Collision Course

by Robert Silverberg

  The big man rose and took two tottering steps forward, eyes fixed, jaws flecked with spittle.

  “Grab him!” Dominici shouted in panic. “He’s cracking up! Grab him or he’ll run wild!”

  Without wasting another second, all three sprang toward him. Bernard and Stone each grabbed one enormously long, spidery arm; Dominici reached up, straining practically on tiptoes, and clamped his hands to the linguist’s thin shoulders. Together, by sheer force, they pressed him down onto his bunk and held him there.

  Havig’s eyes blazed with indignant fury. “Let go of me! Get your hands away from me! I forbid you to touch me, do you hear?”

  “Just lie there until you’re calm,” Bernard told him. “Relax, Havig. Don’t snap now.”

  “Watch him,” Dominici murmured.

  But Havig was not resisting now. He glowered at the floor and muttered in a broodingly introspective voice, “I have committed some sin—I must have—otherwise why would this have happened? Why has He forsaken me—forsaken all of us?”

  “You’re not the first to ask that question,” Dominici said. “At least you’re in good company there.”

  A blasphemous quip at a time like this infuriated Bernard for reasons he did not fully understand. “Shut up, you idiot,” he whispered harshly. “You want to drive him out of his mind? Get me a sedative for him.”

  “In some way I have offended Him unknowingly,” Havig went on. “And He has taken his light from me. My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken us?”

  Bernard felt a wave of pity and compassion so intense that it startled him. This was a man he had once despised for mysticism and fanaticism, a man he had once attacked in print in terms that he now saw had been vicious and petty— and, now that Havig’s shell of faith seemed about to shatter, Bernard felt deep pity.

  Bending over Havig, he said sharply, “You’re wrong, Havig. You haven’t been forsaken. This is a trial—a trial of your faith. God is sending tribulations upon you. Remember Job, Havig. He never lost faith.”

  Havig’s eyes brightened, and a faint smile broke through the despair. “Yes, perhaps,” he said softly. “A trial of my faith—of my faith and yours, too. As Job, yes. But how can we stand it? Lost out here—perhaps God has turned his face from us—perhaps…” He fell silent, and tears rolled down the gaunt cheeks. Havig looked up imploringly at Bernard, all the old self-willed strength seemingly gone, and began to shake.

  Reaching behind him, Bernard deftly took the sonic spray-tube from Dominici and jammed it against a vein in Havig’s thin arm.

  He flipped the release, injecting the fluid instantly. Havig muttered something unintelligible and shivered; his eyes glazed; within moments, he had relaxed and was on his way to sleep.

  Rising, Bernard mopped the beds of sweat from his forehead. “Whew! I wasn’t expecting that to happen. And it came on so suddenly…”

  “Crazy. Absolutely crazy,” Stone said. “How could someone so unstable get sent aboard on this mission?”

  Bernard shook his head. “Havig’s not unstable, despite the performance we just saw.”

  “What is he if not unstable, then?”

  “All this was perfectly understandable. He’s a man who’s built his entire life around one solid set of beliefs. And he’s lived those beliefs, not just talked about them. Call him a fanatic, if you want; I certainly called him enough names. Well, he had the rug yanked out from under him. I guess this was one time he couldn’t write every trial and tribulation off to God’s will and endure it stoically. He ran out of explanations. So he snapped.”

  “Will he be okay when he wakes?” asked Dominici. “Or will he take up where he left off?”

  “I think he’ll be all right. I hope so. I gave him enough of that stuff to keep him out for hours. Maybe he’ll be calmer when the drug wears off.”

  “If he goes on ranting like that,” said Stone, “we’ll just have to gag him. Or keep him drugged, for his good and ours. He’ll drive us all nuts otherwise.”

  “I think he’ll get his balance back,” Bernard said. “He’s too fundamentally solid to go off the deep end.”

  “I thought you called him a crackpot,” Dominici objected. “Are you going off the deep end too?”

