“But he has already made an error!” von Grossen said in a silken tone, “He very foolishly fell through the bottom of the cage. Is that the kind of thing a peasant would do?”
Morton asked, “Suppose he was in the peasant stage?”
“Then,” Korita replied, “his basic impulses would be much simpler. There would first of all be the desire to reproduce, to have a son, to know that his blood was being carried on. Assuming great fundamental intelligence, this impulse might, in a superior being, take the form of a fanatic drive toward race survival.”
He finished quietly, “And that’s all I will say, on available evidence.” He sat down.
Morton stood stiffly on the tier of the instrument board and looked over his audience of experts. His gaze paused at Grosvenor. He said, “Recently, I have personally come to feel that the science of Nexialism may have a new approach to offer to the solution of problems. Since it is the wholeistic approach to life, carried to the nth degree, it may help us to a quick decision at a time when a quick decision is important. Grosvenor, please give us your views on this alien being.”
Grosvenor stood up briskly. He said, “I can give you a conclusion based on my observations. I could go into a little theory of my own as to how we made contact with this creature - the way the pile was drained of energy, with the result that we had to repair the outer wall of the engine room - and there were a number of significant time intervals - but rather than develop on such backgrounds, I’d like to tell you in the next few minutes how we should kill it”
There was an interruption. Half a dozen men were pushing their way through the group that crowded the doorway. Grosvenor paused, and glanced questioningly at Morton. The Director had turned and was watching Captain Leeth. The captain moved towards the new arrivals, and Grosvenor saw that Pennons, chief engineer of the ship, was one of them.
Captain Leeth said, “Finished, Mr. Pennons?”
The chief engineer nodded. “Yes, sir.” He added in a warning tone, “It is essential that every man be dressed in a rubberite suit and wear rubberite gloves and shoes.”
Captain Leeth explained. “We’ve energized the walls around the bedrooms.
There may be some delay in catching this creature, and we are taking no chances of being murdered in our beds.
We - ” He broke off, asking sharply, “What is it, Mr. Pennons?”
Pennons was staring at a small instrument in his hand. He said slowly, “Are we all here, Captain?”
“Yes, except for the guards in the engine and machine rooms.”
“Then… then something’s caught in the wall of force. Quick, we must surround it!”
17
To IXTL, returning to the upper floors from exploring the lower ones, the shock was devastating, the surprise complete. One moment he was thinking complacently of the metal sections in the hold of the ship, where he would secrete his guuls. The next moment he was caught in the full sparkling, furious center of an energy screen.
His mind went black with agony. Clouds of electrons broke free inside him.
They flashed from system to system, seeking union, only to be violently repelled by atom systems fighting stubbornly to remain stable. During those long, fateful seconds, the wonderfully balanced flexibility of his structure nearly collapsed.
What saved him was that even this dangerous eventuality had been anticipated by the collective genius of his race. In forcing artificial evolution upon his body - and their own - they had taken into account the possibility of a chance encounter with violent radiation. Like lightning, his body adjusted and readjusted, each new-built structure carrying the intolerable load for a fraction of a microsecond. And then he had jerked back from the wall, and was safe.
He concentrated his mind on the immediate potentialities. The defensive wall of force would have an alarm system connected to it. That meant the men would be bearing down on all the adjacent corridors in an organized attempt to corner him. IXTL’s eyes were glowing pools of fire as he realized the opportunity. They would be scattered, and he would be able to catch one of them, investigate him for his guul properties, and use him for his first guul.
There was no time to waste. He darted into the nearest unenergized wall, a tall, gaudy, ungraceful shape. Without pausing, he sped through room after room, keeping roughly parallel to a main corridor. His sensitive eyes followed the blurred figures of the men as they raced by. One, two, three, four, five in this corridor.
The fifth man was some distance behind the others. Comparatively, it was a slight advantage, but it was all IXTL needed. Like a wraith he glided through the wall just ahead of the last man and pounced forth in an irresistible charge. He was a rearing, frightful monstrosity with glaring eyes and ghastly mouth. He reached out with his four fire-colored arms, and with his immense strength clutched the human being. The man squirmed and jerked in one contorted effort; and then he was overwhelmed, and flung to the floor. He lay on his back, and IXTL saw that his mouth opened and shut in an uneven series of movements. Every time it opened, IXTL felt a sharp tingling in his feet. The sensation was not hard to identify. It was the vibrations of a call for help. With a snarl, IXTL pounced forward. With one great hand he smashed at the man’s mouth. The man’s body sagged. But he was still alive and conscious as IXTL plunged two hands into him.
The action seemed to petrify the man. He ceased to struggle. With widened eyes, he watched as the long, thin arms vanished under his shirt and stirred around in his chest. Then, horrified, he stared at the blood-red, cylindrical body that loomed over him.
The inside of the man’s body seemed to be solid flesh. And IXTL’s need was for an open space, or one that could be pressed open, so long as the pressing did not kill his victim. For his purposes, he needed living flesh. Hurry, hurry! His feet registered the vibrations of approaching footsteps. They came from one direction only, but they came swiftly.
