by E. C. Tubb
Half an hour passed absolutely silently. Doctor Tietz sat rigidly in her chair, her face looking like a stone mask. And Sukyung kept feigning to read the documents he had in front of him as if he were absolutely detached from everything.
The buzzer at the door sounded and Sukyung pushed a button. An agent of the Scientific Squad came in with a small metal ovoid in his hands.
“We found this, sir. It was well hidden inside a souvenir copy of the Obelisk of the First Moon Landing.”
“A Moon souvenir?” the commissioner said wryly, as he caught the ovoid and showed it to Doctor Tietz.
“Everyone who comes on the Moon buys a copy of this famous monument,” she countered levelly.
Sukyung shook his head. “I meant this ovoid.”
“I have never seen it before now.”
“But it was found in your luggage.”
The biologist shrugged. “Then someone put it there. As you know these souvenirs are hollow inside to make them lighter.”
She was always ready with an answer, Uriel Qeta thought. And her answers were logical. It would prove to be very difficult to trip her up with a verbal skirmish. Sukyung went back to leafing through his papers as she put up the stone face again.
A few minutes later another officer came in. This time it was a lieutenant. He turned to Sukyung.
“We have checked. The ovoid comes from Professor Olmedo’s lab. It is part of the collection of specimens of alien spores that are kept in an armored safe in the Astronomy Lab. An ovoid is missing and his serial number matches the number on the ovoid we found in Doctor Tietz’s luggage.”
“I repeat, I don’t know anything about it,” said the biologist nervously.
Uriel Qeta shuddered. So this was the reason why the professor had been killed. To steal a specimen of some spores found encapsulated in alien meteorites. Those spores had never been brought onto the Earth. Many of them were harmless, but others were potentially fatal. If they were disseminated on the Earth they could spread and multiply quickly and be more lethal than the botulinus itself.
Commissioner Sukyung held up the ovoid carefully and examined it with awe.
“It contains spore HV-35,” added the lieutenant. “It is the most lethal spore ever found in meteorites. In the hands of terrorists it would be a terrifying mass destruction weapon.”
“For which every terrorist group would gladly pay a fortune,” said Sukyung. He looked at the biologist again. “Who are you really, Doctor Tietz? Whom are you working for? How much have you been paid to bring this specimen Earthside?”
“I’m Doctor Danielle Tietz,” the biologist replied mechanically. “I work as a biologist at the Government Center of Exobiology of Dallas.” Her eyes glittered. “I’m not a terrorist, nor do I work for any terrorist group.”
Sukyung put down the ovoid carefully, as if he feared it could break and spread its lethal spores throughout Luna City. “Oh, I’m sure a thorough investigation will be able to find a link between you and some terrorist group. When you know where to look, you always end up finding something.”
“An ovoid found in my baggage which at the moment was not with me doesn’t mean absolutely anything,” countered the biologist contemptuously. “I say it once more, anybody could have planted it.”
“Yes, you already said that,” Commissioner Sukyung said placidly. “It is true one piece of evidence is not enough, but two pieces of evidence can mark the difference between an absolution and a sentence.
“Shall I tell you what happened? You came to the Moon, or rather you plotted so as to be sent to the Moon with the precise goal to steal spore HV-3 from the Planetarian Biology Center. But because of the strict surveillance system you could not get at it. Then you discovered that the Astronomy Lab keeps the same alien specimens as well, even if only few people know that, and you rightly thought that the surveillance was less strict there. We generally don’t link astronomy to lethal substances. I don’t still know whether you stole the ovoid after killing the professor, or if it was before, and you killed Professor Olmedo to prevent him associating your presence with the disappearance of the spores.”
“Nonsense!” said the biologist, and her tone was even more contemptuous. “But you said you had another piece of evidence. What was your…uh…so-called message of Professor Olmedo?”
Sukyung turned his eyes to Uriel Qeta, who had remained silent till that moment. “I think it is the right time to explain to Doctor Tietz how the professor could pin her before dying.”
