A few hundred men had visited the moon, for the purpose of establishing a lunar observatory. They had travelled as passengers in a small vessel loaned by the Overlords — and driven by rockets. It was obvious that little could be learned from a study of this primitive vehicle, even if its owners handed it over without reservation to inquisitive terrestrial scientists.
Man was, therefore, still a prisoner on his own planet. It was a much fairer, but a much smaller, planet than it had been a century before. When the Overlords had abolished war and hunger and disease, they had also abolished adventure.
The rising moon was beginning to paint the eastern sky with a pale milky glow. Up there, Jan knew, was the main base of the Overlords, lying within the ramparts of Pluto. Though the supply ships must have been coming and going for more than seventy years, it was only in Jan’s lifetime that all concealment had been dropped and they had made their departure in clear sight of Earth. In the two-hundred-inch telescope, the shadows of the great ships could be clearly seen when the morning or evening sun cast them for miles across the lunar plains. Since everything that the Overlords did was of immense interest to mankind, a careful watch was kept of their comings and goings, and the pattern of their behaviour (though not the reason for it) was beginning to emerge. One of those great shadows had vanished a few hours ago. That meant, Jan knew, that somewhere off the moon an Overlord ship was lying in space, carrying out whatever routine was necessary before it began its journey to its distant, unknown home.
He had never seen one of those returning ships launch itself towards the stars. If conditions were good the sight was visible over half the world, but Jan had always been unlucky. One could never tell exactly when the take-off would be — and the Overlords did not advertise the fact. He decided he would wait another ten minutes, then rejoin the party.
What was that? Only a meteor sliding down through Eridanus. Jan relaxed, discovered his cigarette had gone out, and lit another.
He was half-way through it when, half a million kilometres away, the Stardrive went on. Up from the heart of the spreading moon-glow a tiny spark began to climb towards the zenith. At first its movement was so slow that it could hardly be perceived, but second by second it was gaining speed. As it climbed it increased in brilliance, then suddenly faded from sight. A moment later it had reappeared, gaining speed and brightness. Waxing and waning with a peculiar rhythm, it ascended ever more swiftly into the sky, drawing a fluctuating line of light across the stars. Even if one did not know its real distance, the impression of speed was breathtaking; when one knew that the departing ship was somewhere beyond the moon, the mind reeled at the speeds and energies involved.
It was an unimportant by-product of those energies, Jan knew, that he was seeing now. The ship itself was invisible, already far ahead of that ascending light. As a high-flying jet may leave a vapour trail behind it, so the outward-bound vessel of the Overlords left its own peculiar wake. The generally accepted theory — and there seemed little doubt of its truth — was that the immense accelerations of the Stardrive caused a local distortion of space. What Jan was seeing, he knew, was nothing less than the light of distant stars, collected and focused into his eye whenever conditions were favourable along the track of the ship. It was a visible proof of relativity — the bending of light in the presence of a colossal gravitational field.
Now the end of that vast, pencil-thin lens seemed to be moving more slowly, but that was only due to perspective. In reality the ship was still gaining speed; its path was merely being foreshortened as it hurled itself outwards to the stars. There would be many telescopes following it, Jan knew, as Earth’s scientists tried to uncover the secrets of the Drive. Dozens of papers had already been published on the subject; no doubt the Overlords had read them with the greatest interest.
The phantom light was beginning to wane. Now it was a fading streak, pointing to the heart of the constellation Carina, as Jan had known that it would. The home of the Overlords was somewhere out there, but it might circle any one of a thousand stars in that sector of space. There was no way of telling its distance from the Solar System.
It was all over. Though the ship had scarcely begun its journey, there was nothing more that human eyes could see. But in Jan’s mind the memory of that shining path still burned, a beacon that would never fade as long as he possessed ambition and desire.
* * *
The party was over. Almost all the guests had climbed back into the sky and were now scattering to the four corners of the globe. There were, however, a few exceptions.
One was Norman Dodsworth, the poet, who had got unpleasantly drunk but had been sensible enough to pass out before any violent action proved necessary. He had been deposited, not very gently, on the lawn, where it was hoped that a hyena would give him a rude awakening. For all practical purposes he could, therefore, be regarded as absent.
The other remaining guests were George and Jean. This was not George’s idea at all; he wanted to go home. He disapproved of the friendship between Rupert and Jean, though not for the usual reason. George prided himself on being a practical, level-headed character, and regarded the interest which drew Jean and Rupert together as being not only childish in this age of science, but more than a little unhealthy. That anyone should still place the slightest credence in the supernormal seemed extraordinary to him, and finding Rashaverak here had shaken his faith in the Overlords.
It was now obvious that Rupert had been plotting some surprise, probably with Jean’s connivance. George resigned himself gloomily to whatever nonsense was coming.
“I tried all sorts of things before I settled on this,” said Rupert proudly. “The big problem is to reduce friction so that you get complete freedom of movement. The old-fashioned polished table and tumbler set-up isn’t bad, but it’s been used for centuries now and I was sure that modern science could do better. And here’s the result. Draw up your chairs — are you quite sure you don’t want to join, Rashy?”
