Would you please call a special meeting, so that I may present my suggested solution?
He signed it, “Sincerely yours, Elliott Grosvenor,” and wondered if Kent would notice that he was offering a solution, but not supporting evidence. While he waited for a reply, he quietly moved the rest of his personal belongings from his cabin to the Nexial department. It was the last act in a defense plan that included the possibility of a siege.
The answer arrived the following morning.
DEAR MR. GROSVENOR:
I have communicated to Mr. Kent the gist of your memo of yesterday afternoon. He suggests that you make a report on the enclosed form, A—16—4, and expressed surprise that you had not done so as a matter of course.
We are in receipt of other evidence and theory on this matter. Yours will be given careful consideration along with the rest.
Will you please submit the form, properly filled out, as soon as possible.
Yours truly,
John Fohran
For Mr. Kent.
Grosvenor read the letter grimly. He did not doubt that Kent had made sharp remarks to the secretary about the only Nexialist on the ship. Even as it was, Kent had probably restrained his language. The turmoil, the reservoir of hatred that was in the man, was still suppressed. If Korita was right, it would come out in a crisis. This was the “winter” period of man’s present civilization, and entire cultures had been torn to pieces by the vaulting egotism of individuals.
Although he had not intended to offer factual information, Grosvenor decided to fill in the form the secretary had sent him. However, he only listed the evidence. He did not interpret it, nor did he offer his solution. Under the heading, “Recommendations,” he wrote, “The conclusion will be instantly obvious to any qualified person.”
The titanic fact was that every item of evidence he had presented was known to one or another of the spacious science departments aboard the Space Beagle. The accumulated data had probably been on Kent’s desk for weeks.
Grosvenor delivered the form in person. He didn’t expect a prompt reply, but he remained in his department. He even had his meals sent up. Two twenty-hour periods went by, and then a note arrived from Kent.
DEAR MR. GROSVENOR:
In glancing over Form A—16—4, which you have submitted for consideration of the council, I notice that you have failed to specify your recommendations. Since we have received other recommendations on this matter, and intend to combine the best features of each in to comprehensive plan, we would appreciate receiving from you a detailed recommendation.
Will you please give this your prompt attention?
It was signed, “Gregory Kent, Acting Director”. Grosvenor took Kent’s personal signature to the letter to mean that he had scored a direct hit, and that the main action was about to begin.
He doctored himself with drugs that would produce symptoms indistinguishable from influenza. While he waited for his body to react, he wrote another note to Kent, this time to the effect that he was too sick to prepare the recommendations—“which are necessarily long, since they would have to include a considerable body of interpretive reasoning based on the known facts of many sciences. Still, it might be wise to start immediately on the preliminary propaganda in order to accustom the members of the expedition to the notion of spending an extra five years in space.”
As soon as he had slipped the letter into the mail chute, he called Dr. Eggert’s office. His timing, as it turned out, was sharper than he had anticipated. In ten minutes Dr. Eggert came in and put down his bag.
As he straightened, footsteps sounded in the corridor. A moment later, Kent and two husky chemistry technicians entered.
Dr. Eggert glanced round casually, and nodded cheerfully as he recognized the chemist chief. “Hello, Greg,” he said in his deep voice. Having acknowledged the other’s presence, he gave his full attention to Grosvenor. “Well,” he said finally, “looks like we’ve got a bug here, my friend. It’s amazing. No matter how much protection we give on these landings, some virus or bacteria break through occasionally. I’ll have you taken down to the isolation ward.”
“I’d rather stay up here.”
Dr. Eggert frowned, then shrugged. “In your case, it’s feasible.” He packed his instruments. “I’ll have an attendant up right away to look after you. We don’t take any chances with strange bugs.”
There was a grunt from Kent. Grosvenor, who had glanced occasionally at the Acting Director with simulated puzzlement, looked up questioningly. Kent said in an annoyed tone, “What seems to be the trouble, Doctor?”
