Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  “I hope you’re right. It’s a desperate plan, but I agree, there’s no other.”

  “We’ll know pretty soon,” De Vries said.

  “I’m scared, Commander. Oh, not for myself. I’ve already led a full life. It’s the others I’m thinking about, all of those millions of Arista, waiting, hoping we come up with something.”

  “I’m thinking of them, too,” De Vries said. “If I could think of any other way to save them, believe me, I’d take it. But we have no choice, and that makes it simpler. Either this plan works or we’re all dogmeat.”

  A crewman reported. “All ready, sir!”

  De Vries looked at Falken. She said, “Good luck,” and went to the acceleration couch. De Vries went to his own, looked around, saw everything in readiness. The Free Corps was lifting on schedule.

  “Standard power!”

  The ship seemed to grunt, shook itself like a sleepy bull, and lifted itself out of its earth pit. De Vries ordered full power. The ship seemed to strain for a moment, as though reluctant to leave its safe shelter on Arista, so fortress-like, then made up its mind and leaped upward. Faster, faster. Through monitors they could watch the planet fall away and dwindle, first to a dark, cloud-covered ball, then to a dot. Other views showed the remaining ships of the fleet coming out behind them. Further back still, red and green winks of light showed the ships of the Arista militia following. On the far side of the planet lights flared as the smaller militia ships threw themselves at the Hothri.

  “OK,” De Vries said. “We’re out of the atmosphere.” He signaled the astrogation officer. “Take down these coordinates.” He rattled off a string of numbers. “Broadcast them to all ships. Tell me when they have all acknowledged.”

  “Now,” Mira said, “you’re going to see if you can find their home world?”

  De Vries nodded.

  “What is that orange light flashing on your display?” De Vries looked at it and smiled. “That’s a signal from the political officer. No doubt he wants to put in a word or two of advice.” He made no effort to answer.

  “Aren’t you going to talk to him?”

  “Not now. Whatever he has to say wouldn’t be useful. Finding the Hothri is a military matter, not a political one.”

  Moments later the communications officer was back on line. “All ships acknowledge, sir. Controls are set to your coordinates.”

  De Vries turned to Mira. “Ready for the jump into FTL mode?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know what it entails. Do we strap down again?”

  “No. But it gives some people a peculiar feeling in the pit of the stomach. Nothing serious, but it’s better to be warned.”

  De Vries turned to their annunciator. “All ships. Execute the move into FTL mode!”

  According to Corp. Adams’s calculations, the journey in FTL mode would take just under twenty-eight hours ship’s time. At the end of this time Eindhoven and the other ships came out into normal space again. De Vries turned on the vision ports and began a visual search of the space they were in. Mira and the crew waited, scarcely daring to breathe.

  At last Mira asked, “What do you see? Is there a planet out there?”

  “Look for yourself,” De Vries said, his voice flat, expressionless.

  Mira looked around. It was apparent that they were in deep space. She could see nothing that looked like the fiery disk of a nearby sun. Just the distant pinpoints of the stars. And something else. She shifted to the lower right-hand quadrant. De Vries turned up the magnification.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “It seems to be a space fleet,” De Vries said. At maximum magnification he could see, spread in a wide band across the darkness of space, a line of ten ships, lights blazing from their port holes, shifting and changing position as they closed on the fleet and then came to a halt.

  De Vries called to the intelligence officer, “What do you make of them, Alex?”

  “I wish we could get a little closer,” Alex said. “Near as I can make out, no ship like these was ever fabricated on any human world. Let’s try a simulation for a better look.”

  Alex punched keys. An intercam recorded the image of the nearest ship and, using simulation techniques, produced a close-up view. The ship was monstrous-looking, a solid, misshapen bulge of metal and glass that resembled the grotesque head of a creature, half dwarf and half dragon.

  “Weird-looking craft,” De Vries commented. “Do the Hothri ever use a configuration like that?”

