A. E. Van Vogt - Novel 18 - Mission to the Stars

by Mission to the Stars

  “Continue about your daily business, and be assured that everything possible is being done. Further information will be given out as it is received.

  “That is all for now.”

  Maltby climbed aboard the airlift car which settled down at his signal. As he sank into a vacant seat, a woman came over and sat down beside him. He felt the faintest tugging sensation at his mind. His eyes widened a little, but he gave no other sign that he had felt the probing of the woman spy’s mind.

  She said after a little: “Did you hear the broadcast?” “Yes.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  “The commander seemed very positive.”

  “Did you notice that she had identified all of us here in the Fifty Suns as Dellian and non-Dellian robots?” He was not surprised that she had got it also. The

  Earth people did not know that there was a third group in the Fifty Suns—the mixed men. For thousands of years i after the migration, a Dellian and non-Dellian marriage had not produced children. Finally, by what was known as the cold-pressure system, children became possible. The result was the so-called Mixed Man, with two minds, Dellian physical strength and non-Dellian creative ability. The two minds, properly coordinated, could dominate any person who had only one mind.

  Maltby was a Mixed Man. So was the woman sitting beside him, as he had recognized from the way she had momentarily stimulated his brain. The difference between them was, he had a legal status on Lant and other planets of the Fifty Suns. She didn’t. If she were caught, she would be subject to imprisonment or death.

  “We’ve been following you,” she said, “intending to contact you, ever since our headquarters heard this message something over an hour ago. What do you think we should do?”

  Maltby hesitated. It was hard for him to accept his role of hereditary leader of the Mixed Men; he who was also a captain in the Fifty Suns space fleet. Twenty years before, the Mixed Men had tried to seize control of the Fifty Suns. The attempt had ended in disastrous failure, as a result of which they were declared outlaws. Maltby, then a small boy, had been captured by a Dellian patrol party. The fleet educated him. He was an experiment.

  It was recognized that the problem of the Mixed Men would have to be solved. A prolonged effort was made to teach him loyalty to the Fifty Suns as a whole; and to a considerable extent it was a success. What his teachers didn’t know was that they had in their power the nominal leader of the Mixed Men.

  It had put a conflict into Maltby’s mind, one which he had not yet resolved. He said slowly: “At the moment my feeling is that we should automatically stick with the group. Let us act openly with the Dellians and non-Dellians. After all, we too are of the Fifty Suns.”

  The woman said, “There has already been talk of the possibility that we could gain some advantage by giving away the location of one of the planets.”

  For a moment, despite his own ambivalent training, that shocked Maltby. And yet, he could see what she meant. The situation was alive with dynamic potentialities. He thought ruefully: “I guess I’m not temperamentally suited for intrigue.” He grew calmer, more thoughtful, more prepared to discuss the problem objectively: “If Earth located this civilization, and recognized its government, then no changes would be possible. Any plans we might have for altering the situation in our favor—” The woman—she was a slim blonde—smiled grimly, a savage light in her blue eyes. “If we gave them away,” she said, “we could make the condition that we would hereafter receive equal status. That’s all we want, basically.”

  “Is it?” Maltby knew better, and he was not pleased. “I seem to remember the war we waged had other purposes.”

  “Well—” The woman was defiant—“who has a better right to the dominant position? We are physiologically superior to the Dellians and non-Dellians. For all we know, we may be the only super-race in the galaxy.” She broke off tensely: “There’s another, greater possibility: These Earth people have never run into Mixed Men. If we had the advantage of surprise—if we could get enough of our people aboard their ship—we might capture new, decisive weapons. Do you see?”

  Maltby saw many things, including the fact that there was a great deal of wishful thinking involved. “My dear,” he said, “we are a small group. Our revolution against the Fifty Suns government failed, despite initial surprise. It is possible that we might be able to do all these things, given time. But our ideas are bigger than our numbers.” “Hunston thinks the time to act is during a crisis.” “Hunston!” said Maltby involuntarily.

  And then he was silent.

  Alongside the colorful and demanding Hunston, Maltby felt himself drab. His was the unpopular role of holding in check the fierce passions of undisciplined young people. Through his followers, mostly elderly men, friends of his dead father, he could do nothing but advocate caution. It had proved a thankless task. Hunston was a sub-leader of the Mixed-Men. His dynamic program of action-now appealed to the younger people, to whom the disaster of the previous generation was mere hearsay. Their attitude was: “The leaders then made mistakes. We won’t.”

  Maltby himself had no desire for dominance over the people of the Fifty Suns. For years, he had asked himself the question: “How can I direct the ambitions of the Mixed Men into less belligerent channels?” Up to now, he had found no ready solution. He said slowly, firmly: “When the group is threatened, the ranks must close. Whether we like it or not, we are of the Fifty Suns. It may be that it would be advisable to betray this civilization to Earth, but that is not something for us to decide an hour after the opportunity presents itself. Advise the hidden cities that I want three days of discussion and free criticism. On the fourth day there will be a plebiscite, on which the issue will be: betray or not betray? That is all.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw that the woman was not pleased. Her face was suddenly sullen; there was suppressed anger in the way she held herself.

