Space Beagle- the Complete Adventures

by A. E. van Vogt

  “Go ahead.”

  Grosvenor kept his fingers lightly on the other’s arm. He heard a man say in a shuddering tone, “The worst part of it is, it looks like a senseless murder. His body is spread out like so much jelly, but it seems to be all there.”

  Smith, the biologist, broke in on the general wave. His long face looked gloomier than ever. “The killer attacked Jarvey, possibly with the intention of eating him, and then discovered that his flesh was alien and inedible. Just like our big cat. Wouldn’t eat anything set before him —” His voice trailed into thoughtful silence. He went on finally, slowly, “Say, what about that creature? He’s big enough and strong enough to have done this with his own little paws.”

  Director Morton, who must have been listening, interrupted: “That’s a thought that has probably already occurred to a lot of us. After all, he’s the only living thing we’ve seen. But, naturally, we can’t execute him just on suspicion.”

  “Besides,” said one of the men, “he was never out of my sight.”

  Before Grosvenor could speak, the voice of Siedel, the psychologist, came over the general wave. “Morton, I’ve been talking by touch to a number of the men, and I get the following reaction: Their first feeling is that the beast was never out of their sight. And yet, when pinned down, they admit that maybe he was for a few minutes. I, also, had the impression that he was always around. But, thinking back over it, I find gaps. There were moments, probably long minutes, when he was completely out of sight.”

  Grosvenor sighed, and deliberately remained silent now. His point had been made by somebody else.

  It was Kent who broke the silence, He said in a fierce voice, “I say, take no chances. Kill the brute on suspicion before he does any more damage.”

  Morton said, “Korita, are you around?”

  “Right here at the body, Director.”

  “Korita, you’ve been wandering around with Cranessy and Van Home. Do you think pussy is a descendant of the dominant race of this planet?”

  Grosvenor located the archaeologist standing slightly behind Smith and partly surrounded by colleagues from his department.

  The tall Japanese said slowly, almost respectfully, “Director Morton, there is a mystery here. Take a look, all of you, at that majestic sky line. Notice the architectural outline. In spite of the megalopolis which they created, these people were close to the soil. The buildings are not merely ornamented. They are ornamental in themselves. Here is the equivalent of the Doric column, the Egyptian pyramid, and the big Gothic cathedral, growing out of the ground, earnest, big with destiny. If this lonely, desolate world can be regarded as a mother earth, then the land had a warm, a spiritual place in the hearts of the inhabitants. The effect is emphasized by the winding streets. Their machines prove they were mathematicians, but they were artists first. And so they did not create the geometrically designed cities of the ultra-sophisticated world metropolis. There is a genuine artistic abandon, a deep, joyous emotion written in the curving and unmathematical arrangements of houses, buildings, and avenues; a sense of intensity, of divine belief in an inner certainty. This is not a decadent hoary-with-age civilization but a young and vigorous culture, confident, strong with purpose. There it ended. Abruptly, as if at this point the culture had its Battle of Tours and began to collapse like the ancient Mohammedan civilization. Or as if in one leap it spanned centuries of adjustment and entered the period of contending states.

  “However, there is no record of a culture anywhere in the universe making such an abrupt jump. It is always a slow development. And the first step is a merciless questioning of all that was once held sacred. Inner certainties cease to exist. Previously unquestioned convictions dissolve before the ruthless probings of scientific and analytical minds. The sceptic becomes the highest type of human being. I say that this culture ended suddenly in its most flourishing age. The sociological effects of such a catastrophe would be an end of morality, a reversion of bestial criminality unleavened by a sense of ideal. There would be a callous indifference to death. If this—if pussy is a descendant of such a race, then he will be a cunning creature, a thief in the night, a cold-blooded murderer who would cut his own brother’s throat for gain.”

  “That’s enough!” It was Kent, his voice curt. “Director, I’m willing to act as executioner.”