The Overlord seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then he shook his head. (Had they learned that habit on Earth? George wondered.)
“No, thank you,” he replied. “I would prefer to observe. Some other time, perhaps.”
“Very well — there’s plenty of time to change your mind later.”
Oh, is there? thought George, looking gloomily at his watch.
Rupert had shepherded his friends round a small but massive table, perfectly circular in shape. It had a flat plastic top which he lifted off to reveal a glittering sea of closely packed ball-bearings. They were prevented from escaping by the table’s slightly raised rim, and George found it quite impossible to imagine their purpose. The hundreds of reflected points of light formed a fascinating and hypnotic pattern, and he felt himself becoming slightly dizzy.
As they drew up their chairs, Rupert reached under the table and brought forth a disc some ten centimetres in diameter, which he placed on the surface of the ball-bearings.
“There you are,” he said. “You put your fingers on this, and it moves around with no resistance at all.”
George eyed the device with profound distrust. He noted that the letters of the alphabet were placed at regular intervals — though in no particular order — round the circumference of the table. In addition there were the numbers one to nine, scattered at random among the letters, and two cards bearing the words “YES” and “NO”. These were on opposite sides of the table.
“It looks like a lot of mumbo jumbo to me,” he muttered. “I’m surprised that anyone takes it seriously in this age.” He felt a little better after delivering this mild protest, which was aimed at Jean quite as much as Rupert. Rupert didn’t pretend to have more than a detached scientific interest in these phenomena. He was open-minded, but not credulous. Jean, on the other hand — well, George was sometimes a little worried about her. She really seemed to think that there was something in this business of telepathy and second-sight.
Not until he had made his remark
did George realise that it also implied a criticism of Rashaverak. He glanced nervously round but the Overlord showed no reaction. Which, of course, proved absolutely nothing at all.
Everyone had now taken up their positions. Going in a clockwise direction round the table were Rupert, Maia, Jan, Jean, George, and Benny Shoenberger. Ruth Shoenberger was sitting outside the circle with a notebook. She apparently had some objection to taking part in the proceedings, which had caused Benny to make obscurely sarcastic remarks about people who still took the Talmud seriously. However, she seemed perfectly willing to act as a recorder.
“Now listen,” began Rupert, “for the benefit of sceptics like George, let’s get this quite straight. Whether or not there’s anything supernormal about this, it works. Personally, I think there’s a purely mechanical explanation. When we put our hands on the disc, even though we may try to avoid influencing its movements, our subconscious starts playing tricks. I’ve analysed lots of these séances, and I’ve never got answers that someone in the group mightn’t have known or guessed — though sometimes they weren’t aware of the fact. However, I’d like to carry out the experiment in these rather — ah — peculiar circumstances.”
The Peculiar Circumstance sat watching them silently, but doubtless not with indifference. George wondered just what Rashaverak thought of these antics. Were his reactions those of an anthropologist watching some primitive religious rite? The whole set-up was really quite fantastic, and George felt as big a fool as he had ever done in his life.
If the others felt equally foolish, they concealed their emotions. Only Jean looked flushed and excited, though that might have been the drinks.
“All set?” asked Rupert. “Very well.” He paused impressively; then, addressing no one in particular, he called out; “Is there anybody there?”
George could feel the plate beneath his fingers tremble slightly. That was not surprising, considering the pressure being exerted upon it by the six people in the circle. It slithered around in a small figure-eight, then came to rest back at the centre.
“Is there anybody there?” repeated Rupert. In a more conversational tone of voice he added, “It’s often ten or fifteen minutes before we get started. But sometimes —”
“Hush!” breathed Jean.
The plate was moving. It began to swing in a wide arc between the cards labelled “YES” and “NO”. With some difficulty, George suppressed a giggle. Just what would it prove, he wondered, if the answer was “NO”? He remembered the old joke; “There’s nobody here but us chickens, Massa…”
But the answer was “YES”. The plate came swiftly back to the centre of the table. Somehow it now seemed alive, waiting for the next question. Despite himself, George began to be impressed.
“Who are you?” asked Rupert.
There was no hesitation now as the letters were spelled out. The plate darted across the table like a sentient thing, moving so swiftly that George sometimes found it hard to keep his fingers in contact. He could swear that he was not contributing to its motion. Glancing quickly round the table, he could see nothing suspicious in the faces of his friends. They seemed as intent, and as expectant, as he himself.
“IAMALL” spelled the plate, and returned to its point of equilibrium.
“‘I am all,’“ repeated Rupert. “That’s a typical reply. Evasive, yet stimulating. It probably means that there’s nothing here except our combined minds.” He paused for a moment, obviously deciding upon his next question. Then he addressed the air once more.
“Have you a message for anyone here?”
“NO,” replied the plate promptly.
Rupert looked around the table.
“It’s up to us; sometimes it volunteers information, but this time we’ll have to ask definite questions. Anyone like to start?”
“Will it rain tomorrow?” said George jestingly.
