Journey to Infinity - [Adventures in Science Fiction 02]
Page 50
Putting his glasses back on his nose, Burkinshaw sighed and said, “Since you intend to take over the Empire, our only remaining move is to issue a general order for the immediate destruction of Terra. No matter how many confiscated ships try to thwart my purpose, obedience by one loyal vessel will suffice.” His hand reached out toward the televisor switch.
“We aren’t taking over your Empire,” Harold told him swiftly. “Neither do we wish to do so. We’re concerned only that you don’t take over our world. All we want is a pact of noninterference in each other’s affairs, and the appointment of a few Lingans to act as ambassadors through whom we can maintain such contact as suits us. We want to go our own way along our own path, we’ve the ability to defend our right to do so, and the present situation is our way of demonstrating the fact. No more than that. If, peevishly, you destroy our world, then, vengefully, we shall disrupt your ramshackle collection of worlds, not with our own strength, but by judiciously utilizing yours! Leave us in peace and we shall leave you in peace.”
“Where’s our guarantee of that?” asked Burkinshaw cynically. “How do we know that a century of incidious penetration will not follow such a pact?” He stared at the four, his blue eyes shrewd and calculating to a degree not apparent before. “In dealing with us you’ve been able to use an advantage you possess which Florans, Lingans, Rethrans and others have not got, namely, you know us as surely as you know your own kith and kin.” He bent forward. “Likewise, we know you! If you’re of sound and sane mind you’ll absorb gradually what you can’t gulp down in one lump. That’s the way we acquired the Empire, and that’s the way you’ll get it!”
“We’ve proved to you that we can take it over,” Harold agreed evenly, “and that is our protection. Your distrust is the measure of ours. You’ll never know how many of us are within your Empire and you’ll never find out—but obliteration of our parent world will no longer obliterate our life form. We have made our own guarantee. Get it into your head, there is no winner in this game. It’s stalemate!” He watched interestedly as Burkinshaw’s forefinger rested light on the switch. “You’re too late, much too late. We don’t want your Empire because we’re in the same fix—we’re too late.”
Burkinshaw’s eyes narrowed and he said, “I don’t see why it’s too late for you to do what you’ve been so anxious to prove you can do.”
“The desire doesn’t exist. We’ve greater desires. It’s because we have wended our way through a hell of our own creation that we have changed, and our ambitions have changed with us. Why should we care about territorial conquests when we face prospects infinitely greater? Why should we gallivant in spaceships around the petty limits of a galaxy when some day we shall range unhampered through infinity? How d’you think we knew you were coming, and prepared for you, even though we were uncertain of your shape and unsure of your intentions?”
“I’m listening,” observed Burkinshaw, his fingers still toying with the switch, “but all I hear is words. Despite your many differences from us, which I acknowledge, the ancient law holds good: that shape runs true to shape.”
Harold glanced at Burt and George. There was swift communion between them.
Then he said, “Time has been long, and the little angle between the paths of our fathers has opened to a mighty span. Our changes have been violent and many. A world of hard radiation has molded us anew, has made us what you cannot conceive, and you see us in a guise temporarily suitable for our purpose.” Without warning, his eyes glowed at the Purple One. “Even that creature, which lives on life force and has been sucking steadily at us all this time, would now be dead had he succeeded in drawing one thin beam of what he craves!”
Burkinshaw didn’t bother to look at the purple thing, but commented boredly, “The Rethran was an experiment that failed. If he was of any use, he’d have got you long before now.” He rubbed his gray side-hairs, kept his hand on the switch. “I grow tired of meaningless noises. You are now hinting that you are no longer of our shape. I prefer to believe the evidence of my eyes.” His optics sought the miniature time-recorder set in a ring on his finger. “If I switch on, it may mean the end of us all, but you cannot hypnotize a scanner, and the scene registered in this room will be equivalent to my unspoken order—death to Terra! I suspect you of playing for time. We can ill afford further time. I give you one minute to prove that you are now as different from us as is this Floran or this Rethran or that Lingan. If you do so, we’ll deal with this matter sensibly and make a pact such as you desire. If not”—he waggled the switch suggestively—”the slaughter starts. We may lose—or we may not. It’s a chance we’ve got to take.”
The three Terrestrials made no reply. Their minds were in complete accord and their response was simultaneous.
Dykstra sobbed, “Look! Oh, eternity, look!” then sank to his knees and began to gabble. The purple creature withdrew its eyes right into its head so that it could not see. Burkinshaw’s hand came away from the switch; his glasses fell to the floor and lay there, shattered, unheeded. Roka and Helman and the other humans on the Council covered their faces with their hands which slowly took on a tropical tan.
Only the Floran came upright. It arose to full height, its golden petals completely extended, its greenish arms trembling with ecstasy.
All flowers love the sun.
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