by Roger Elwood
“If it is,” Zero said. ‘Their actions suggest to me that these bipeds are more than unthinking domesticated motiles.”
“Let be!” Hundred said. “There is scant time to waste. We may not risk the entire community for the sake of a single member. Zero, go fetch back that biped.”
Unmodulated radio buzzed in the night. Finally Zero said, “No.” Ones undamaged hand reached toward him, but she was too far away for them to touch each other. Nor could she caress him with radar.
‘We will soon have you whole again,” he murmured to her. She did not answer, with the community listening.
Hundred surrendered, having existed long enough to recognize unbendable negation. “Those who are sufficiently near the monster to reach it before dawn, report,” he directed. When they had finished—about thirty all told—he said, “Very well, proceed there. Whenever feasible, direct your course to intercept the probable path of the escaped unit. If you capture it, inform us at once. The rest of us will rendezvous as planned.”
§
One by one the voices died out in the night, until only Hundred, who was responsible, and Seven, who was a friend, were in contact with Zero. “How are you now, One?” Seven asked gently.
“I function somewhat,” she said in a tired, uneven tone. “It is strange to be radar blind. I keep thinking that heavy objects are about to crash into me. When I turn my optics that way, there isn’t anything.” She paused. “The new one stirred a little bit just now. A motor impulse pathway must have been completed. Be careful, Zero,” she begged.
“I cannot understand your description of the bipeds’ interior,” Hundred said practically. “Soft, porous material soaked in sticky red liquid; acrid vapors—How do they work? Where is the mechanism?”
‘They are perhaps not functional at all,” Seven proposed. “They may be purely artificial devices, powered by chemical action.”
“Yet they act intelligently,” Zero argued. “If the monster— or the monster’s masters—do not have them under direct control—and certainly there is no radio involved …”
“There may be other means than radio to monitor an auxiliary,” Seven said. “We know so little, we persons.”
“In that case,” Zero answered, “the monster has known about this cave all the time. It is watching me at this moment, through the optics of that thing on One’s back.”
“We must assume otherwise,” Hundred said.
“I do,” Zero said. “I act in the belief that these bipeds are out of contact with the flier. But if nevertheless they perform as they have been doing, then they certainly have independent function, including at least a degree of intelligence.” A thought crashed through him, so stunning that he could not declare it at once. Finally: “They may be the monster’s masters! It may be the auxiliary, they the persons!”
“No, no, that is impossible,” Hundred groaned. Seven’s temporary acceptance was quicker; he had always been able to leap from side to side of a discussion. He flashed:
“Let us assume that in some unheard-of fashion, these small entities are indeed the domesticators, or even the builders, of that flying thing. Can we negotiate with them?”
“Not after what has happened,” Zero said bleakly. He was thinking less about what he had done to them than what they had done to One.
Seven continued: “I doubt it myself, on philosophical grounds. They are too alien. Their very functioning is deadly: the destruction wrought by their flier, the poison under their skins. Eventually, a degree of mutual comprehension may be achieved. But that will be a slow and painful process. Our first responsibility is to our own form of existence. Therefore we must unmistakably get the upper hand, before we even try to talk with them.” In quick excitement, he added, “And I think we can.”
Zero and Hundred meshed their intellects with his. The scheme grew like precipitation in a supersaturated pond. Slow and feeble, the strangers were only formidable by virtue of highly developed artifacts—or, possibly, domesticated motiles of radically modified type—the flier, the tube which had blown off Zero’s arm, and other hypothetical weapons. But armament unused is no threat. If the flier could be immobilized—
Of course, presumably there were other dwarf bipeds inside it. Their voices had been heard yesterday. But Zero’s trip here had proven that they lacked adequate nighttime senses. Well, grant them radar when in an undamaged condition. Radar can be confused, if one knows how.
Hundred’s orders sprang forth across miles to the mountaineers now converging on the flier: “Cut the heaviest accumulator strands you can find in the forest. Twist them into cables.
