by Paul Ableman
“Apologies, good friends, but the game that we play here today, unlike your own, is not just a lot of balls!”
He then strolls away, chatting confidentially with a spy whom he takes to be his chief security officer.
*
Three weeks later, on board the Stoutsnout.
It was the pre-prandial hour. Young Bill Glebe was at the controls. The other three crew members were standing before the large window in the cocktail lounge enjoying a dry martini before dinner and gazing out at the wondrous spectacle which still held them breathless with enchantment. They watched the gaudy cosmic rays snaking in intricate patterns round the ship. Green, silver-green, silver-blue, orange-blue and violet, the vivid rays writhed and coiled playfully in the vacuum, interspersed with brilliant atoms of hydrogen that shone like tiny stars. Sometimes the shifting pattern of the rays was disturbed by the intrusion of some meteor, glowing in the bright nimbus of its magnetic field. Tiny ions, gold and lemon-yellow, accumulated like precious snow on the window ledges. Far off great suns flared and contracted and comets drove their brazen paths through the corridors of space. Pointing towards a purple cloud of interstellar gas ahead of them, Captain Pidge had just started to say:
“We may be in for a spell—”
When the Stoutsnout lurched violently, causing them to spill their drinks. An instant later, they felt the brakes being applied and heard young Glebe’s voice on the intercom:
“The damn fool came at me head on.”
Almost immediately the young narcotics officer burst into the cocktail lounge.
“Did you see it?” he cried.
“See it? See what, Glebe?” demanded the captain sharply.
“The other ship! It nearly hit us.”
“Other ship?” rasped Pidge. “Look here, Glebe, as you’re supposed to know, this is man’s first venture into space. How can there be another ship? Now get back to the controls.”
“I don’t care,” stuttered Glebe eagerly. “I tell you I saw it—an enormous ship with living beings inside it!”
Pidge gazed at him piercingly and then turned to Dr. Guildenkrantz. He saw her lips frame the words “space delirium”. Nodding at the powerful Pad Dee Murphy, he was about to order him to immobilize young Glebe when the latter, with a strangled cry, exclaimed:
“There! There! Now who’s space delirious?”
Pidge whirled. Beyond the window lay a great rocket ship. It’s outer skin quivering with dazzling radiance, its long lines of ports disclosing small, pale faces, the alien craft rode beside them.
Slowly the four humans drew together and, with a feeling of awe behind which trembled fear, waited for what would happen next. Thus began their first encounter—mankind’s first encounter—with the Vilp!
As they watched, a port opened in the top of the strange ship and someone climbed out with a megaphone. Raising the instrument to his lips, the alien bellowed something but, because of their own steel shell, they could not make out what it was.
“I suppose I’d better nip out and see what he wants,” muttered Captain Pidge.
“Is that safe, sir, begorrah! Praise Buddha!” asked Murphy anxiously.
“I think so. They don’t look hostile.”
Pidge raised the hatch and climbed out on to the roof of the Stoutsnout. Immediately he gasped. He had forgotten how much vacuum there was in space and the cosmic rays stung unpleasantly as they beat against his bare skin. Struggling for breath, he strained to hear what the other was saying.
“Ahoy there?” came the words, faintly across the gulf between the two ships.
“Ahoy!” called back Pidge.
“What ship is that?”
“The earth-borer Stoutsnout, bound for Puphborl. Who are you?”
“My name’s Drik.”
“No, I mean what ship is that?”
“Patrol ship. Tell me, what race do you belong to?”
“Homo sapiens. We’re human beings—from Earth.”
“Earth? Never heard of it.”
“You must have done. Otherwise how do you speak English?”
“Can’t speak a word, old chap. This is pure telepathy. I’m a Vilp and we’re good at telepathy. Look, why don’t you slip over here for a drink? We can finish our chat in comfort.”
“How do I know that you won’t hypnotize me, instal a nuclear capsule in my brain and then send me back to destroy my entire race?”