“Can’t tell yet. We’ll see what the lab tests bring out.” He frowned. “I’ve taken samples from almost every part of him. So far, the symptoms are fever and some evidence of fluid in the lungs.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t let you talk to him now, Greg. This may be serious.”
Kent said brusquely, “We’ll have to take the risk. Mr. Grosvenor is in possession of valuable information and”—he spoke deliberately—“I feel sure he is still strong enough to give it.”
Dr. Eggert looked at Grosvenor. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“I can still talk,” Grosvenor said weakly. His face felt hot. His eyes ached. But one of the two reasons why he had made himself sick was the hope that it would impel Kent to come up, as he now had.
The other reason was that he didn’t want to attend in person any meeting of scientists Kent might call. Here in this department and here alone he could defend himself from hasty actions the others might decide to take against him.
The doctor glanced at his watch. “Tell you what,” he said to Kent, and more indirectly to Grosvenor, “I’m sending up an attendant. The conversation has to be over by the time he gets here. All right?”
Kent said with false heartiness, “Fine!”
Grosvenor nodded.
From the door, Dr. Eggert said, “Mr. Fander will be up in about twenty minutes.”
When he had gone, Kent came slowly to the edge of the bed and looked down at Grosvenor. He stood like that for a long moment, and then said in a deceptively mild voice, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do. Why are you not giving us the information you have?”
Grosvenor said, “Mr. Kent, are you really surprised?”
Once more there was silence. Grosvenor had the distinct impression of a very angry man restraining himself with difficulty. Finally, Kent said in a low, tense voice, “I am the Director of this expedition. I demand that you make your recommendations at once.”
Grosvenor shook his head, slowly. He suddenly felt hot and heavy. He said, “I don’t know just what to say to that. You’re a pretty predictable man, Mr. Kent. You see, I expected you to handle my letters the way you did. I expected you to come up here with”—he glanced at the other two men—“a couple of hatchetmen. Under the circumstances, I think I’m justified in insisting on a meeting of the heads, so that I can personally present my recommendations.”
If he had had time, he would have jerked up his arm then to defend himself. Too late, he saw that Kent was more furious than he had suspected.
“Pretty smart, eh!” the chemist said savagely. His hand came up. He struck Grosvenor in the face with his palm. He spoke again through clenched teeth. “So you’re sick, are you? People sick with strange diseases sometimes go out of their heads, and they sometimes have to be severely handled because they insanely attack their dearest friends.”
Grosvenor stared at him blurrily. He put his hand up to his face. And, because he was feverish and genuinely weak, he had trouble slipping the antidote into his mouth. He pretended to be holding his cheek where Kent had struck him. He swallowed the new drug, and then said shakily, “All right, I’m insane. Now what?”
If Kent was surprised by the reaction, his words did not show it. He asked curtly, “What do you really want?”
Grosvenor had to fight a moment of nausea. When that was past, he replied, “I want you to start propaganda to the effec
t that, in your judgment, what has been discovered about the enemy intelligence will require the members of this ship to adjust themselves to staying in space five years longer than was anticipated. That’s all for now. When you’ve done that, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
He was beginning to feel better. The antidote was working. The fever was down. And he meant exactly what he had said. His plan was not inflexible. At any stage, Kent or, later on, the group could accept his proposals, and that would end his series of stratagems.
Twice, now, Kent parted his lips as if he intended to speak. Each time, he closed them again. Finally, he said in a choked voice, “Is this all you’re going to offer at this time?”
Grosvenor’s fingers under the blanket were poised on a button at one side of the bed, ready to press it. He said, “I swear you’ll get what you want.”
Kent said sharply, “It’s out of the question. I couldn’t possibly commit myself to such madness. The men won’t stand for even a one-year extension of the voyage.”
Grosvenor said steadily, “Your presence here indicates that you don’t think I have a mad solution.”