At once the plate began to swing back and forth in the YES-NO line.
“That’s a silly question,” reproved Rupert. “It’s bound to be raining somewhere and to be dry somewhere else. Don’t ask questions that have ambiguous answers.”
George felt appropriately squashed. He decided to let someone else have the next turn.
“What is my favourite colour?” asked Maia.
“BLUE,” came the prompt reply.
“That’s quite correct.”
“But it doesn’t prove anything. At least three people here knew that,” George pointed out.
“What’s Ruth’s favourite colour?” asked Benny.
“RED.”
“Is that right, Ruth?”
The recorder looked up from her notebook.
“Yes, it is. But Benny knows that, and he’s in the circle.”
“I didn’t know,” retorted Benny.
“You darn well ought to — I’ve told you enough times.”
“Subconscious memory,” murmured Rupert. “That often happens. But can we have some more intelligent questions, please? Now that this has started so well, I don’t want it to peter out.”
Curiously enough, the very triviality of the phenomenon was beginning to impress George. He was sure that there was no supernormal explanation; as Rupert had said, the plate was simply responding to their unconscious muscular movements.
But this fact in itself was surprising and impressive; he would never have believed that such precise, swift replies could have been obtained. Once he tried to see if he could influence the board by making it spell out his own name. He got the “G”, but that was all; the rest was nonsense. It was virtually impossible, he decided, for one person to take control without the remainder of the circle knowing it.
After half an hour, Ruth had taken down more than a dozen messages, some of them quite long ones. There were occasional spelling mistakes and curiosities of grammar, but they were few. Whatever the explanation, George was now convinced that he was not contributing consciously to the results. Several times, as a word was being spelt out, he had anticipated the next letter and hence the meaning of the message. And on each occasion the plate had gone in a quite unexpected direction and spelt something totally different. Sometimes, indeed — since there was no pause to indicate the end of one word and the beginning of the next — the entire message was meaningless until it was complete and Ruth had read it back.
The whole experience gave George an uncanny impression of being in contact with some purposeful, independent mind. And yet there was no conclusive proof one way or the other. The replies were so trivial, so ambiguous. What, for example, could one make of:
BELIEVEINMANNATURRISWITHYOU.
Yet sometimes there were suggestions of profound, even disturbing truths:
RIMEMBERMANISNOTALONENEARMANISCOUNTRYOFOTHERS.
But of course everyone knew that — though could one be sure that the message merely referred to the Overlords?
George was growing very sleepy. It was high time, he thought drowsily, that they headed for home. This was all very intriguing, but it wasn’t getting them anywhere and you could have too much of a good thing. He glanced around the table. Benny looked as if he might be feeling the same way, Maia and Rupert both appeared slightly glazed, and Jean — well, she had been taking it too seriously all along. Her expression worried George; it was almost as if she were afraid to stop — yet afraid to go on.
That left only Jan. George wondered what he thought of his brother-in-law’s eccentricities. The young engineer had asked no questions, shown no surprise at any of the answers. He seemed to be studying the movement of the plate as if it was just another scientific phenomenon.
Rupert roused himself from the lethargy into which he appeared to have fallen.
“Let’s have one more question,” he said, “then we’ll call it a day. What about you, Jan? You’ve not asked anything.”
Surprisingly, Jan never hesitated. It was as if he had made his choice a long time ago and had been waiting for the opportunity. He glanced once at the impassive bulk of Rashaverak, then called
out in a clear, steady voice:
“Which star is the Overlord’s sun?”
Rupert checked a whistle of surprise. Maia and Benny showed no reaction at all. Jean had closed her eyes and seemed to be asleep. Rashaverak had leaned forward so that he could look down into the circle over Rupert’s shoulder.
And the plate began to move.
When it came to rest again, there was a brief pause; then Ruth asked, in a puzzled voice:
“What does NGS 549672 mean?”
She got no reply, for at the same moment George called out anxiously:
“Give me a hand with Jean. I’m afraid she’s fainted.”
Chapter 9
“This man Boyce,” said Karellen. “Tell me all about him.”
The Supervisor did not use those actual words, of course, and the thoughts he really expressed were far more subtle. A human listener would have heard a short burst of rapidly modulated sound, not unlike a high-speed Morse sender in action. Though many samples of Overlord language had been recorded, they all defied analysis because of their extreme complexity. The speed of transmission made it certain that no interpreter, even if he had mastered the elements of the language, could ever keep up with the Overlords in their normal conversation.
The Supervisor for Earth stood with his back to Rashaverak, staring out across the multi-coloured gulf of the Grand Canyon.
Ten kilometres away, yet scarcely veiled by distance, the terraced walls were catching the full force of the sun. Hundreds of metres down the shadowed slope, at whose brim Karellen stood, a mule-train was slowly winding its way into the valley’s depths. It was strange, Karellen thought, that so many human beings still seized every opportunity for primitive behaviour. They could reach the bottom of the canyon in a fraction of the time, and in far greater comfort, if they chose. Yet they preferred to be jolted along tracks which were probably as unsafe as they looked.
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