the following hours they discussed all that had transpired, speculating as to Dhaarj’s trustworthiness should they win the experiment. What form would such an experiment take? And would he really send them back to Earth unharmed? Clint had no doubt that the Terra was being repaired and studied at this very moment.
“You should never have antagonized him,” Ruth said.
“Think I was going to let him bluff me? Besides, it gave us our chance, our only chance. Somehow I think he’ll keep his word. We must win!” But Clint was worried now, wondering what Dhaarj was devising in that cunning mind.
As the hours passed, their fears and hopes and myriad emotions were soothed. It happened gradually, so gradually they did not even notice. It was as if a commanding mental force were slowly asserting itself, lulling them to sleep.
Neither of them knew it . . . but already the experiment had begun.
Clint awoke first, bathed in perspiration. He remembered struggling against something that was more than a dream; it was an overwhelming thought that beat inside his brain.
Survival, it seemed to say. Survival is the greatest force. Survival is the law. Survival is Life.
He stood up, felt weak. He rubbed a hand across his jaw and was surprised to find a heavy growth of beard. How long had he slept? He was taken suddenly about the middle by a hammering nausea of hunger.
He wakened Ruth, and she looked at him with sudden fright in her eyes as she understood. The experiment had begun.
A moment later one of the Martians appeared. You are free to go now, he telepathed. You will not be interfered with. Your spaceship has been repaired and newly equipped.
Ruth’s joy was unbounded, but Clint frowned, motioned her to silence. He controlled his rising thought as he flashed: Good. But we are hungry, we have not eaten. If you could arrange it—
The guard’s potential rose, overwhelming him. You are to go. Now. Or stay if you wish. There will be no food.
Very well. Please take us to our ship.
The answer came back stark and unemotional. You do not understand. To us you no longer exist.
The impact of it hit Clint, then. Alone on an alien world, they were to shift for themselves and find their spaceship if they could! The desert was large, probably fraught with dangers. He could not even remember from which direction they had entered the city!
He flashed an angry thought: Then give us weapons! At least concede us that!
Survival, Earthman, came the parting thought as the guard left them. Survival is the greatest force!
“So that’s his game.” Clint turned to Ruth as a gorge of anger rose in him. “The cards are stacked, but we’ll win! We’ll get back to the Terra!”
They searched the quarters for anything that might serve as a weapon. There was absolutely nothing! Apparently Dhaarj had seen to that. But a gleaming fountain was there, and they paused only to drink their fill before making their way out into the city.
They felt no hostility, and they were not disturbed, but there was a feeling of surveillance everywhere they passed. Strong mental barriers were raised against their thoughts. The entire Martian populace knew of Clint’s affront to the Dhaarj and were aware of the test.
To linger here was useless; their only chance lay in finding the Terra! At last they reached the edge of the city, and before them lay boundless desert, dark red and undulating. They paused uncertainly, staring around.
It was Clint who hit upon the clue they needed. He pointed to a lowlying range far to the left. “Those mountains! They were to the right of us when we entered the city. That much I remember.”
They headed into the unknown wastes. The desert was powder-dry, the going was slow. For a long time they did not speak. Speaking was an effort, and it allowed the drifting red dust to enter the mouth.
It was just mid-day. The sun had begun to bite.
In the imperial chamber, Dhaarj sat watching the drama of these alien two as their movements registered upon a huge telector-screen. In a detached scientific way he was almost contemptuous of them.
“As I thought,” he murmured mentally, “they are utilizing the most elementary of behavior-patterns. They will succumb much sooner than I supposed.”
How well he remembered, long ago, when one of his caravans had gone unreported for days in that fierce desert waste: and the final scene of savagery that greeted the eyes of the rescuers. Introspectively Dhaarj smiled. “These prattling Earth people. They will tear each other to pieces when they finally encounter food. They will become red in tooth and claw. There is no law but Survival!”