  Smith interrupted sharply. “I object. Listen, Morton, you’re not going to kill that cat yet, even if he is guilty. He’s a biological treasure house.”

  Kent and Smith were glaring angrily at each other. Smith said slowly, “My dear Kent, I appreciate the fact that in the chemistry department they would like to put pussy into retorts and make chemical compounds out of his blood and his flesh. But I regret to inform you that you’re getting ahead of yourself. In the biology department we want the living body, not the dead one. I have a feeling the physics department would like to have a look at him, also, while he’s still alive. So I’m afraid you’re last on the list. Adjust yourself to that thought, please. You may see him a year from now, certainly not sooner.”

  Kent said thickly, ‘I’m not looking at this from the scientific point of view.”

  “You should be, now that Jarvey is dead and nothing can be done for him.”

  “I’m a human being before I’m a scientist,” Kent said in a harsh voice.

  “You would destroy a valuable specimen for emotional reasons?”

  “I would destroy this creature because he is an unknown danger. We cannot take the risk of having another human being killed.”

  It was Morton who interrupted the argument. He said thoughtfully, “Korita, I’m inclined to accept your theory as a working basis. But one question. Is it possible that his culture is a later one on this planet than ours is in the galactic-wide system we have colonized?”

  “It is definitely possible,’ said Korita. “His could be the middle of the tenth civilization of his world; while ours, as far as we’ve been able to discover, is the end of the eighth sprung from Earth. Each of his ten will, of course, have been built on the ruins of the one before it.”

  “In that case, pussy would not know anything about the scepticism that made us suspect him as a criminal and a murderer?”

  “No, it would be literally magic to him.”

  Morton’s grim laugh sounded on the communicator. He said, “You get your wish, Smith. We’ll let pussy live. And if there are any fatalities, now we know him, it will be due to carelessness. There’s a possibility, of course, that we’re wrong. Like Siedel, I also have the impression that the creature was always around. We may be doing him an injustice. There may be other dangerous creatures on this planet.” He broke off. “Kent, what are your plans for Jarvey’s body?”

  The chief chemist said in a bitter voice, “There’ll be no immediate funeral. The damned cat wanted something from the body. It looks to be all there, but something must be missing. I’m going to find out what, and pin this murder on that beast, so you’ll have to believe it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Back on the ship, Elliott Grosvenor headed for his own department. The sign on the door read, “science of nexialism.” Beyond it were five rooms measuring altogether forty by eighty feet of floor space. Most of the machines and instruments that the Nexial Foundation had asked the government for had been installed. As a result, space was rather cramped. Once through the outer door, he was alone in his private preserve.

  Grosvenor seated himself at his work desk and started his brief to Director Morton. He analyzed the possible physical structure of the catlike inhabitant of this cold and desolate planet. He pointed out that so virile a monster should not be regarded merely as a “biological treasure house”. The phrase was dangerous in that it might make people forget that the beast would have its own drives and needs based on a non-human metabolism. “We have enough evidence now,” he dictated into the recorder, “to make what we Nexialists call a Statement of Direction.”

  It took him several hours to c
omplete the Statement. He carried the wire to the stenography section and put in a requisition for an immediate transcription. As head of a department, he got prompt service.

  Two hours later, he delivered the brief to Morton’s office. An under-secretary gave him a receipt for it. Grosvenor ate a late dinner in the commissary, convinced , that he had done what was possible to him. Afterwards, he inquired of the waiter where the cat was. The waiter wasn’t sure, but he believed the beast was up in the general library.

  For an hour, Grosvenor sat in the library watching Coeurl. During that time, the creature lay stretched out on the thick carpet, never once moving his position. At the end of the hour, one of the doors swung open, and two men came in carrying a large bowl. Following close behind them was Kent. The chemist’s eyes were feverish. He paused in the middle of the room, and said in a weary yet harsh voice, “I want you all to watch this!”