  “Maybe I understand Havig and his beliefs a little better now,” Bernard said quietly. “Well, whatever. We just have to sell him on the Job theme when he wakes up. If we can get that idea across to him, he’ll be a tower of strength from now on, and there won’t be any more crackups.”

  “Job? What’s that?” Stone asked.

  “Figure from the Judaeo-Christian religious books,” Bernard said. “It’s a very good poem, really. It tells how the Devil made a bet with God that this man Job would lose his faith under stress, and so the Devil was permitted to visit all manner of plagues and calamities on Job. Things that make getting lost in space look perfectly mild. But Job stood his ground all the same, never weakening in his faith even when things looked blackest. And eventually…”

  The cabin door opened. Commander Laurance entered, followed by Clive and Nakamura.

  “What’s been going on back here?” Laurance asked. “I heard wild shouting…”

  “Havig went off his rocker,” Dominici said.

  “What?”

  “It’s not quite that desperate,” Bernard said quickly. “He was simply having a fit of despondency. The universe suddenly became too much for him all at once, or something, and his control snapped.”

  “He do any damage?”

  “No,” Bernard said. “We got him down on his bunk fast enough. He’s conked out under sedatives now, and I think he’ll be okay when he wakes.”

  “It sounded like a riot from up front,” Clive said. “We thought you were murdering each other back here.”

  Not that you’d mind if we did, Bernard thought. So long as we didn’t jeopardize your safety.

  “He’ll be okay,” Bernard said again. “What’s the news from up front? Have you figured out where we are yet? Or is it classified information?”

  Laurance looked sharply at him and said, “Greater Magellanic Cloud.”

  Dominici glanced up. “Is that definite?”

  “About as definite as it’s going to get,” Laurance said flatly. “We’ve found S Doradus, bright as a beacon. And some RR Lyrae variables that we’re pretty sure of. The way the stellar population scans out—plenty of Cepheids, lots of O and B stars and K-type supergiants, it fits the Magellanics, all right.”

  “But how about Sol-type suns?” Stone asked anxiously. “Have you found any of those yet? These other kinds aren’t any good for landings, are they?”

  “I don’t think we have to worry much about that,” Laurance said with a tight little nervous smile.

  “What do you mean?” Dominici asked.

  “I mean that matters don’t seem to be in our hands any longer,” Laurance said.

  For the first time, Bernard realized what should have been immediately obvious to him—except that it was the sort of thing nobody would expect to look for. He became aware that all five of the crewmen had left the control cabin at the same time. That had never happened before on the voyage. Yet Laurance, Clive, and Nakamura were in here, and Peterszoon and Hernandez were waiting just outside. And if no one were in the control cabin…

  “What’s happening?” Bernard demanded in sudden panic. “Who’s piloting the ship?”

  “I wish I knew,” Laurance said. He walked to the vision screen. “About half an hour ago some external force seized control of us. We’re powerless to move of our own free volition. We’re being dragged down as if by an invisible hand— toward a yellow sun right up here.”

  TWELVE

  Down, down, dropping through the blackness past glittering suns, pulled like a helpless plaything—and there was nothing any of them could do about it. Aboard the XV-ftl nine men waited impotently.

  The controls were jammed; the plasma jets would not fire; the stabilizer rockets were out of commission; the velocity i
ndicators did not register. It was not even possible to switch to the Daviot-Leeson drive and convert into no-space.

  Nothing to do but wait.

  Silently. What could be said? This was beyond comprehension, beyond reason. And beyond control.

  “Postulate an enormous magnetic field,” Dominici suggested. “Something like fifty trillion gauss—a field of an intensity we can’t even begin to imagine. The magnetic field of the entire cluster, maybe. And we’re caught in it. Being dragged down.”

  “Magnetic fields don’t interfere with a spaceship’s rocket tubes,” Bernard said. “They don’t freeze the controls. Not even a hyper-zillion gauss field of the kind you’re trying to postulate. There’s intelligence behind this, I say—and maybe it’s intelligence as far ahead of ours as your imaginary magnetic field is beyond anything we’ve ever measured.”