Dhaarj leaned forward, extended his thought-potential. Just now he detected a bit of concern in the male creature’s mind. Concern for the female creature. That puzzled Dhaarj . . . and that would not do! He decided to watch yet a while.
Clint was worried for Ruth. She seemed to be bearing up all right, but it was tough going! The crimson haze trickled, burning, into the lungs. The pangs of hunger gnawed, but that soon became as nothing compared to the burning thirst that seized them.
“Rest,” Clint said through swollen lips. Ruth sank down gratefully. Clint fixed his gaze on the rising foothills to the left. “We’ve got to get over there! We might find water . . .”
“It could be dangerous. Maybe there are—”
“Beasts? Good. That’ll mean food!” The fact that he was without weapons had ceased to worry him.
They went on. The night came clear and pallid. It brought a measure of relief from the heat, but brought other things as well. Hordes of tiny winged mites, worse than the daytime desert dust. They stung the face and neck and caused a fever in their throats. Turning up the collars of their tunics helped a little.
Soon Deimos appeared, riding high on liquid sapphire. Then Phobos, smaller of Mars’ two moons, came in its mad pursuit. Strange night-shadows danced before their eyes and about their heads and seemed to twist their brains awry. Once, very near, came a sound of soft padding feet. They glimpsed a murky animal-shape moving through the shadows.
“Wait here!” With no thought of danger, Clint plunged in the direction of the moving shape. But he was clumsy, and the beast disappeared. “It might have meant food,” Clint sobbed, coming back.
It was more than hunger he felt now. Fright settled in his stomach like a nest of clammy serpents. He knew too well that the terrible heat and hunger and thirst of another day would finish them! He lifted his face to the sky, seeking Earth, and the vision of the void smashed against his eyes; the ebon infinity seemed hungry too . . . engulfing him . . .
They moved forward endlessly, and it seemed hours later when there appeared a towering hulk that was not a part of the dancing shadows. They stood at last near the base of a giant tree. Or was it a tree? Vegetable, certainly; a twisted nightmare of monumental size! Bulbous branches were spiked with murderous, glistening thorns.
Clint tore a piece of the bark away, touched it to his tongue. It was bitter—and more. Streaks of fire needled his tongue. Finding a foothold, he managed to reach the lowest limb. He tore away one of the thorns, four feet long
and thick as his wrist. Crude—but it would serve as a weapon!
Then he spied great bulbous pods growing just above. He managed to pry one of them away. It came down in a sticky mass of pulp about his head, spilling moist seeds into his neck that burned where they touched. The bulk of it fell to the ground, where Ruth pounced upon it.
“It’s poisonous!” Clint called a warning. “I should have known there was nothing edible here.” He climbed hastily down, and just in time, over her protesting sobs, he knocked the pod from Ruth’s hand.
“That was cruel!” she wept. “You should have let me eat it!”
“You would have died!”
“I want to die!”
“You’re not going to die!” A fury rose in Clint. He clutched her shoulders and shook her cruelly. The vision of Dhaarj, pompous and arrogant on his throne, settled across his mind like a patina. “You’re not going to die. We’re going to win, do you hear? I say it! We’re going to win!”
As though in contradiction, an animal snarl burst upon them. Clint had time only to thrust Ruth to the ground, as a vague grayish shape sliced through the shadows. Already it was launching itself in a twenty-foot leap.
Clint went down. He had a vision of great wings unfolding, and then a talon ripped his tunic from waist to shoulder. The beast landed beyond him, whirled and came with another rush. Clint thrust awkwardly with the thorn. It ripped harmlessly across a scaly hide. Part of the creature’s bulk caught him, sent him sprawling ten feet away.
The thorn was slippery, useless in his hands. Clint realized that now. But he clung to it, backed against the tree where Ruth was huddling. The creature whirled again. Clint saw huge ferral eyes glittering in a semireptilian head. Wings arched sinuously along its back.