  Though his words included everyone in the room, he actually faced a group of top scientists who sat in a special reserved section. Grosvenor stood up and had a look at what was in the bowl carried by the two men. It contained a brownish concoction.

  Smith, the biologist, also climbed to his feet. “Wait a minute, Kent. Any other time I wouldn’t question your actions. But you look ill. You’re overwrought. Have you got Morton’s permission for this experiment?”

  Kent turned slowly. And Grosvenor, who had seated himself again, saw that Smith’s words had conveyed only a part of the picture. There were dark circles under the chief chemist’s eyes. And his cheeks seemed sunken. He said, “I invited him to come up here. He refused to participate. His attitude is that if this being does willingly what I want, no harm will be done.”

  Smith said, “What have you got there? What’s in that bowl?”

  “I’ve identified the missing element,” Kent said. “It’s potassium. There was only about two-thirds or three-quarters of the normal amount of potassium left in Jarvey’s body. You know how potassium is held by the body cells in connection with a large protein molecule, the combination providing the basis for the electrical charge of the cell. It’s fundamental to life. Usually, after death the cells release their potassium into the blood stream, making it poisonous. I proved that some potassium is missing from Jarvey’s cells but that it did not go into the blood. I’m not sure of the full significance of that, but I intend to find out.”

  “What about the bowl of food?” somebody interrupted. Men were putting away magazines and books, looking up with interest.

  “It’s got living cells with potassium in suspension. We can do that artificially, you know. Maybe that’s why he rejected our food at lunch time. The potassium was not in a useable form for him. My idea is he’ll get the scent, or whatever he uses instead of scent—”

  “I think he gets the vibrations of things,” Gourlay interjected with a drawl. “Sometimes when he wiggles those tendrils, my instruments register a distinct and very powerful wave of static. And then, again, there’s no reaction. My guess is he moves on to a point higher or lower on the wave scale. He seems to control the vibrations at will. I’m assuming the actual motion of the tendrils does not in itself generate these frequencies.”

  Kent waited with obvious impatience for Gourlay to finish, then he went on. “All right, so it’s vibrations that he senses. We can decide what his reaction to this vibration proves when he starts reacting.” He concluded in a mollifying tone, “What do you think, Smith?”

  “There are three things wrong with your plan,” the biologist replied. “In the first place, you seem to assume that he is only animal. You seem to have forgotten he may be surfeited after having fed on Jarvey—if he did. And you seem to think he will not be suspicious. But have the bowl set down. His reaction may tell us something.”

  Kent’s experiment was reasonably valid, despite the emotion behind it. The creature had already shown that he could respond violently when suddenly stimulated. His reaction to being locked up in the elevator could not be dismissed as unimportant. So Grosvenor analyzed.

  Coeurl stared with unblinking eyes as the two men set the bowl before him. They retreated quickly, and Kent stepped forward. Coeurl recognized him as the one who had held the weapon that morning. He watched the two-legged being for a moment, then gave his attention to the bowl. His ear tendrils identified the thrilling emanation of id from the contents. It was faint, so faint as to have been unnoticeable until he concentrated on it. And it was held in suspension in a manner that was almost useless to him. But the vibration was strong enough to point at the reason for this incident. With a snarl, Coeurl rose to his feet. He caught the bowl with the suction cups at the end of one looping tentacle, and emptied its contents into the face of Kent, who shrank back with a yell.

  Explosively, Coeurl flung the bowl aside and snapped a hawser-thick tentacle around the cursing man’s waist. He didn’t bother with the gun that hung from Kent’s belt. It was only a vibration gun, he sensed—atomic powered, but not an atomic disintegrator. He tossed the squirming Kent into a corner, and then realized with a hiss of dismay that he should have disarmed the man. Now he would have to reveal his defensive powers.

  Kent furiously wiped the gruel from his face with one hand, and with his other hand reached for his weapon. The muzzle snapped up, and the white beam of the traced light flashed at Coeurl’s massive head. Ear tendrils hummed as they automatically cancelled out the energy. Round black eyes narrowed as he caught the movement of men reaching for their vibrators.