Kent clenched and unclenched his hands. “It’s impossible! How could I possibly explain my action to the department heads!”
Watching the little man, Grosvenor suspected that the crisis was imminent: “You don’t have to tell them at this point. All you have to do is promise the information.”
One of the technicians, who had been watching Kent’s face, spoke up. “Look, chief, this man doesn’t seem to realize he’s speaking to the Director. How about us working him over?”
Kent, who had been on the point of saying something more, stopped himself. He stepped back, licking his lips. Then he nodded vigorously. “You’re right, Bredder, I don’t know how I came to start arguing with him. Just a minute while I lock the door. Then we’ll—”
Grosvenor warned, “I wouldn’t shut it if I were you. It’ll set off alarms all over the ship.”
Kent, one hand on the door, stopped and turned. There was a set smile on his face. “All right then,” he said stiffly, “we’ll take you apart with the door open. Start talking, my friend.”
The two technicians stepped forward quickly. Grosvenor said, “Bredder, have you ever heard of peripheral electrostatic charge?” As the two men hesitated, he went on grimly. “Touch me and you’ll burn. Your hands will blister. Your face—”
Both men were straightening, pulling away. The blond Bredder glanced uneasily at Kent. Kent said angrily, “The amount of electricity in a man’s body couldn’t kill a fly.”
Grosvenor shook his head. “Aren’t you a little out of your field, Mr. Kent? The electricity isn’t in my body, but it will be in yours if you lay a hand on me.”
Kent took out his vibrator and deliberately made an adjustment on it. “Stand back!” he said to his assistants. “I’m going to give him a timed spray of one-tenth of a second. It won’t knock him unconscious, but it’ll jar every molecule in his body.”
Grosvenor said quietly, “I wouldn’t try it, Kent. I’m warning you.”
The man either did not hear him or was too angry to pay any attention. The tracer beam dazzled Grosvenor’s eyes. There was a hiss and a crackle, and a cry of pain from Kent. The light blinked out. Grosvenor saw that Kent was trying to shake the weapon from his hand. It clung stickily, but finally dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter. In evident agony, Kent grabbed his injured hand and stood there swaying.
Grosvenor said with a kind of angry sympathy, “Why didn’t you listen? These wall plates are carrying a high electric potential, and since a vibrator ionizes the air, you got an electric shock that simultaneously nullified the energy you discharged, except near the muzzle. I hope it didn’t burn you too badly.”
Kent had control of himself. He was white and tense, but calm. “This will cost you dearly,” he said in a low voice. “When the others find out that one man is trying to force his ideas—” He broke off and gestured imperiously to his two henchmen. “Come along, we’re through here for the time being.”
Fully eight minutes after they had gone, Fander came in. It was necessary for Grosvenor to explain patiently several times that he was no longer sick. And it required even longer to persuade Dr. Eggert, whom the young man summoned. Grosvenor did not worry about being found out. It would take a definite suspicion plus considerable research to identify the drug he had used.
In the end, they left him alone, with the advice that he remain in his quarters for a day or so. Grosvenor assured them that he would follow their instructions, and he meant it. In the hard days ahead, the Nexial department would be his fortress. He didn’t know just what might be done against him, but here he was as ready as he could be.
About an hour after the doctors had departed, there was a click in the mail-delivery chute. It was from Kent, an announcement of a meeting called, according to the wording, at the request of Elliott Grosvenor. It quoted from Grosvenor’s first letter to Kent, and ignored all subsequent events. The printed form ended: “In view of Mr. Grosvenor’s past performances, the Acting Director feels that he is entitled to a hearing.”
At the bottom of Grosvenor’s notice, Kent had written in longhand: “Dear Mr. Grosvenor: In view of your illness, I have instructed Mr. Gourlay’s staff to connect your communicator with the control-room auditorium, so that you may participate from your sickbed. The meeting will otherwise be private.”
