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

by Mission to the Stars

  Somebody, it seemed to him, ought to find out just how great the danger was. The mere notion of how that would have to be done made him shaky; and yet, with each passing hour, he found himself becoming more determined, and more convinced that he with his good will was the one person best suited to do the job.

  He was still considering how he might let his ship be captured when the alarms began to sound.

  “Lady Laurr, we have established upper resonance contact with a vessel of this system.”

  “Seize it!”

  Chapter

  Six

  JUST how it was done, Maltby had no clear idea. In the early stages of the capture, he was too willing to be caught. By the time tractor beams gripped the Atmion it was a little late to analyze how the invader ship had maneuvered his own craft into the tractor beam field.

  Something happened, a physical sensation of being sucked into a vortex, a perceived tension and contortion of his own body, as if the basic matter of which he was composed was being subjected to strain. Whatever it was ended abruptly as the tractors took hold, and the Fifty Suns’ battleship was drawn towards the remote darkness where the other ship lay to, still hidden by distance.

  Anxiously, Maltby watched the measuring instruments that might give him some estimate of the other vessel’s size. As the minutes sped by, he began to realize it was improbable he would actually see the enemy machine. In that vast night, even nearby suns were dim points of light. The characteristics of any body out here could only be determined over a period of time. Anything as small as a j ship was like a dust mote lost in inconceivable darkness.

  His doubts were realized. When the Atmion was still several light-minutes from its captor, a sharp, tortuous pain twisted his muscles. He had time to guess: paralyzer ray. And then, he was writhing on the floor of the control room, with darkness closing over him.

  He woke up, tense, wary, convinced that he had to seize control of the situation, whatever it might be. He guessed that there would be methods for controlling his; mind, and forcing it to give information. He must even assume that his own powerful double brain could be overcome, once its potentialities were suspected.

  He opened his eyes ever so slightly by relaxing the muscles of the eyelids, it was as if he had given a signal. From somewhere nearby a man said in an odd but understandable English:

  “All right, ease her through the lock.”

  Maltby closed his eyes, but not before he had recognized that he was still inside the Atmion. And that apparently the process of taking the Fifty Suns’ battleship into the captor machine was just under way. The fact that he was still lying where he had fallen in the control room seemed to indicate that the officers and crew of the Atmion had not yet been questioned.

  A wave of excitement swept through him. Was it going to be as simple as that? Was it possible that all he need do was probe cautiously with his two minds—and take control of any human being he contacted? And thus take control of the boarding crew? Was all that going to be possible?

  It was. It happened.

  Maltby was herded with the others along a corridor that stretched into the distance ahead. Armed crew members of the Earth ship—both men and women—walked ahead and behind the long line of captives.

  It was an illusion. The real prisoners were the officers in charge of the prisoners. At the proper moment, the commander—a sturdy young man of forty or so—quietly ordered the main body of captives to continue along the corridor. But Maltby and the other officers from Astrogation and Meteorology were taken down a side corridor, and into a large apartment with half a dozen bedrooms.

  The Earth officer said matter-of-factly, “You’ll be all right here. We’ll bring proper uniforms, and you can move around the ship whenever you wish—provided you don’t talk to our people too much. We’ve got all kinds of dialects aboard, but none quite like yours. We don’t want you to be noticed, so watch yourselves!”

  Maltby was not worried. His problem, as he saw it, was to familiarize himself with the ship and its procedures. It was already obvious that it was a huge vessel, and that there were more people aboard than one man could ever control directly. He suspected that there also were traps for the unwary intruder. But that was something that had to be risked. Once he had a general picture of the ship and its departments, he would quickly explore the unknown dangers.

  When the “captors” had gone, he joined the other astrogation men in a raid on the kitchen. As he had half-anticipated, there were many similarities in food. The Dellian and non-Dellian humanoids had brought domesticated animals with them millennia ago. And now here in these deep freezers were steer steaks, pork and lamb chops, roasts and an enormous variety of Earth-origin fowl, each in its airtight transparent wrapper.

  The men ate to satiation; and Maltby discussed in serious vein with them the mystery of why they were being treated as they were. He was acutely conscious of the fact that he had done a dangerous thing. There were sharp minds present; and if one of them ever made a connection between what had happened and the fear the Fifty Suns people had of the Mixed Men, his report might well frighten his superiors more than had the Earth ship. He was relieved when the officer he controlled came back with a supply of uniforms.

  The problem of control in front of Fifty Suns’ men was a delicate one. It involved the “slave” believing that he was doing what he was for a rational reason. The reason the man had accepted was that he was acting under orders to win the good will of the most valuable officers on the captured ship. He had the impression, moreover, that it would be unwise to communicate this information directly to his charges, and that he must not discuss it with brother officers of the ship.