“Well, I suppose if it comes to that, you don’t! Jolly bizarre notion, old fruit! Is that the sort of prangs you earth chaps get up to?”
“Of course not. But we know enough not to trust aliens.”
“Tell you what, then, I’ll slide over to you—if you promise you won’t slip any capsules into my brain.”
“My word as an officer.”
At this, Drik pulled a small space launch up through the hatch and jetted swiftly over to the Stoutsnout. Captain Pidge escorted him to the cocktail lounge and while doing so, discreetly inspected his guest. Drik, he saw, was, by human standards, a short, studious-looking fellow with a shy, engaging smile. Captain Pidge introduced him to the other humans:
“Crew, I’d like you to meet—er—Drik. Drik is a—forgive me, what did you say you were?”
“When do you mean?” asked Drik amiably.
“A couple of minutes back.”
“I love you, Dogbrain!”
“I beg your pardon?”
Drik’s expression changed.
“Who’s a dirty Vilp?” he snarled.
“Please—really—I—do calm—”
As swiftly as he had adopted it, Drik relinquished his bellicose stance and, with a gentle smile, sank down into a comfortable chair. He looked around him with interest.
“Pretty crude little earth-borer you’ve got here.”
“Do you think so?”
“Very crude. I can see you’re barbarians. Just out of curiosity—how many million years have you been civilized?”
“Well, I’m afraid, actually—”
At this point Drik unexpectedly rose to his feet beaming, and carolled:
“You lot are the first Vilp I’ve ever met and I think you’re great!”
“But I thought you were the Vilp?”
“So did I,” sighed Drik. Then he roared, “which of you bastards took my lizard?”
“Your—”
“Come on! Come on! Hand over that lizard! Do you want me to annihilate this whole sector of space?”
“I’m afraid, sir, you’ve made—”
“Dry up! I’m going to tell you people something.”
Here Drik rose and, trembling with indignation, marched about the cocktail lounge, haranguing the humans.
“Just think very seriously—do you or do you not want me to annihilate this whole sector of space? You invite me over for a drink and try to slip a capsule into my brain. We must have been misinformed. We always heard earth cats were cool cats and you’re just a bunch of lizard thieves. Why would you think I wouldn’t mind? I’ve had that lizard a long time. Who wants a stinking capsule in his brain? Anyone interrupts me once more and I annihilate this whole goddamn sector of space. What you people don’t dig is that we’ve been civilized a hell of a long time. Why should we chicken out because of a bunch of lousy Vilp in a beat-up earth-borer? Perhaps you doped it out wrong? Perhaps you figured you’d just rave out into space, nicking people’s lizards and pulling the old capsule trick? Okay. Now, what time does the concert start….”
*
The minister turned just in time to see the Stoutsnout issue, with a roar, from the centre of a bowling green and surge powerfully up towards the stars.
*
Three weeks later, on board the Stoutsnout:
It was time for the daily roll-call. The crew were drawn up in a line in the cocktail lounge. Captain Pidge, facing them, called out their names.
“Dr. Sonya Guildenkrantz, biophysicist.”
“Here, sir.”
“Pad Dee Murphy, spacehand.”
“Here, sir.”
“William Glebe, pilot.”
“Here, sir.”
As usual there were no absentees. Captain Pidge gazed thoughtfully out of the window at the fantastic panorama of space as he prepared to issue the day’s orders. Before he could speak, however, a soft, timid voice, which he did not recognize, asserted:
“You—er—you forgot me, skipper.”
Pidge glanced sharply in the direction of the voice. Standing beside Glebe, at the end of the rank, was a small man wearing a transparent cloak and short pants made of glistening metallic stuff. Intolerant of intruders at the daily roll call, Pidge asked curtly:
“Who the devil are you?”
“Don’t you remember, captain? I’m Sergeant Drik.”
As he spoke, the little man delicately fingered a knob set into the strange, bulky belt he was wearing and, as he turned it slowly, watched the captain intently as if expecting some response. However, Pidge merely snorted indignantly.