In his anxiety, IXTL made the mistake of actually speeding up his investigation.
He hardened his searching fingers momentarily into a state of semisolidity. In that moment, he touched the heart. The man heaved convulsively, shuddered, and slumped into death.
An instant later, IXTL’s probing fingers discovered the stomach and the intestines.
He drew back in a violence of self-criticism. Here was what he wanted; and he had rendered it useless. He straightened slowly, his anger and dismay fading.
For he had not anticipated that these intelligent beings could die so easily. It changed and simplified everything. They were at his mercy, not he at theirs. No need for him to be more than casually cautious in dealing with them.
Two men with drawn vibrators whipped around the nearest corner and slid to a halt at the sight of the apparition that snarled at them across the dead body of their companion. Then, as they came out of their momentary paralysis, IXTL stepped into the nearest wall. One instant he was a blur of scarlet in that brightly lighted corridor, the next he was gone as if he had never been. He felt the transmitted vibration from the weapons as the energy tore futilely at the walls behind him. His plan was quite clear now. He would capture half a dozen men and make guuls of them. Then he could kill all the others, since they would not be necessary to him. That done, he could proceed on to the galaxy towards which the ship was evidently heading and there take control of the first inhabited planet. After that, domination of the entire reachable universe would be a matter of a short time only.
Grosvenor stood in front of a wall communicator with several other men, and watched the image of the group that had gathered around the dead technician.
He would have liked to be on the scene, but it would have taken him several minutes to get there. During that time he would be out of touch. He preferred to watch, and see and hear everything.
Director Morton stood nearest the sending plate, less than three feet from where Dr. Eggert was bending over the dead man. He looked tense. His jaw was clenched. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. Yet the wor
ds cut across the silence like a whiplash.
“Well, Doctor?”
Dr. Eggert rose up from his kneeling position beside the body and turned to Morton. The action brought him to face the sending plate. Grosvenor saw that he was frowning.
“Heart failure,” he said.
“Heart failure?”
“All right, all right.” The doctor put up his hands as if to defend himself. “I know his teeth look as if they’ve been smashed back into his brain. And, having examined him many times, I know his heart was perfect. Nevertheless, heart failure is what it looks like to me.”
“I can believe it,” a man said sourly. “When I came around that corner and saw that beast, I nearly had heart failure myself.”
“We’re wasting time.” Grosvenor recognized the voice of von Grossen before he saw the physicist standing between two men on the other side of Morton. The scientist continued. “We can beat this fellow, but not by talking about him and feeling sick every time he makes a move. If I’m next on his list of victims, I want to know that the best damned bunch of scientists in the system are not crying over my fate but instead are putting their brains to the job of avenging my death.”
“You’re right.” That was Smith. “The trouble with us is we’ve been feeling inferior. He’s been on the ship less than an hour, but I can see clearly that some of us are going to get killed. I accept my chance. But let’s get organized for combat.”
Morton said slowly, “Mr. Pennons, here’s a problem. We’ve got about two square miles of floor space in our thirty levels. How long will it take to energize every inch of it?”
Grosvenor could not see the chief engineer. He was not within range of the plate’s curving lens. But the expression on the officer’s face must have been something to witness. His voice, when he responded to Morton, sounded aghast.
He said, “I could sweep the ship, and probably wreck it completely within an hour. I won’t go into details. But uncontrolled energization would kill every living thing aboard.”
Morton’s back was partly to the communicating plate that was transmitting the images and voices of those who stood beside the body of the man who had been killed by IXTL. He said questioningly, “You could feed more energy to those walls, couldn’t you, Mr. Pennons?”
“No - o!” The ship’s engineer sounded reluctant. “The walls couldn’t stand it.
They’d melt.”
“The walls couldn’t stand it!” a man gasped. “Sir, do you realize what you’re making this creature out to be?”
Grosvenor saw that there was consternation in the faces of the men whose images were being transmitted. Korita’s voice cut across the pregnant silence.
He said, “Director, I am watching you on a communicator in the control room.
To the suggestion that we are dealing with a super-being, I want to say this: Let us not forget that he did blunder into the wall of force, and that he recoiled in dismay without penetrating into the sleeping quarters. I use the word `blunder’ deliberately. His action proves once again that he does make mistakes.”
Morton said, “That takes me back to what you said earlier about the psychological characteristics to be expected at the various cyclic stages. Let us suppose he’s a peasant of his cycle.”
Korita’s reply was crisp for one who usually spoke with such care. “The inability to understand the full power of organization. He will think, in all likelihood, that in order to gain control of the ship he need only fight the men who are in it.
Instinctively, he would tend to discount the fact that we are part of a great galactic civilization. The mind of the true peasant is very individualistic, almost anarchic. His desire to reproduce himself is a form of egoism, to have his own blood, particularly, carried on. This creature - if he is in the peasant stage of his development - will very possibly want to have numbers of beings similar to himself to help him with his fight. He likes company, but he doesn’t want interference. Any organized society can dominate a peasant community, because its members never form anything more than a loose union against outsiders.”