  As a result he was quite prepared to supply the indoctrination that would enable Maltby and the others to move in a limited fashion about the Star Cluster. He was not prepared to give them too much data about the ship itself. So long as the others were present, Maltby accepted the limitation. But it was he who accompanied the officer when the latter, feeling his job done, finally departed. To Maltby’s chagrin, the man proved invulnerable to mind control when it came to information about the ship. He was willing, but he couldn’t impart that kind of data. Something—some suppressor on him, perhaps hypnotic in nature—prevented. It seemed clear, finally, that Maltby would have to learn what he wanted to know from higher officers who had freedom of choice. Lower rank officers obviously did not, and the method used to protect them was one that he couldn’t take the time to analyze and overcome.

  He guessed that the ship’s authorities would by now be discovering that Atmion’s astrogators and meteorologists were missing. Somebody would be concerned about that in the determined and grim fashion of the military mind. If only he could get a chance to talk to the woman who was commander-in-chief of the Earth ship . . . But that in itself would make other steps essential. Escape?

  Though it was important that he waste no time, it nevertheless required two hours more to control the officers who had charge of the captured Fifty Suns people and of the Atmion—to control them in such a way that, at a given signal, they would coordinate their actions and arrange an escape. In each case it was necessary to produce an actual or hallucinatory command from a superior officer in order to obtain the automatic acquiescence of the individual. As a precaution, Maltby also provided the explanation that the Atmion was to be released as a friendly gesture to the Fifty Suns Government.

  That done, he successfully conveyed to a top officer that the Grand Captain insisted on seeing him. Just how it would all work out, Maltby had only the vaguest idea.

  Lieutenant Neslor came into the bridge, and deposited her gaunted body in a chair. She sighed. “Something is wrong,” she said.

  The Grand Captain turned from what she had been doing at the control board, and studied the older woman thoughtfully. She shrugged finally with a hint of anger in her manner, and said in irritation: “Surely, some of these Fifty Suns .people know where their planets are.”

  The psych
ologist shook her head. “We have found no astrogation officers aboard. The other prisoners were as surprised at that as I was.”

  Lady Laurr frowned. “I don’t think I understand.” She spoke slowly.

  “There are five of them,” said Lieutenant Neslor. “All were seen a few minutes before we captured the Atmion. Now, they’re missing.”

  The younger woman said quickly: “Search the ship! Sound a general attention!” She half-turned back to the great instrument board, and then stopped herself. Thoughtfully, she faced the psychologist. “I see you don’t consider that is the method.”

  “We’re already had one experience with a Dellian,” was the reply.

  The Lady Gloria shuddered slightly. The memory of Gisser Watcher, the man who had been captured on the meteorite station, was still not completely resolved within her. She said finally, “What do you suggest?”

  “Wait! They must have had a plan, whatever method they used to escape our energy control. I’d like to see where they try to go, what they want to find out.”

  “I see.” The Grand Captain made no other comment. She seemed to be gazing far away.

  “Naturally,” said Lieutenant Neslor, “you’ll have to be protected. I’ll make that my personal task.”

  Lady Laurr shrugged. “I really can’t imagine how a newcomer aboard this ship could ever hope to find my apartment. If I should ever forget the method, I wouldn’t care to have to figure out how to get back here.” She broke off. “Is that all you have to suggest? Just wait and see what happens?”

  “That’s all.”

  The young woman shook her head. “That’s not enough for me, my dear. I’m assuming that my earlier commands about precautions have been taken, and are still in force.” She turned abruptly to the control board. A moment later a face came on the plate. “Ah, Captain,” said Gloria, “what are your police doing right now?”

  “Searching and guarding,” was the reply.

  “Any success?”

  “The ship is completely guarded against accidental explosions. All bombs are accounted for, with remote control observers watching key entrances. No surprise is possible.”

  “Good,” said Grand Captain Laurr. “Carry on.” She broke the connection and yawned. “I guess it’s bedtime. I’ll be seeing you, my dear.”

  Lieutenant Neslor stood up. “I feel fairly sure that you can sleep safely.”

  She went out. The younger woman spent half an hour dictating memos to various departments, adjusting for each one the time at which it should be communicated. Presently, she undressed and went to bed. She was asleep almost at once.

  She awakened with an odd sense of dissatisfaction. Except for the ever so faint glow from the instrument board, the bridge was in darkness, but after a moment she thought in amazement: “There’s someone in the room.” She lay very still, savoring the menace, and remembering what Lieutenant Neslor had said. It seemed incredible that anyone unfamiliar with this monstrously large vessel should have located her so quickly. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness now, and in that dimness she was able to make out the silhouette of a man standing a few feet from her bed.

  He must have been waiting for her to discover him. He must have been aware, somehow, that she was awake, for he said: “Don’t turn on the light. And be very careful.”

  His voice was soft, almost gentle; yet it convinced her that the speaker was an extremely dangerous man. His command held her in the bed, and kept her hand where it was on the sheet, unmoving. It even brought the first anguish of fear, the realization that before any help could reach her she might die. She could only hope that Lieutenant Neslor was awake, and watching.