  “My dear,” he said gently, “surely you are not thinking in terms of going against the majority?”

  He could see, then, from her changing expression, that he had started the old democratic conflicts in her mind. It was his great hold on all these people, the fact that the Mixed Men Council—of which he was head—appealed on all major issues directly to the group. Time had proved that plebiscites brought out the conservative instincts of a people. Individuals, who for months had talked angrily of the forthright steps that must be taken, grew cautious when confronted by a plebiscite ballot. Many a dangerous political storm had blown itself out in the ballot box.

  The woman, who had been silent, said slowly: “In four days, some other group may have decided to do the betraying; and we will have lost the advantage. Hunston thinks that in a crisis government should act without delay. Later, it can ask the people if they think its action was correct.”

  For that at least Maltby had an adequate answer: “The fate of an entire civilization is involved. Shall one man or a small group commit, first, a few hundred thousand of their own people, and, through them, sixteen billion citizens of the Fifty Suns? I think not. But now, here is where I get off. Good luck.”

  He stood up, and presently climbed to the ground. He did not look back, as he headed for the steel barrier beyond which was one of several small bases which the Fifty Suns Military Forces maintained on the planet of Lant.

  The guard at the gate examined his credentials with a frown, and then said in a formal tone: “Captain, I have orders to escort you to the Capitol building, where local government leaders are in conference with military commanders. Will you come peaceably?”

  Outwardly, Maltby did not hesitate. “Of course,” he said.

  A minute later, he was in a military air car being flown back across the city.

  It was not, as yet, he recognized, an inescapable situation. In an instant he could concentrate his two minds in a certain pattern, and control first his guard, and then the pilot of the craft.

  He decided to do neither. It struck him that a conference of
government leaders did not spell immediate danger for Captain Peter Maltby. Indeed, he could expect to learn something.

  The small ship landed in a courtyard between two ivy-covered buildings. Maltby was taken through a door into a broad, brightly lighted corridor, and so was ushered into a room where a score of men sat around a conference table. His arrival had evidently been announced, for no one was talking as he entered. He glanced swiftly along the line of faces that turned towards him. Two he knew personally. Both wore the uniform of Commanding Officers of the fleet. Both nodded greeting. He acknowledged the recognition in each case with a nod of his own.

  All the other men, including four men in uniform, he had not previously seen in person. He recognized several local government leaders, and several local officers. It was easy to distinguish the Dellian from the non-Dellian. The former were, without exception, fine, handsome, strong looking men. The latter varied widely. It was a pudgy non-Dellian at the head of the table facing the door, who stood up. Maltby recognized him from news photos as Andrew Craig, a local government minister. “Gentlemen,” Craig began, “let us not be evasive with Captain Maltby.”

  He addressed himself to Maltby: “Captain, a number of conversations have been in progress in connection with the threat of the so-called Earth battleship, whose woman commander a short time ago made the announcement you probably heard.”

  Maltby inclined his head. “I heard it.”

  “Good. Here is the situation. It has already been more or less decided that we shall not reveal ourselves to this intruder, regardless of inducements offered. A few people argued that, now that Earth has come to the Greater Magellanic Cloud, discovery is inevitable sooner or later. But the time interval involved could be thousands of years. Our attitude is, let us stick together now, and refuse contact. During the next decade—and it will take that long—we can send expeditions to the main galaxy, and see just what is going on there. Having done that, we can then make our final decision on the matter of establishing relations. You can see that this is the sensible course.”

  He paused, and gazed expectantly at Maltby. There was in his manner a hint of anxiety. Maltby said in an even tone: “That is undoubtedly the sensible course.”

  An audible sigh of relief went up from several men.

  “However,” Maltby continued, “can you be sure that some group or planet will not reveal our location to the Earth ship? Many people, many planets, have individual interests.”

  “Of that,” said the pudgy man, “we are well aware. Which is why you have been invited to this meeting.”

  Maltby wasn’t sure that it had been precisely an invitation, but he made no comment.

  The spokesman went on: “We have now received communications from all Fifty Sun governments. They are uniformly agreed that we must remain hidden. But all are equally aware that, unless we can obtain an agreement from the Mixed Men not to take advantage of this situation, then our unity will have been in vain.”

  For some minutes Maltby had guessed what was coming. And he had recognized it as a crisis in the relationship between Mixed Men and the people of the Fifty Suns. It was also, he saw clearly, a personal crisis for himself. He said: “Gentlemen, I have an idea that I am going to be asked to make contact with other Mixed Men. As a Captain in the Fifty Suns military arm, any such contact will place me immediately in a very difficult position.” Vice-admiral Dreehan, Commanding Officer of the Battleship Atmion, of which Maltby was assistant astrogator and chief meteorologist, spoke up: “Captain, you may agree freely to any proposal here made to you. Have no fear that your anomalous position is not appreciated.” “I should like,” said Maltby, “to have that written into the minutes, and note taken.”

  Craig nodded at the stenographers. “Please note!” he said.

  “Proceed,” said Maltby.