“A loose union of those fire-eaters ought to be enough!” a technician commented acidly. “I… aaa - a - a … His words trailed into a yell. His lower jaw sagged open. His eyes, plainly visible to Grosvenor, took on a goggly stare. All the men who could be seen in the plate retreated several feet.
Full into the center of the viewing plate stepped IXTL.
HE STOOD unmoving, forbidding specter from a scarlet hell. His eyes were bright and alert, though he was no longer alarmed. He had sized up these human beings, and he knew, contemptuously, that he could plunge into the nearest wall before any one of them could loose a vibrator on him. He had come for his first guul. By snatching that guul from the center of a group, he would to some extent demoralize everybody aboard.
Grosvenor felt a wave of unreality sweep over him as he watched the scene.
Only a few of the men were within the field of the plate. Von Grossen and two technicians stood nearest IXTL. Morton was just behind von Grossen, and part of the head and body of Smith could be seen near one of the technicians. As a group, they looked like insignificant opponents of the tall, thick, cylindrical monstrosity that towered above them.
It was Morton who broke the silence. Deliberately, he held his hand away from the translucent handle of his vibrator, and said in a steady voice, “Don’t try to draw on him. He can move like a flash. And he wouldn’t be here if he thought we could blast him. Besides, we can’t risk failure. This may be our only chance.”
He continued swiftly, in an urgent tone. “All emergency crews listening in on this get above and below and around this corridor. Bring up the heaviest portables, even some of the semiportables, and burn the walls down. Cut a clear path around this area, and have your beams sweep that space at narrow focus.
Move!”
“Good idea, Director!” Captain Leeth’s face appeared for a moment on Grosvenor’s communicator, superseding the image of IXTL and the others. “We’ll be there if you can hold that hellhound three minutes.” His face withdrew as swiftly as it had come.
Grosvenor deserted his own viewing plate. He had been acutely aware that he was too far from the scene for the kind of precise observation on which a Nexialist was supposed to base his actions. He was not part of any emergency crew, and so his purpose was to join Morton and the other men in the danger area.
As he ran, he passed other communicators, and realized that Korita was giving advice from a distance. “Morton, take this chance, but do not count on success.
Notice that he has appeared once again before we have been able to prepare against him. It
doesn’t matter whether he is pressing us intentionally or accidentally. The result, whatever his motivation, is that we are on the run, scurrying this way and that, futilely. So far, we have not clarified our thoughts.”
Grosvenor had been in an elevator, going down. Now he flung open the door and raced out. “I am convinced,” Korita’s voice continued from the next corridor communicator, “that the vast resources of this ship can defeat any creature - I mean, of course, any single creature - that has ever existed …” If Korita said anything after that, Grosvenor didn’t hear it, He had rounded the corner. And there, ahead, were the men and beyond them IXTL.
He saw that von Grossen had just finished sketching something in his notebook.
As Grosvenor watched with misgivings, von Grossen stepped forward and held the sheet out to IXTL. The creature hesitated, then accepted it. He took one glance at it, and stepped back with a snarl that split his face.
Morton yelled, “What the devil have you done?”
Von Grossen was grinning tensely. “I’ve just shown him how we can defeat him,” he said softly. “I - ”
His words were cut off. Grosvenor, still to the rear, saw the entire incident merely as a spectator. All the others in the group were involved in the crisis.
Morton must have realized what was about to happen. He
stepped forward, as if instinctively trying to interpose his big body in front of von Grossen. A hand with long, wirelike fingers knocked the Director against the men behind him. He fell, unbalancing those nearest him. He recovered himself, clawed for his vibrator, and then froze with it in his hand.
As through a distorted glass, Grosvenor saw that the thing was holding von Grossen in two fire-colored arms. The two-hundred-and-twenty-pound physicist squirmed and twisted, vainly. The thin, hard muscles held him as if they were so many manacles.
What prevented Grosvenor from discharging his own vibrator was the impossibility of hitting the creature without also hitting von Grossen. Since the vibrator could not kill a human being but could render him unconscious, the conflict inside him was:
Should he activate the weapon in the hope that IXTL would also be knocked unconscious, or try in a desperate bid to get information from von Grossen? He chose the latter.
He called to the physicist in an urgent voice, “Von Grossen, what did you show him? How can we defeat him?”
Von Grossen heard, because he turned his head. That was all he had time for. At that moment, a mad thing happened. The creature took a running dive and vanished into the wall, still holding the physicist. For an instant, it seemed to Grosvenor that his vision had played a trick on him. But there were only the hard, smooth, gleaming wall and eleven staring, perspiring men, seven of them with drawn weapons, which they fingered helplessly.
“We’re lost!” a man whispered. “If he can adjust our atomic structures and take us with him through solid matter, we can’t fight him.”
Grosvenor saw that Morton was irritated by the remark. It was the irritation of a man who is trying to maintain his balance under trying circumstances. The Director said angrily, “While we’re living, we can fight him!” He strode to the nearest communicator, and asked, “Captain Leeth, what’s the situation?”
Discord in Scarlet Page 3