  The intruder spoke again: “Nothing will happen to you if you do exactly as I say.”

  “Who are you?” Her tone conveyed her will to know.

  Maltby did not answer. He had located a chair now, and he settled himself into it, but he was not happy with his situation. There were too many mechanical devices aboard a battleship for him to feel any sense of security in what he was doing. He could be defeated, even destroyed, without warning. He could imagine that, even now, the scene was under observation from some remote source beyond his power to control. He said slowly, “Madam, nothing will happen to you if you yourself make no overt moves. I’m here with the hope of having a few questions answered. To ease your mind, I am one of the astrogators of the Fifty Suns’ ship, Atmion. I won’t go into the details of how we escaped your net, but I’m here talking to you this way because of your propaganda. You were right in thinking that there are differences of opinion among the people of the Fifty Suns. Some feel that we should accept your assurances. Others are afraid. Naturally, the fearful ones being in the majority have won. It always seems safer to wait and hope.”

  He paused, and went back over his words with his mind’s ear; and, though he could have worded them better—so it seemed to him—they sounded right in essence. If the people of this ship could ever be persuaded to believe anything he might say at this moment, it would be that he and others like him were still undecided. Maltby continued in the same careful, unhurried vein: “I represent a group that occupies a unique position in this affair. Only the astrogators and meteorologists on the various planets and ships are able to communicate the position of inhabited worlds. There are probably tens of thousands of would-be-traitors who would betray their people in a moment for personal gain, but they are not among the trained and disciplined personnel of the government or the forces. I’m sure you will understand well what that means.” He paused again, to give her time to understand it.

  The woman had relaxed gradually, as Maltby talked. His words sounded rational, his intentions strange but not unbelievable. What bothered her was almost tiny by comparison: How had he found his way to her apartment? Anyone less familiar than she with the intricacies of the ship’s operation might have accepted the reality of his presence, and let it go at that. But she knew the laws of chance that were involved. It was as if he had come into a strange city of thirty thousand inhabitants, and—without previous knowledge—walked straight to the home of the person he wanted to see. She shook her head ever so slightly, rejecting the explanation. She waited, nevertheless, for him to continue. His words had already reassured her as to her safety, and every moment that passed would make it more certain that Lieutenant Neslor was on the job. She might even learn something.

  Maltby said: “We have to have some information. The decision you are trying to force upon us is one that we should all like to postpone. For us, it would be so much simpler if you would return to the main galaxy, and send other ships back here at some later date. Then there would be time to adjust to the inevitable, and no one need be in the unenviable position of having to think of betraying his people.”

  Gloria nodded, in the darkness. This she could understand. She said: “What questions do you want answered?”

  “How long have you been in the Greater Magellanic Cloud?”

  “Ten years.”

  Maltby went on: “How much longer do you plan to stay?”

  “That information is not available,” said the Grand Captain, her voice steady. It struck her that the statement was true even so far as she herself was concerned. The plebiscite would not take place for two days.

  Maltby said, “I strongly advise that you answer my questions.”

  “What will happen if I don’t?”

  As she spoke, her hand, which she had moved carefully toward a small instrument board at the edge of her bed, attained its goal. Triumphantly, she pressed one of the buttons. She relaxed instantly. Out the darkness Maltby said: “I decided to let you do that. I hope it makes you feel more secure.”

  His calmness disconcerted her, but she wondered if he understood clearly what she had done. Coolly, she explained that she had activated a bank of what was known as sensitive lights. From this moment on, they would watch him with their numerous electronic eyes. Any attempt on his part to use an energy weapon would be met by counter
acting forces. It also prevented her from using a weapon, but it seemed unwise to mention that.

  Maltby said, “I have no intention of using an energy weapon. But I’d like you to answer more questions.”

  “I might.” She spoke mildly, but she was beginning to be irritated with Lieutenant Neslor. Surely, some action was now indicated.

  Maltby said, “How big a ship is this?”

  “It’s fifteen hundred feet long, and carries a complement of three thousand officers and lower ranks.”

  “That’s pretty big,” said Maltby. He was impressed and wondered how much she was exaggerating.

  The Grand Captain made no comment. The real size was ten times what she had stated. But it wasn’t size that counted so much as the quality of what was inside. She felt fairly sure that this interrogator had not even begun to understand how tremendous was the defensive and offensive potential of the vast ship she commanded. Only a few higher officers understood the nature of some of the forces that could be brought into play. At the moment those officers were supposed to be under constant surveillance by remote-control observers.

  Maltby said: “I’m puzzled as to just how we were captured. Could you explain that to me?”

  So he had finally came around to that. Lady Laurr raised her voice: “Lieutenant Neslor.”

  “Yes, noble lady.” The reply came promptly from somewhere in the darkness.

  “Don’t you think this comedy has gone on long enough?”

  “I do indeed. Shall I kill him?”

  “No. I want him to answer some questions.”

  Maltby took control of her mind, as he walked hurriedly to the transmitter. Behind him—