  “That ship has none of the Hothri characteristics. Commander, I don’t think you’ve found the Hothri home world. But you have gotten a whole new space fleet of unknown origin and disposition. It looks somewhat larger than ours.”

  “Are they armed?” De Vries asked.

  Alex studied the images, then turned back to De Vries. “Oh yes, sir, they’re armed.”

  “Then the next question,” Mira said, “is are they friendly or unfriendly?”

  De Vries sent a signal to the communications officer. “Contact them, Mr. Manfred.”

  But that was easier said than done.

  The communications room of the superdreadnought Eindhoven was a small room crowded with equipment. Green cat’s eyes expanded and shrank from various visual displays. A graphic equalizer showed jagged lines. There was the constant hum of machinery, the stifling warmth that comes on these ships. There were low rumbling noises from time to time; signs that the ship was working. The lights in this room were low, indirect. The dials of the instruments gave light enough.

  De Vries and Mira were in the room, gathered behind Manfred. He was young, barely twenty. His blonde hair was shaved close to the skull. His features were delicate, boyish. There was another man in the room, too. This was Carson, a hulk of a man. He hardly looked the type to be the alien linguistics officer. But so he was. Since a new alien language is not often encountered, especially in these war years of diminished spatial exploration, Carson doubled as assistant gunnery officer.

  De Vries and the others entered. Manfred started to get to his feet to salute.

  De Vries said, “At ease, Manfred. Do you have anything new?”

  “Just the same old stuff, sir.”

  “Any visuals yet?”

  “No. Their screens are up. They’re broadcasting only on a narrow voice-only channel.”

  “Let Carson hear it.”

  Before Manfred could act, Havilland entered the room. “Commander De Vries! I should have been notified of this! The first contact with a hitherto unknown alien race—that is a political matter!”

  “Given the situation,” De Vries said, “I consider it at present a purely military concern. Their fleet is armed and larger than ours. We’re standing toe to toe and all hell could break out any moment. Communication is imperative if we are to preserve our lives long enough to be useful to Arista.”

  Mira said, “I’m glad to hear you mention Arista, Commander. I believe the idea was to find the Hothri home planet. There’s no evidence of it around here, is there?”

  “None whatsoever,” De Vries said.

  “Then your guess has failed and you have doomed our planet.”

  Havilland said, “I can assure you, noble lady, he did it without the approval of the merchants, whose representative I am.”

  “And what would you have suggested?” Mira Falken asked him.

  “That we return to Arista and fight!”

  “But you know the situation was hopeless.”

  “Duty indicated that we stand by your people and die with them, if necessary. If we ever get out of this, which I very much doubt, I’ll see to it that Commander De Vries gets the punishment he so richly deserves.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Mira said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “The Commander’s plan may have misfired, but at least he is actively trying to save our people.”

  “Noble Falken, I don’t understand your attitude.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. Commander, do you have any ideas now?”
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br />   “I’m playing it as it comes up,” De Vries said. “Extemporizing. The first thing we need to know is something about that fleet. Manfred, play the tape of the alien’s announcement.”

  Manfred punched a button. A tape recorder whirred into action. A sound came out of a nearby loudspeaker. It was difficult to characterize. It combined qualities of hiss and chatter. When Carson slowed it down, you could make out several voices, or separate components of voice. The sound was high-pitched, jagged, filled with nervous energy. There were no discernible words.

  “Well, Carson?” De Vries asked.

  “I’d like to hear it again,” Carson said. “Through headphones. And I’ll need to be able to vary the speed.” Carson played it several times, then took off the headphones.

  “I’ll give you a preliminary diagnosis, sir. I can’t even identify the group that it belongs to. There are sounds in there that no race we’ve encountered, human or alien, has ever made. I know the main characteristics of the three human groups and the twenty-seven alien groups so far identified. This stuff belongs to none of them.”