  In his bunk, Havig stirred, moaning incoherently. He slumped back without breaking through the threshold of consciousness. “How fast are we moving?” Stone asked.

  Commander Laurance looked up, a taut, white-lipped figure. “I can’t tell. We’re going plenty fast. The boys are trying to draft some doppler measurements up front. I’d say we’re going pretty close to light velocity.”

  “Without accelerating,” Nakamura said dolefully. “Right from a standing start to C, without acceleration. You figure it out. I give up.”

  The conversation petered out. In the vision screen, the stars rushed blindingly toward them, their disks streaking and changing color, and sped past. Laurance’s vectors had been accurate: they were heading toward a yellowish sun that grew by gigantic bounds with each passing instant.

  Onward and onward they sped. An hour of this involuntary journey had passed; a second came, went, and a third. Hernandez reported that he estimated their velocity, reckoning by observed doppler ships, at about nine and six nines out of ten that of light. Which meant that they were traveling at virtually the ultimate speed of the normal universe—with no apparent source of velocity.

  It was incredible.

  It made no sense.

  It continued to make no sense for the next three hours. By that time, Havig had awakened. The linguist sat up with a start, shaking his head.

  “What…”

  “Feeling better, Havig?”

  “What’s been going on? You’re all looking at me so strangely. What’s happened?”

  “Nothing much,” Bernard said. “You got a little upset; we had to dope you up with an ampoule of quicksleep. Are you feeling calmer now?”

  Havig passed a quivering hand over his forehead. “Yes—yes, the terror came over me. I want to apologize. And— Bernard, I’ve got to thank you for trying to comfort me. It was a generous thing to do, and I admire the effort it cost you. The Job analogy—yes, that was it exactly…”

  “It seemed that way to me, too,” Bernard said.

  Havig smiled. “I suppose one can hold one’s self under control only so long, and then one’s strength gives out—even if one is strong, or thinks he is. I behaved like a weakling, a coward. But it was an important experience for me. It showed me that my faith can still be shaken. Shaken, though not destroyed. Do you see, now, as I do, that God may sometimes withdraw His gifts and grace for our best interests—though we may not see His purpose clearly? Job did not understand, but he obeyed. As I should have done, but for my moment of weakness—but now I have come through the trial stronger than ever. It is the test of faith which confirms…” Havig stopped and smiled sheepishly. “But I mustn’t spoil my thanks by turning them into a lecture. I beg your indulgence for the scene I created.”

  “Forget it, Havig,” Dominici said. “We’ve all been taking turns at having tantrums. You’ve been holding everything in, and it all exploded at once.”

  Havig nodded. “Yes. But thank you, thank you so much. However—there’s something you’re keeping from me, something new that happened while I slept. I see it in your faces. You all look so pale, so frightened…”

  “We better tell him,” Dominici said.

  “Go on,” Stone urged.

  As concisely as he could, Bernard explained the situation as it now stood. Havig listened gravely, frowning more deeply with each sentence.

  “So we’re out of control,” Bernard finished bluntly. “That’s the long and short of it. We just have to sit tight. There’s not a damned thing we can do otherwise but wait and see what’s going to happen to us. If there ever was a time for your Neopuritan brand of stoicism, this is it.”

  “Now we must all be courageous,” Havig said firmly. “We must all of us realize that what is destined for us is destined for our good, and we must not fear it.”

  Bernard nodded. He was beginning to see the real Havig now, a man who was austere and gloomy enough, certainly, but who, despite his ascetic ways, was somebody Bernard could respect. Not agree with, but respect. There was a solid core of strength in Havig. He didn’t use his belief as a crutch to help him limp through life, but as a guide that enabled him to meet existence squarely and honestly. Which was a realization that Bernard knew he would not have been capable of before this voyage.

  He felt relieved. Evidently Havig’s momentary lapse from control was over, a brief hysterical flare that had died down as quickly as it had arisen.