Uriel Qeta got up and approached the biologist, towering over her. This seemed to impress the biologist because a sudden flash of fear appeared in her eyes. Not because she feared to be physically harmed, but because she had read her fate in the eyes of the planetologist.
“I imagine he has written my name in his blood, as in a bad crime novel,” she said wryly. But the look in her eyes was serious, very serious now.
Qeta shook his head. “No, no blood message. And you know that there was no blood around because you killed the professor with a poisoned dart shot into his jugular. No, no written messages. Only jars.”
This time Danielle Tietz winced visibly and could not hide it.
Qeta smiled. “The jars, yes. Surprised, aren’t you? You did not pay attention to them when the professor laid them on the table.”
“What should I know about jars? I never was in that man’s blasted lab!”
Sukyung cut her short. “Who told you anything about the lab? I didn’t say anything.”
She shrugged. “I took it for granted. You alluded to a table and some jars. It was logical to conclude you were referring to Professor Olmedo’s Lab.”
Uriel Qeta smiled faintly and sat in a chair near to her.
“I concede that, Doctor Tietz. It will not be this false step that entraps you, but Bode’s Law.”
From her look it was apparent that now the biologist did not really understand. “Bode’s Law? What is it?”
The planetologist waved his hand. “Oh, yes, I forgot you are not an astronomer.” He went on talking in his best professional tone:
“Bode’s Law is a sequence of numbers indicating the distance of the planets of this solar system from the Sun. You get it writing the numbers starting from 0 and 3, and doubling them so that you obtain 0—3—6—12—24—48—96 and so on; then you add 4 to every such number. The sequence becomes 4—7—10—28—52, and so on. If you assume as 10 the distance from Earth to the Sun, you get 4 as the distance of Mercury—four tenths of the Sun-Earth distance, that is—7 for Venus, 16 for Mars, 48 for the Asteroid Belt, and so on, all these numbers approximating the real distances rather accurately, at least up to a certain point.”
“And these numbers would indicate my name?” There was incredulity in her voice, true incredulity, not feigned.
Uriel Qeta smiled and shook his head. “Oh, no, the numbers have nothing to do with your name. They just pointed out to us that we should consider the Bode Law and it is just this law that revealed your identity.”
Sukyung was observing the biologist closely and was amused when he saw how confused she was. A confused suspect, who doesn’t know what the prosecutor is aiming at, is always at disadvantage.
Doctor Tietz looked at Uriel Qeta blankly. “It was a fine lecture, Doctor Qeta, but what have I to do with Bode? My name is Tietz, Danielle Tietz.”
Qeta nodded. “Quite so, and this is just the reason why the professor could nail you.” He paused while a triumphant look appeared in his eyes.
“You see, my dear Doctor Tietz, for one of those strange quirks of destiny this Law has become known as the Bode Law, but it was actually found before him by an astronomer named Titius. In fact many people call it the Titius-Bode Law, as it should rightly be.”
“Oh,” the biologist smiled wryly, than shrugged. “Now I see, my name is Tietz, and it sounds suspiciously like Titius. So you want to accuse me just on the ground of a paltry assonance! I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!”
&nb
sp; “Oh, no, the assonance has nothing to do with you.” Uriel Qeta shook his head. “Titius is the Latinized name of the man who found this Law, but the true name of this Prussian astronomer and mathematician, who was born in 1729, was Johan Daniel Tietz. Daniel Tietz, just like you…Danielle Tietz.”
The woman seemed to have suddenly lost her energy.
“A trick of fate, you could say, my dear…even your name is exactly matched. And now, don’t you think it is high time you confessed everything?”
FINAL CONTACT, by Sydney J. Bounds
The wild dog came slipping and sliding across the ice towards him. It showed as no more than a gray shadow in the starlight. A growl from deep in its throat alerted him as its jaws opened like a trap.
Crane stopped, shook the glove from his right hand and raised his rifle. The dog was gaunt from starvation, but it would provide some meat. Saliva moistened his mouth in anticipation.