Under cover of darkness, radar window and distraction objects, surround the monster. We believe now that it may not be sentient, only a flier. Weld your cables fast to deeply founded boles. Then, swiftly, loop them around the base of the flier. Tie it down!”
“No,” said Twenty-nine, aghast.
“So make the nooses,” Zero said. “The monster is not a perfectly tapered spindle. The jets bulge out at the base. Slip the nooses around the body just above the jets. I hardly think it can rise then, without tearing its own tubes out.”
“Easy for you to say, Zero, safe in your cave.”
“If you knew what I would give to have matters otherwise—”
§
Abashed, the hunters yielded. Their mission was not really so dangerous. The nooses—two should be ample if the cable was heavy—could be laid in a broad circle around the area which the jets had flattened and devastated. They could be drawn tight from afar, and would probably slip upward by themselves, coming to rest just above the tubes, where the body of the flier was narrowest. If a cable did get stuck on something, someone would have to dash close and free it. A snort of jetfire during those few seconds would destroy him. But quite probably the flier, or its masters, could be kept from noticing him.
“And when we do have the monster leashed, what then?” asked Twenty-nine.
“We will do what seems indicated,” Hundred said. “If the aliens do not seem to be reaching a satisfactory understanding with us—if we begin to entertain any doubts—we can erect trebuchets and batter the flier to pieces.”
“That might be best,” said Zero, with a revengeful look at One’s rider.
“Proceed as ordered,” said Hundred.
“But what about us?” Zero asked. “One and myself?”
“I shall come to you,” Seven said. “If nothing else, we can stand watch and watch. You mentioned that the aliens polarize more easily than we do. We can wait until it drops from exhaustion.”
“Good,” said Zero. Hope lifted in him as if breaking through a shell. “Did you hear, One? We need only wait.”
“Pain,” she whispered. Then, resolutely: “I can minimize energy consumption. Comatose, I will not sense anything …” He felt how she fought down terror, and guessed what frightened her: the idea that she might never be roused.
“I will be guarding you all the time,” he said. “You and the new one.”
“I wish I could touch you, Zerc —” Her radiation dimmed, second by second. Once or twice consciousness returned, kicked upward by fear; static gasped in Zeros perception; but she slipped again into blackness.
When she was quite inert, he stood staring at the unit on her—no, the entity. Somewhere behind that glass and horrible tissue, a brain peered back at him. He ventured to move an arm. The thing jerked its weapon aloft. It seemed indeed to have guessed that the optics were her most vulnerable spot. With immense care, Zero let his arm fall again. The entity jittered about, incapable of his own repose. Good. Let it drain its energy the faster.
He settled into his own thoughts. Hours wore away. The alien paced on One s broad back, sat down, sprang up again, slapped first one hand and then another against its body, made long noises that might possibly be intended to fight off coma. Sometimes it plugged the
water tube into its face. Frequently Zero saw what looked like a good chance to catch it off guard—with a sudden rush and a flailing blow, or an object snatched off the floor and thrown, or even a snap shot with his torch—but he decided not to take the hazard. Time was his ally.
Besides, now that his initial rage had abated, he began to hope he might capture the entity undamaged. Much more could be learned from a functional specimen than from the thing which lay dismembered near the iron block. Faugh, the gases it was giving off! Zero s chemical sensor retracted in disgust.
The first dawnlight grayed the cave mouth.
“We have the flier!,, Twenty-nine’s exuberant word made Zero leap where he stood. The alien scrambled into motion. When Zero came no closer, it sagged again. “We drew two cables around its body. No trouble whatsoever. It never stirred. Only made the same radio hum.”
“I thought—” someone else in his party ventured. “Not long ago … was there not a gibberish signal from above?”
‘There might well be other fliers above the clouds,” agreed Hundred from the valley. “Have a care. Disperse yourselves. Remain under cover. The rest of us will have rendezvoused by early afternoon. At that time we will confer afresh. Meanwhile, report if anything happens. And … good work, hunters.”