“I have no recollection of any Sergeant Drik. I believe you’re a stowaway.”
“Stowaway, captain?—that’s funny, you’re not responding to this hypnobelt. Listen, I’m not a stowaway. I’m the—er—navigator.”
“What do you mean, navigator?”
“Don’t you feel anything? Aren’t you getting hypnotized?”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“The Galactic Council assured me that once I’d tuned in to your wavelength, you’d accept my story.”
“What story?”
“That I’m an earthman just like the rest of you, the navigator of this craft. Once you’ve accepted it, I have to keep an eye on you until the Council decides your fate.”
“Council? What council?”
“The Vilp Galactic Council. We dominate this whole galaxy. I don’t know how your race escaped our notice but now that you’ve taken the first feeble steps towards civilization, we’ve got to decide whether to annihilate your whole solar system or not.”
“Young man, you’re insane.”
“I’m not really a young man. I’m eighty-three thousand years old. I do wish this damned belt would work. It’s very embarrassing.”
“I think you’re a spy.”
“Well, I admitted that. The trouble is you’re not supposed to know it. Look! The others are all nicely hypnotized. What’s the matter with you, you big lunk? Why don’t you respond?”
“Consider yourself under arrest!”
“Don’t be silly. Look, I’ll have to pop back to the Council on hyperwave to get this belt fixed. The snag is it’s a devil of a job setting your co-ordinates and just possibly I won’t be able to find you again. Oh, why are you so hypnotism-resistant?”
“It’s all right. I’m hypnotized.”
“You are? That was sudden. You’re not just faking, are you?”
“Of course not, I’m thoroughly hypnotized.”
“Well, you certainly should be. This belt is pumping out thousands of psycho-watts—that’s enough to hypnotize a multitude of small-brained creatures such as you.”
“Now, who did you say you were?”
“Sergeant Drik, the navigator.”
“That’s right—you’re the navigator. By the way, where do you come from, Sergeant—er—Drik?”
“I come from Plek in sector Plek-Ang-Plek. Oh, I understand—you mean where am I pretending to come from on earth—that is what you call that little speck of yours, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, earth.”
“Well, think of me as coming from—oh, I don’t know —one of your cities—say, North Pole.”
“North Pole, eh?”
“That’s right, North Pole.”
“That’s not a city. It’s a pole.”
“You’re supposed to be hypnotized.”
“I still know the difference between a city and a pole.”
“You’re not hypnotized at all.”
“Now suppose you tell me the truth. Who are you?”
“I have it! You must be kin of ours! That’s the only possible explanation of why this hypnobelt has failed to hypnotize you. It’s effective against all other actual and hypothetical life forms in this galaxy-cluster. Our scientists have proved that. Yes, you of earth must be distant cousins of the Vilp. See, even your colleagues are stirring—they are only partially hypnotized. Brave man! By your resistance you have preserved your entire race and won the protection of the Vilp forever!”
At this, Drik pressed a button on his tunic and, with a faint crackle, dematerialized and was gone….
*
The minister turned in time to see the Stoutsnout surge up towards the stars.
*
Three weeks later, on board the Stoutsnout.
Captain Pidge was standing in the cocktail lounge, sipping a preprandial martini and gazing out through a port. Suddenly he saw it.
“What on earth—er—in space—” he muttered, his hand automatically reaching out to press the “summons” bell.
A moment later the rest of the crew joined him.
“Now chaps,” Pidge urged them, “take a look at that.”
The others, in obedience to his pointing finger, gazed out through the port and discerned that the ship was being accompanied by a silver object, roughly spherical in shape and about three feet in diameter.
“Whatever is it, sorrh? Praise Buddha,” asked Murphy anxiously.
“That’s what I intend to find out,” Pidge assured him. “Scoop it in, Glebe.”
Glebe obediently departed to the scoop chamber and, in a few minutes, returned rolling the silver ball.