  Dominici whispered to Bernard, “I think you were right about the Job deal. He’s going to pull out of it.”

  “He has pulled out of it,” Bernard answered. “He’s tougher than you think.”

  It was comforting, Bernard thought, to know that once again there was one man on board who was utterly calm, fatalistically resigned to whatever might come. No, Bernard corrected. Not fatalistically. Wrong word. He’s much too cheerful now. Faith and resignation aren’t the same thing.

  For an hour more the plunge continued, until it seemed as though it might go on forever, an endless drop, Lucifer’s fall stretched out to infinity—or until the ship vanished into the yellow sun that was its destination.

  The men aboard forced themselves to ignore the situation. It was too far from control to worry about.

  Nakamura prepared a meal; they ate, without enthusiasm. Clive produced a sonic synthesizer and played old folk tunes, singing along with them in a nasal, rasping voice that achieved a surprising quality of artistry. Bernard listened to the words of the songs, fascinated: many of them were in the old languages of the nations of the Earth, the buried tongues of the medieval world, and the snatches the sociologist could understand were tantalizingly delightful.

  But eventually even the singing wore thin. Clive put the synthesizer away. All pleasure had been drained from the pastime.

  It was impossible to forget for very long that the ship was out of control, carrying its helpless passengers impotently to almost certain fiery doom.

  It was impossible to forget that they were coping—or trying to cope—with forces beyond all imagining.

  It was impossible to live under such conditions. But they continued to live.

  And then the Rosgollan came aboard.

  Laurance and the crew were up front, all five of them wrestling vainly with the controls, only a hollow hope of regaining mastery over the ship spurring them on. In the passenger compartment time passed slowly. Bernard read a while without absorbing, then tiredly laid his book aside to stare fixedly into nowhere.

  His first inkling that something strange was about to happen came when he sensed a sudden glow streaming from the rear corner of the cabin, about from the region of Dominici’s bunk. The strangely luminous golden-brown light filtered through the cabin. Frowning, Bernard turned to see what was causing it.

  Before he had turned halfway round there came the harsh, panicky wail of Dominici’s voice.

  “Mary, Mother of God, protect me!” the biophysicist cried. ” I’m losing my mind! ”

  Bernard mouth sagged open as he saw. A figure had materialized in the cabin, directly behind Dominici’s bunk. It hovered, some three or four feet off the ground, at the intersecti
on of the planes of the wall. From the figure the sudden glow was radiating.

  It was a being of small stature, perhaps four feet high, poised calmly in the air. Although it was completely without clothing, it was impossible to consider it as being naked. A garment of light enfolded it, softly streaming light that blurred the figure beneath without actually concealing it. Its face was a thing of shifting planes and maddeningly coalescing angles; after only a moment of looking at it, Bernard found himself growing dizzy, and he shifted his gaze lower.

  The creature radiated not only light but an impression of total serenity, complete confidence, utmost ability to perform any act.

  “What—the deuce—is it?” Stone asked in a strangled voice. Dominici was prostrate, speaking rapidly to himself in a low monotone. Havig, still in control of himself but plainly shaken, knelt, praying. Bernard gaped.

  “You must not be afraid,” said the visitation. “You will not come to harm.”

  The words were not spoken aloud. They simply seemed to stream from the creature’s body as clearly and as unmistakably as its radiance.

  Despite the quiet command of assurance, Bernard felt a sickly wave of terror sweep over him. His legs began to give way, and he sank down limply onto his bunk, hugging his arms together. He knew, beyond a doubt, that he was in the presence of a creature as far surpassing man as mankind surpasses the apes. And perhaps the gap was unimaginably greater than that. Bernard felt awe, reverence, and above all else a great resonating chord of fear.

  “You must not be afraid,” the creature repeated, every word precise and distinct. For an instant the light it radiated grew more intense, deepening in hue to a warm maroon. Bernard felt the weight of fear lifting from him.

  He looked up hesitantly and asked, in a thick, fumbling voice, “What—are you?”