Twenty-nine offered a brief sensory linkage. Thus Zero saw the place: the cindered blast area, and the upright spindle shining in the first long sunlight, and the cables that ran from its waist to a pair of old and mighty accumulator boles. Yes, the thing was captured for certain. Wind blew over the snowpeaks, set forest to chiming and scattered the little sunrise clouds. He had rarely known his land so beautiful.
The perception faded. He was in his cave again. Seven called: “I am getting close now, Zero. Shall I enter?”
“No, best not. You might alarm the alien into violence. I have watched its movements the whole night. They grow more slow and irregular each hour. It must be near collapse. Suppose you wait just outside. When I believe it to be comatose, I will have you enter. If it does not react to the sight of you, we will know it has lost consciousness.”
“If it is conscious,” mused Seven. “Despite our previous discussion, I cannot bring myself to believe quite seriously that these are anything but motiles or artifacts. Very ingenious and complex, to be sure … but aware, like a person?”
The unit made a long series of sonic noises. They were much weaker than hitherto. Zero allowed satisfaction to wax in him. Nevertheless, he would not have experienced this past night again for any profit.
§
Several hours later, a general alarm yanked his attention back outward. ‘The escaped auxiliary has returned! It has entered the flier!”
“What? You did not stop it?” Hundred demanded.
Twenty-nine gave the full report. “Naturally, after the change of plan, we were too busy weaving cables and otherwise preparing ourselves to beat the forest for the dwarf. After the flier was captured, we dispersed ourselves broadly as ordered. We made nothing like a tight circle around the blasted region. Moreover, our attention was directed at the flier, in case it tried to escape, and at the sky in case there should be more fliers. Various wild motiles were about, which we ignored, and the wind has gotten very loud in the accumulators. Under such circumstances, you will realize that probability actually favored the biped unit passing between us and reaching the open area unobserved.
“When it was first noticed, no person was close enough to reach the flier before it did. It slid a plate aside in one of the jacks which support the flier and pulled a switch. A portal opened in the body above and a ladder was extruded. By that time, a number of us had entered the clearing. The unit scrambled up the ladder. We hesitated, fearing a jetblast. None came. But how could we have predicted that? When at last we did approach, the ladder had been retracted and the portal was closed. I pulled the switch myself but nothing happened. I suppose the biped, once inside, deactivated that control by means of a master switch.”
“Well, at least we know where it is,” Hundred said. “Disperse again, if you have not already done so. The biped may try to escape, and you do not want to get caught in the jetblast. Are you certain the flier cannot break your cables?”
“Quite certain. Closely observed, the monster—the flier— seems to have only a thin skin of light alloy. Nor would I expect it to be strong against the unnatural kind of stresses imposed by our tethers. If it tries to rise, it will pull itself in two.”
“Unless,” said Fourteen, as he hastened through valley mists toward Broken Glade, “some biped emerges with a torch and cuts the cables.”
“Just let it dare!” said Twenty-nine, anxious to redeem his crew’s failure.
“It may bring strong weapons,” Zero warned.
‘Ten crossbows are cocked and aimed at that portal. If a biped shows itself, we will fill it with whetted steel.”
“I think that will suffice,” Zero said. He looked at the drooping shape upon One. “They are not very powerful, these things. Ugly, cunning, but weak.”
Almost as if it knew it was being talked about, the unit reeled to its feet and shook the pry bar at him. Even Zero could detect the dullness in its noises. Another hour, he thought, and One will he free.
Half that time had gone by when Seven remarked from outside, “I wonder why the builders … whoever the ultimate intelligences are behind these manifestations … why have they come?”
“Since they made no attempt to communicate with us,” Zero said in renewed grimness, “we must assume their purpose is hostile.”
“And?”
‘Teach them to beware of us.”
He felt already the pride of victory. But then the monster spoke.