  “As you have guessed,” Craig went on, “we want you to convey our proposals to the—” He paused, scowling a little, obviously reluctant to use a word that lent an aura of legitimacy to the outlaw group—“to the governing council of the Mixed Men. You have, we believe, opportunity to make such a contact.”

  “Years ago,” acknowledged Maltby, “I informed my commanding officer that I had been approached by emissaries of the Mixed Men, and that permanent facilities for liaison existed on each planet of the Fifty Suns. It was decided at that time not to show any awareness of the existence of these agencies, as they would obviously go underground in a more thorough fashion—that is, they would not advise me of their future location.”

  Actually, the decision for him to inform the armed forces of the Fifty Suns that such agencies existed had been made by the plebiscite of the Mixed Men. It was felt that contact would be suspected, and therefore should be admitted. It was further believed that the Fifty Suns would not molest the agencies except in an emergency. The action had proved soundly based. But here was the emergency.

  “Frankly,” said the pudgy man, “it is our conviction that the Mixed Men are going to regard this situation as one which strengthens their bargaining position.” He meant political blackmail, and it was a significant commentary of the situation that he did not say so. “I am empowered,” Craig went on, “to offer limited citizenship rights, access to certain planets, eventual right to live in cities—with the whole problem of legal and political rights to be taken up every ten years, with assurance that each time—depending on behavior during the previous decade—further privileges will be granted.”

  He paused; and Maltby saw that everyone was looking at him with a kind of tense eagerness. A Dellian politician broke the silence: “What do you think of it?”

  Maltby sighed. Before the arrival of the Earth ship, it would have been a remarkable offer. It was the old story of a concession made under pressure at a time when those who made it no longer controlled the situation. He said as much, not aggressively, but with a to-the-point candour. Even as he spoke, he thought over the terms, and it seemed to him that they were sound and honest. ‘Knowing what he knew of the ambitions of certain groups among the Mixed Men, it seemed to him that further concessions would be as dangerous to them as to their peaceable neighbors. In view of the past, there had to be restrictions and a period of probation. Therefore, he tended to support the proposals, while recognizing that it would be hard, under the circumstances, to put them over. He made his point quietly; and finished: “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  There was a brief silence after he had spoken; and then a heavy-faced non-Dellian said harshly: “My own feeling is that we’re wasting our time in this cowardly by-play. Although the Fifty Suns have been at peace for a long time, we still have more than a hundred battleships in service, not counting a host of smaller craft. Out there somewhere in space is one Earth battleship. I say, let’s send the fleet to destroy it! That way we’ll eliminate every human being who knows we exist. Ten thousand years may go by before they accidentally discover us again.”

  Vice-admiral Dreehan said: “We’ve discussed that. The reason it is inadvisable is very simple: The Earth people may have new weapons which could defeat us. We can’t take the chance.”

  “I don’t care what weapons one ship has,” said the other flatly. “If the navy does its duty, all our problems will be solved by a single decisive action.”

  Craig said curtly: “That is a last resort.” He faced Maltby again. “You may tell the Mixed Men that, if they turn down our offer, we do have a large fleet to use against the intruder. In other words, if they should pursue the course of betrayal, it would not necessarily gain them anything. You may go, Captain.”

  Chapter

  Two

  ABOARD the Earth battleship, Star Cluster, Grand Captain, the Right Honorable Gloria Cecily, Lady Laurr of Noble Laurr, sat at her desk on the bridge, gazed out into space, and considered her situation.

  In front of her was a multi-planal viewport, set at full transparency. Beyond was blackness with, here and there, stars. Magnification was at zero, and so only a few stars were v
isible, with occasional splotches of light to indicate the star density in that direction. The biggest and blurriest haze was to her left: The main galaxy, of which Earth was one planet of one system, one grain of sand in a cosmic desert.

  The woman scarcely noticed. For years some variation of that fantastic scene had been part of her life. She saw it, and ignored it, in the same moment. She smiled now, a smile of decision; pressed a button. A man’s face came on to the plate in front of her. She said without preamble: “I have been informed, Captain, that there is disgruntlement at our decision to remain in the Greater Magellanic Cloud and search for the Fifty Suns civilization.”

  The Captain hesitated, then said carefully: “Your excellency, I have heard that your determination to make this search does not meet with universal approval.”

  His changing of her phrase “our decision” to “your determination” did not escape her.

  The man went on: “Naturally, I cannot speak for all the members of the crew, since there are thirty thousand of them.”

  “Naturally,” she said. And there was irony in her tone.

  The officer seemed not to hear. “It seems to me, your

  excellency, that it might be a good idea to hold a general ballot on this matter.”

  “Nonsense. They’d all vote to go home. After ten years in space, they’ve become jellyfish. They have little mind and no purpose. Captain—” Her voice was soft, but there was a glint in her eyes—“I sense in your tone and bearing a sort of emotional agreement with this—this childish instinct of the group. Remember, the oldest law of space flight is that someone must have the will to go forward. Officers are selected with the utmost care because they must not give in to this blind desire to go home. It has been established that people who finally do rush madly to their planet, and their house, have a momentary emotional satisfaction, and then restlessly join up for another long voyage. We are too far from our galaxy to cater to such juvenile lack of discipline.”