The dog’s hind paws found a grip on a patch of frozen soil, and it sprang. Crane’s rifle was only a .22 sports model so he forced himself to wait till it was on top of the barrel before pulling the trigger.
It body, hard as rock, hit him and knocked him backwards. His feet went from under him and the dog went over his head. Lying flat on his back on the ice, Crane swiveled around, holding his rifle ready for a second shot. It was unnecessary.
He pulled his gloves back on and scrambled to his feet. Unsheathing his knife, he cut away fur and sliced flesh from the bone. He thrust it into his mouth and gobbled greedily. It was tough and stringy, but the blood was warming and he felt new strength surge through his tired and half-frozen body. He ate till he began to feel sick, and then started to drag the remains of the corpse back towards his cave.
It would taste better cooked, and he could risk a fire inside the cave.
Another day of life, he thought—and saw shadowy figures loom through the starlight. Hunters, tracking the wild dog, had heard his gunshot and found him.…
* * * *
World Television covered the debate. Despite the sensational aspect of the subject—radio astronomers confirmed the discovery of a galactic civilization and the fact that a starship was already on its way to Earth—the debate had so far been routine speculation. What would happen if—?
Until it got down to personalities. Until Martin Baker shouted, “You’re a coward, Crane!” Then viewing figures soared.
Walter Crane, red-faced, stuck to his point. “I care about the survival of our people, and this alien ship poses a threat.”
Baker laughed. “Care for yourself, more likely! I am concerned with the progress and achievement of the human race. Nothing, and no-one, must be allowed to interfere with that.”
Crane watched the physicist as he addressed the Assembly with a bigoted enthusiasm.
“I am asking for a ship to meet our galactic colleagues, to make physical contact as soon as possible. We must not delay, but grasp this opportunity to benefit the whole of humanity. Galactic science could advance our knowledge by a century overnight.”
Baker’s voice and penetrating gaze carried the zeal of a religious fanatic.
Fear crawled along Crane’s spine. He sensed that he’d lost the debate, but still he had to fight back.
“Perhaps I am a coward, as the Honorable Member suggests, if that means I fear the unknown. An alien civilization is an unknown quantity. I worry that his ‘galactic colleagues’ may be intent on conquest. At the very least, they may be so advanced that their culture will overwhelm and replace our own.”
“Ridiculous! A galactic war is out of the question because the supply lines would be far too long. Besides, we have nuclear missiles, laser beams, biological and chemical weapons. There can be no possibility of conquest, none whatever. We need the scientific breakthrough they can provide. The galaxy will open up to us like a flower blossoming.”
As Crane anticipated, the debate went in Baker’s favor. It was a landslide victory—the votes only needed to be counted for the record—and he got the go-ahead to lead a contact mission aboard a military spaceship, the only ship ready to leave almost at once.
After his defeat, Crane left the House and called on his friend Judson to ask for help in stopping Baker.
* * * *
Crane kept moving. He moved carefully because the rope bound around his boots had frayed and the surface was treacherous. He moved slowly to avoid sweating; water turning to ice on his body was always a major hazard.
For the first few minutes he traveled in an arc leading away from the cave, afraid of leading the hunters to his hideaway. Living on an island limited his options.
He dare not cross the ice-bridge to the mainland where groups of survivors fought bitterly over anything edible. The ocean was far too dangerous to risk. The boundary where ice met the as yet unfrozen deep could give way without warning, as he had discovered when he tried fishing. He could hear the dull growling of new ice grinding against the old.
His breath was a cloud of vapor in the gloom. He turned and glimpsed the dim figures of the hunters. He removed his glove and fired a warning shot in their direction, then headed for his cave. Inside, he could light a fire and eat to get his strength back. If they rushed him, he could pick them off by firelight.
He hoped they’d give up and leave. He had seen they were only armed with spears, but he didn’t really believe that would stop them. They were black, and blamed the whites for the unnatural dark and cold—and he represented food.