  From near the door, Grosvenor said sharply, “Stop! We’ll all regret it if we act hysterically.”

  Kent clicked off his weapon and half turned to send a puzzled glance at Grosvenor. Coeurl crouched down, glowering at this man who had forced him to reveal his ability to control energies outside his body. There was nothing to do now but wait alertly for repercussions.

  Kent looked again at Grosvenor. This time his eyes narrowed “What the hell do you mean by giving orders?”

  Grosvenor made no reply. His part of the incident was finished. He had recognized an emotional crisis, and he had spoken the necessary words in the right tone of peremptory command. The fact that those who had obeyed him now questioned his authority to give the command was unimportant. The crisis was over.

  What he had done had no relation to the guilt or innocence of Coeurl. Whatever the eventual result of his interference, any decision made about the creature must be made by the recognized authorities, not by one man.

  “Kent,” said Siedel coldly, “I don’t believe you actually lost control of yourself there. You deliberately tried to kill pussy, knowing that the Director has ordered him kept alive. I have a good mind to report you, and to insist that you suffer the penalties. You know what they are. Loss of authority in your department, ineligibility for any of the dozen elective offices.”

  There was a stirring and murmur in a group of men whom Grosvenor recognized as Kent supporters. One of them said, “No, no, don’t be foolish, Siedel.” Another was more cynical. “Don’t forget there are witnesses for Kent as well as against him.”

  Kent stared grimly at the circle of faces. “Korita was right when he said ours was a highly civilized age. It’s positively decadent.” He went on passionately. “My God, isn’t there a man here who can see the horror of the situation? Jarvey dead only a few hours, and this creature, whom we all know to be guilty, lying here unchained, planning his next murder. And the victim is probably here in this room. What kind of men are we? Are we fools, cynics, or ghouls? Or is it that our civilization is so steeped in reason that we can contemplate even a murderer sympathetically?” He fixed his brooding eyes on Coeurl. “Morton was right. That’s no animal. That’s a devil from the deepest hell of this forgotten planet.”

  “Don’t go melodramatic on us,” Siedel said. “Your analysis is psychologically unstable. We’re not ghouls or cynics. We’re simply scientists, and pussy here is going to be studied. Now that we suspect him, we doubt his ability to corner any of us. One against a
thousand hasn’t got a chance.” He glanced around. “Since Morton isn’t here, I’ll put this to a vote here and now. Do I speak for all of you?”

  “Not for me, Siedel.” It was Smith who spoke. As the psychologist stared in astonishment, Smith continued. “In the excitement and momentary confusion no one seems to have noticed that when Kent fired his vibration gun, the beam hit this creature squarely on his cat head, and didn’t hurt him!”

  Siedel’s amazed glance went from Smith to Coeurl, and back again to Smith. “Are you certain it hit him? As you say, it all happened so swiftly—when pussy wasn’t hurt I simply assumed that Kent had missed him.”

  “I was pretty sure it hit him in the face,” Smith said. “A vibration gun, of course, can’t even kill a man quickly, but it can injure him. Pussy is showing no sign of injury; he’s not even trembling. I don’t say that’s conclusive, but in view of our doubts—”

  Siedel was briefly distracted. “Perhaps his skin is a good insulation against heat and energy.”

  “Perhaps. But in view of our uncertainty, I think Morton should be requested to order him locked in a cage.”

  While Siedel frowned doubtfully, Kent spoke up. “Now you’re talking sense, Smith.”

  Siedel said swiftly, “Then you would be satisfied, Kent, if we put him in a cage?”

  Kent considered, then said reluctantly, “Yes. If four inches of micro-steel can’t hold him, we’d better give him the ship.” Grosvenor, who had remained in the background, said nothing. He had discussed the problems of imprisoning Coeurl in his brief to Morton, and found the cage inadequate, principally because of its lock mechanism.