“Too heavy to lift, sir,” he explained.
“Don’t be a nit, Glebe,” Pidge rebuked him. “There’s no gravity in space.”
He raised the object between two palms and slowly revolved it. It was made of some tough, slightly flexible substance. Its skin resembled that of a pomegranate, except that it was dull silver in hue.
“Looks like an immense spore,” muttered Pidge, uneasily. “Anyone got a knife?”
Murphy proffered his pruning knife and Pidge attempted to make an incision into the silver skin. However, the knife made no impression.
“Hmm, get me an electric saw.”
But the electric saw also failed to penetrate the object’s hide. They tried every edged instrument on board the borer. Nothing made the least impression on the great silver pomegranate. Even the beam from a welder’s torch failed to leave a mark on its surface.
“Odd,” murmured Pidge. “Anyone got any ideas?”
“You don’t suppose,” queried Murphy anxiously, “it could be an immense spore, sorrh?”
“I wondered that myself.”
“Aye. That’s what gave me the idea, sorrh.”
Just then, Sonya, who had been curiously examining the object, gasped.
“Captain Pidge? It’s—it’s opening!”
With a feeling of awe, the humans clustered around the object and watched as a little tear, such as tiny terrestial crocodiles make with a special tooth when they emerge from their leathery eggs, slowly widened until a crack divided the silvery husk into almost two halves. After this, nothing further happened.
“Perhaps, sorrh,” suggested Murphy uneasily, “we’d best chuck it back into space.”
“No. It’s our duty to examine it. Come on, give me a hand.”
Gingerly they took hold of the separated edges of the silver rind and gently pulled them back. Inside, curled up like a foetus and sound asleep, was a small man wearing a transparent cloak and glittering metallic pants. The crew of the Stoutsnout contemplated him uncertainly and then Captain Pidge reached forwards and shook him gently by the shoulder.
“I say there—who are you?”
The small man opened his eyes and looked about him. Somewhat stiffly he straightened his limbs, disengaged himself from his silver husk and stood up. He looked questioningly at Captain Pidge.
“Well? Something delay the project?
How much time left?”
“How much time left for what?” Captain Pidge queried dubiously.
“Hold on, this isn’t Plek in Plek-Ang-Plek!”
“This is the earth-borer Stoutsnout, bound for Puphborl.”
“Puphborl? Are you talking about Puphborl in the system Delta Flamenco?”
“That’s the one.”
“But that’s my home system. This is great, really great! Yeah but—hold on—what’s the date?”
“Nineteen hundred and sixty-seven.”
“Nineteen hundred and sixty-seven what?”
“Years, of course.”
“Years? What scale do you use? By mine it’s at least eighty four million, six hundred and fifty-four thousand, two hundred and six because that’s what it was when—when—”
The small man paled. He glanced wildly around, then rushed to the window and gazed out. For a long time he studied the surrounding constellations. When he turned there was a great sadness in his eyes. He slumped into one of the chairs and stared listlessly in front of him. The humans were touched and Sonya went up to him. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder she asked:
“What’s the matter?”
“It worked,” the little man sighed. “God, how it worked!”
“What worked?” asked Sonya curiously.
“The—whaddyacallit—the suspended animation. Hell, it only seems like a moment since they sealed me up in there and it’s really—I can work it out from the stars—it’s really forty thousand million years!”
The crew glanced significantly at each other, but the little man continued:
“Think of it, forty thousand million years since my whole race got blown up by a super-nova. I’m a Vilp, you know.”
“A what?”
“A Vilp! A Vilp! You must have heard—no, why should you? It was a long time ago. Yes, but didn’t you say you were going to Puphborl?”
“That’s right.”
“But Puphborl doesn’t exist any more. It was blown-up in a super-nova forty thousand million years ago!”
“Really? Then what’s that?”
Captain Pidge pointed to the far port beyond which Puphborl, a scene of vital activity, loomed close on the port bow. The little man hurried to the glass and gazed incredulously.