At the designated hour, Grosvenor tuned into the control room. As the image came on, he saw that the whole room was spread before him in sharp focus, and that the receiving plate must be the large communicator just above the massive control board. At this moment, his face was a ten-foot image looking down at the men. For once, he realized wryly, he was going to be present at a meeting in a conspicuous way.
A quick glance over the room showed that most of the department heads were already seated. Directly below the receiving plate, Kent was talking to Captain Leeth. It must have been the end, not the beginning of a conversation, because he looked up at Grosvenor, smiled grimly, and then turned to face his small audience, Grosvenor saw that he wore a bandage on his left hand.
“Gentlemen,” said Kent, “without further preamble I am going to call on Mr. Grosvenor.” Once more he looked up at the communicator plate, and the same savage smile was on his face. He said, “Mr. Grosvenor, you may proceed.”
Grosvenor began, “Gentlemen, about a week ago, I had enough evidence to justify this ship’s taking action against the alien intelligence of this galaxy. That may seem like a tremendous statement, and it is an unfortunate fact that I can merely give you my interpretation of the available evidence. I cannot prove to everybody present that such a being does actually exist. Some of you will realize that my reasoning is sound. Others, lacking knowledge of certain sciences, will feel that the conclusions are distinctly controversial. I have racked my brain over the problem of how to convince you that my solution is the only safe one. Telling you what experiments I made happens to be one of the steps which it seemed reasonable to take.”
He made no mention of the fact that he had already had to evolve an elaborate ruse in order to obtain a hearing at all. In spite of what had happened, he had no desire to antagonize Kent any more than was necessary.
He continued, “I now want to call on Mr. Gourlay. I am sure you will not be too surprised when I tell you that all this goes back to automatic C-9. I wonder if you would tell your colleagues about it.”
The communications chief looked at Kent, who shrugged and nodded. Gourlay hesitated, then said, “Its impossible to say just when C-9 came on. For the benefit of those who are feeling ignorant right now, C-9 is a minor screen that is activated automatically when the dust in the surrounding space reaches a density that could be dangerous to a ship on the move. The apparent density of the dust in any given volume of space is of course relatively greater at high velocities than at low. The fact that there was enough dust around to affect C-9 was first
noticed by a member of my staff shortly before those lizards were precipitated into the control room.”
Gourlay leaned back in his seat. “That’s it,” he said.
Grosvenor said, “Mr. von Grossen, what did your department find out about the space dust in this galaxy?”
The bulky von Grossen shifted in his chair. He said without getting up, “There’s nothing about it that we could regard as being characteristic or unusual. It’s a little denser than that in our own galaxy. We collected a small amount of the dust by means of ionizing plates with a very high potential, and scraped off the deposits. It was mostly solid, a few simple elements being present and traces of many compounds—which could have been formed at the moment of condensation—and a little free gas, mostly hydrogen. Now, the trouble is that what we got probably bears very little resemblance to the dust as it exists outside, but the problem of collecting it in its original form has never been satisfactorily solved. The very process used in capturing it causes it to change in many ways. We can never more than guess at how it functions in space.” The physicist lifted his hands helplessly. “That’s all I can say now.”
Grosvenor continued. “I could go on asking various department heads what they found out. But I believe I can summarize their discoveries without doing anyone an injustice. Both Mr. Smith’s and Mr. Kent’s departments ran into much the same problem as did Mr. von Grossen’s. I believe that Mr. Smith by various means saturated the atmosphere of a cage with the dust. The animals he put into the cage showed no ill effects, so he finally tested it on himself. Mr. Smith, have you anything to add to that?”
Smith shook his head. “If it’s a life form, you can’t prove it by me. I admit that the closest we got to getting the real stuff was when we went out in a lifeboat, opened all the doors, then closed them, and let air into the boat again. There were slight changes in the chemical content of the air, but nothing important.”
Space Beagle- the Complete Adventures Page 31