  “I don’t suppose they’ve shown any comprehension of our messages?” De Vries said.

  “I tried ten major language groups when I transmitted your message to them,” Manfred said.

  Havilland said, “Well, isn’t that just great? You bring us here in a great rush to bomb the Hothri home planet, and now we’re face to face with an armed alien fleet that we can’t even communicate with. What do we do, go on trading gibberish until someone starts shooting?”

  De Vries ignored the political officer’s feeble attempt at satire. He turned to his aide. “Jamieson, prepare the launch for my immediate departure.”

  The Political Officer said, “What are you thinking about now? You aren’t thinking of going to the aliens, are you?”

  “What else?”

  “But you can’t talk with them!”

  “That doesn’t mean,” De Vries said, “that I can’t communicate with them.”

  De Vries’s fleet was on full alert, ready to start firing, standing toe to toe with the alien fleet. The launch, a dot of light, detached itself from the underbelly of the dreadnought Eindhoven. Starlight flashed on its steel-gray side as it drifted away from the mother ship. Its jets came on, silent in the vacuum of space. It began moving toward the alien fleet—a grouping that consisted of just ten large ships. Their shapes were monstrous, with bulbs and fins and metallic members of all sorts. They looked more like a strange head or gigantic octopi than a human’s conception of a spacecraft. Each ship would be a match for the Eindhoven.

  “What makes you believe they won’t blast us as we approach them?”

  “They’re probably too civilized for that,” De Vries said. “At least I hope so. But we won’t get anywhere waiting until we understand their language.”

  The launch approached. On the nearest alien ship, three blue lights flickered frantically. De Vries saw them and ordered the launch to hold its present position. “What do you think, Carson?”

  Carson shrugged. He had no referents to go by, no baseline to figure from. He had brought along a computerized Translator.

  “What’s this?” Myra asked.

  A big hatch had opened in the foremost alien ship. From within, blue and green lights glowed weirdly.

  “Take the ship into it,” De Vries told the helmsman. They entered the alien ship, moving slowly. Once they were within, the doors closed. Air flowed into the vacuum. Their dials indicated that it was a breathable atmosphere. They filed out one by one.

  At the far end of the hold, a door dilated. A figure came through. Although it wore a space suit, its insectile appearance was apparent.

  “My God!” Carson said. “It even has an ovipositer!”

  “Steady,” De Vries said.

  “Sugar,” Carson babbled, “that’s what insects like, sugar. But I forgot to bring any. Oh, my God, Commander, what do we do now?”

  “Get hold of yourself,” De Vries snapped. “Let’s see if we can make any sense out of it now that we’re face to face.”

  Carson didn’t seem up to approaching the alien by himself. De Vries made a mental note of it. Carson would be recommended for planetside duty if they ever got out of this. He approached the alien by himself.

  When he was three feet from it, the alien let out a staccato sound that combined a hiss and a high-speed chirp.

  “That’s probably a warning signal,” De Vries said. “Did you get it, Carson?”

  “Yes, sir,” Carson said. “I’m recording all of this.”

  “Now,” De Vries said, “let’s see if we can make any sense out of his bag of gibberish.”

  De Vries, with the computerized Translator in his hand, was trying to decipher the creature’s utterances. The Translator was able to break down sounds and relate them to a universal phonetic alphabet. Mira watched, alarmed, and worried for the commander. The alien was so big! One misunderstanding and it could crush De Vries to death before they could do anything about it. Although she was sick with anxiety for her besieged planet, something in her heart went out to this quiet but intrepid man. Dr. Vries was just doing what a commander in the navy ought to do; it was business as usual. Yet she couldn’t help thinking that it was something special that he was doing now, something beyond the call of duty.

  And yet, even with all his courage, what could De Vries do? If the computerized Translator couldn’t help, how could he be expected to achieve any communication? And what if he did succeed and these creatures turned out to be enemies? A fine spot they’d be in then!