He dragged the corpse of the dog by the hind-leg and carried the rifle in his free hand. In a land of permanent winter he had only the stars to guide him.
Wrapped in a fur coat that had once belonged to a rich woman, Crane headed directly for his hideout. The shadowy figures of the hunters hung back at a respectful distance, but they still followed him.…
* * * *
Howard Judson was an old friend from college days. Now he held a high-ranking position in the space arm of the military.
Crane sat in a deep armchair in a room lined with bookcases. Evening sunlight streamed through the window and tinted the curtains with a warm orange glow. He sipped an expensive brandy.
Judson, broad of beam and craggy with it, relaxed with a cigar.
“Of course I agree with you, Walter. Aliens can’t be trusted, ever. We know nothing of their weapons or their motivation. Baker is a fool. I want this contact stopped just as much as you.”
He tapped ash from his cigar into a chunky piece of pottery.
“We should put our armed forces on red alert and be prepared for anything. You and I, Walter, are on the same side—but how far are you prepared to go?”
“As far as necessary.”
Hudson made a thin smile and asked quietly, “As far as murder?”
For a moment, Crane recoiled. His friendship with Judson had suffered many strained moments in its time. Outsiders considered it a strange friendship because he was a pacifist and Judson a career soldier.
“How would killing Baker stop the contact?” he asked. “Someone else would go.”
“Not Baker alone. A nuclear device aboard the ship, timed to go off in space.”
“But the crew—”
“The crew would die.”
Crane struggled briefly against the idea, but his ideals lost to his fear of an alien threat.
He said, sanctimoniously, “The few must be sacrificed to save the many.”
Judson crushed out his cigar with every sign of satisfaction. “Good! I would be too obvious—but you, a V.I.P., could get away with it. It’s a simple job to set the timer on a nuclear device and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“But smuggling the thing aboard—”
“You forget, Walter, the only ship available at short notice is a military ship. Naturally it carries nuclear weapons. I’ll see you get five minutes alone. But you must apply for permission to inspect the ship before blast-off.”
“I’ll do it,” Crane said impulsively.
* * * *
<
br /> Crane felt his bones ache; he was colder than he’d ever been in his life, and afraid. The black hunters paced along behind him, just out of gunshot range—but they stayed there, waiting their chance. One mistake on his part could prove fatal.
Traveling by starlight strained his eyes. He had to avoid obstacles, decide whether a darker shadow hid some new danger or not. Only faint outlines showed in a world without color.
The frayed rope around his left boot snapped and the smooth sols slipped and skidded. He dropped both the dog and his rifle in an attempt to break his fall. His leg twisted beneath him.
When he tried to rise, pain whiplashed up his leg. He’d landed heavily and turned his ankle. Sprained it? Broken it? Sweat froze on his face as he tried to stand.
The hunters closed rapidly. A thrown spear tugged at his fur. He fumbled off a glove, reached for his rifle and fired once, then a second time. He hadn’t many bullets loft, but they weren’t to know that. They retreated.
Crane ignored the pain in his leg and tried to judge how close he was to the cave. Not far now. He could crawl. He would have to crawl. He gathered up the spear; one less weapon for the enemy. He didn’t want to leave the dog’s carcass, but it might give him the extra time he needed to reach safety.
He began crawling on hands and knees, his injured leg dragging behind him, the rifle in one hand and the spear in the other. After a few minutes, he paused to look back.
The hunters had pounced on the frozen body of the dog, tearing its flesh with their teeth. He crawled on.
They finished the dog and moved silently after him.…
* * * *
Walter Crane sat alone in his apartment, nursing a bottle and watching the television. The big satellite telescope held the Earth ship firmly in focus, following its path through space.
Crane waited numbly for news. The ship did not explode but traveled on to meet the alien ship. He drank steadily, despairing. What had he done wrong?
He was sure he’d set the timing device as Judson had instructed. Sure! His application had been granted, and certainly Judson must have had a hand in that. It had been simple, as his friend chatted with the ship’s officers, to excuse himself to go to the head.