Up over the mountains rolled the voice, driven by the power which hurled those hundreds of tons through the sky. Roaring and raging through the radio spectrum, louder than lightning, enormous enough to shake down moon and stars, blasted that shout. Twenty-nine and his hunters yelled as the volume smote their receptors. Their cry was lost, drowned, engulfed by the tide which seethed off the mountainsides. Here and there, where some accumulator happened to resonate, blue arcs of flame danced in the forest. Thirty miles distant, Zero and Seven still perceived the noise as a clamor in their heads. Hundred and his followers in the valley stared uneasily toward the ranges. On the seashore, females called, “What is that? What is that?” and aquamotiles dashed themselves about in the surf.
Seven forgot all caution. He ran into the cave. The enemy thing hardly moved. But neither Zero nor Seven observed that. Both returned to the entrance and gazed outward with terror.
The sky was empty. The forest rang in the breeze. Only that radio roar from behind the horizon told of anything amiss. “I did not believe—” stammered Seven. “I did not expect—a tone that loud… .”
Zero, who had One to think about, mustered decisiveness. “It is not hurting us,” he said. “I am glad not to be as close as the hunters are, but even they should be able to endure it for a while. We shall see. Come, let us two go back inside. Once we have secured our prisoner—”
§
The monster began to talk.
No mere outrageous cry this time, but speech. Not words, except occasionally—a few images. But such occurrences were coincidental. The monster spoke in its own language, which was madness.
Seized along every radio receptor channel there was in him, total sensory and mental linkage, Zero became the monster.
DITditditdit DAH dit-nulnulnulnul-ditditDAHdah & the vector sum: infinitesimals in finitely added from nul-to-INFIN-ITY, dit—ditdit—DAH—ditditditnul (gammacolored chaos, hang goes a universe scattering stars&planets&bursts-of-fire
BLOCK THAT NEUTRON BLOCK THAT NEUTRON BLOCK THAT NEUTRON BLOCK THAT BLOCK THAT BLOCK THAT NEUTRON) oneone *** nononul— DATTA—ditdit chitterchitterchitter burning suns & moons, burning stars & brains, burningburningburning. Burning DahditDahditDahdit give me fifty million logarithms this very microsecond or you will Burn ditditditd
it—DAYADHVAM— DAMYATA
and one long wild logarithmic spiral down spacetimeenergy continuum of potentialgradient Xproduct i,j,k but multiply Time by the velocity of light in nothingness and the square root of minus one (two, three, four, five, six CHANGE for duodecimal computation zzzzzzzzzzz)
integral over sigma of del cross H d sigma equals one over c times integral over sigma partial of E with respect to t dot d sigma but correct for nonsphericalshapentropicoordinatetrans-formationtop&quantumelectrodynamichargelectricalephaselagra-dientemperature rising to burning Burning BURNING dit-dit-chitterchitterchitter from eyrie to blind gnawer and back again O help the trunk is burningbumingburning THEREFORE ANNUL in the name of the seven thunders Everything-that-has-been, break up the roots of existence and strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world RRRIP spacetime across and throw it on the upleaping primordial energy for now all that was & will be, the very fact that it once did exist, is canceled and torn to pieces and
Burning
Burning
Burning
Burning
AND the binding energy of a lambda hyperon by a sigma —minus exploding
As the sun fell down the bowl of sky, and the sky cracked open, and the mountains ran like rivers forming faces that gaped and jeered, and the moon rose in the west and spat the grisliness of what he had done at him, Zero ran. Seven did not; could not; lay by the cave entrance, which was the gate of all horrors and corruptions, as if turned to salt. And when God descended, still shouting in His tongue which was madness, His fiery tail melted Seven to a pool.
Fifty million years later the star called Wormwood ascended to heaven; and a great silence fell upon the land.
Eventually Zero returned home. He was not surprised to find that the biped was gone. Of course it had been reclaimed by its Master. But when he saw that One was not touched, he stood mute for a long while indeed.