  There was a hiatus. Time seemed to stand still as the commander and the alien stood face to face. The alien, large, long, with a complexity of body form that showed in the detailing of his spacesuit, seemed to be coming to the end of his patience. His antennae were beginning to twitch with an emotion Mira could only ascribe to nervousness. And the hell of it was, the alien seemed to have something to say to De Vries. Something urgent. You could infer that by his general twitchiness, the increasingly rapid clicking of his mandibles. What was he trying to tell De Vries?

  There was a flurry of antennae movements on the part of the alien. De Vries watched as the alien repeated its gestures several more times. Then he turned to the other humans.

  “I think he wants me to stay aboard his ship. I will do so immediately. The rest of you will take the launch back to the Eindhoven and wait for me. If I’m not back in four hours, set coordinates for Arista, go back, and see what you can do.”

  “We don’t want to leave you!” Mira said.

  “I don’t particularly want to stay, either,” De Vries said. “But it seems like the best way. Probably the only way. And there’s no sense in risking more lives than is strictly necessary. Go back, Mira. With a little luck, I’ll join you soon.”

  “And if you don’t have even a little luck?”

  De Vries smiled very faintly but did not answer. He turned to his communication officer.

  “Carson!”

  “Sir!”

  “Get these people back to the Eindhoven. On the double, Mister! Stand by for four hours. If I’m not back in that time, control reverts to Havilland. It’s a pity, but he’ll be senior officer aboard.”

  Aboard the Eindhoven, time passed with agonizing slowness. Everyone was watching, either at the vision ports or the magnifying telescopes that were used for close-in course-plotting. The two fleets seemed to hang in space, two globes of colored dots, facing each other, waiting for a signal to tell them what to do next.

  “How long is it now?” Mira asked.

  “It’s getting close to four hours,” Carson said.

  “He didn’t give himself long enough,” Mira said. “We have to give him more time.”

  “It’s not up to me,” Carson said. “You’d better talk to Havilland.”

  When she approached him, Havilland was not sympathetic. “I have no choice in the matter. Captain De Vries is in command here. Despite our differences, I
am subordinate to him. He left me clear orders. He asked for four hours, no longer.” He looked at his watch. “In exactly seven minutes I propose to lift ship.”

  “For God’s sake!” Mira cried. “Can’t you try being human for a change?”

  Havilland gave her a small smile. “Human is what I am and what I do is what humans do. I follow orders.” He turned from her. “Power room. Are the engines up?”

  “Yes sir, ready to go.”

  “Then stand by for orders.”

  “There’s still almost six minutes,” Mira said.

  “I’m just getting ready.”

  “You don’t think De Vries will come back, do you?”

  “Don’t be so accusing. It’s not my fault. No, I don’t think he will.”

  A minute, two minutes passed. Time had gone by so slowly at first. The four hours De Vries had given himself had stretched in Mira’s mind like an eternity. But now the time was almost up. Havilland was calling for a checkout of all takeoff procedures. Mira knew that at the end of it, he would power up and go. And that would be the end of De Vries.

  “Something approaching, sir!” a lookout reported.

  “What is it?”

  “Can’t make it out yet, sir . . . Wait a minute. Yes, it’s an alien ship, a small one, about the size of our launch.”

  “He’s returning!” Mira cried, weak-kneed with relief.

  “That is an unwarranted assumption,” Havilland said. “This could be a ruse. That launch could be mined, ready to blow us up when it’s near enough.”

  The gunnery control came on the line. “Orders, sir?”

  “All of you, hear this,” Havilland said. “I want every gun and missile trained on that launch. But don’t fire until I give the word.”

  The launch crept slowly toward the Eindhoven. Externally, it looked like a cylinder, without windows or distinguishing features. The armament of the fleet tracked it as it moved.

  “Stand ready,” Havilland said. “Be prepared to fire on my signal. I’ll count to three. One, two—”