Next he summoned ten of his ships and told each captain to find himself a planet with an intact civilization and place his ship in orbit at the extreme distance from which his viewer could effectively penetrate cloud cover. Darzek returned his own ship to the untouched world already discovered and did the same.
The attacked ship had been in close orbit, and he was gambling that a ship in remote orbit would be overlooked by the Udef, at least some of the time. Whatever the risk, so desperate was the need for the evidence of trained eyewitnesses that he had to take it.
They watched and waited.
The face of a doomed world filled their viewing screens, and Darzek's urge to do something, to rescue someone, was so fierce that he felt physical pain. To put down a transmitter frame, to quickly load his ship with passengers . . . no time to persuade them, of course, couldn't communicate anyway, have to kidnap them, but at least there would be a few survivors . . . assuming that Darzek's ship survived. It was a world of magnificent builders. The towers, even when seen from space, were breath - taking. If they acted at once, perhaps —
But would the handful their ship could accommodate want to be saved? In a world where England is finished and dead, I do not wish to live. They would have to reshape their lives, and their first task would be to somehow cope with a world of corpses. Think, Darzek rasped at himself. What can be done to save a world, or any part of it, with the Udef about to strike?
The captain said hoarsely, "It's here!" The off - duty watches sprang to their posts. A battery of viewers had been set up, some fixed on preselected targets while others supplied random glimpses of a world - in its death throes. From every habitation the populace was erupting, limbs threshing in agony, to collapse in widening puddles of ooze. Darzek experienced instantaneous revulsion and had to force himself to continue to watch until the last inhabitant they could find alive performed a final, agonized twitch and expired.
Then he wrenched himself from the viewing screens, too stunned and horrified to think. Not until the scientists began their discussion did he realize that he had seen nothing at all.
"What was it?" he demanded. No one answered.
Instruments and observers had maintained a constant surveillance of a world and its surrounding space. Readings and impressions were compared. Nowhere in this solar system had there been a trace of any invader except themselves, and yet a civilization had been murdered before their eyes and instruments.
A world had died. Nothing had killed it.
Dumbly they sat around a conference table with the full record spread before them, and they watched, in projected recordings, the civilization die a second time. Finally Darzek asked, "Is it possible that the Udef could be invisible to us?"
"To us, yes," a scientist answered grimly. "But not to our instruments."
"If there's a limit to our sensory capacities, there's also a limit to the sensory capacities of your instruments," Darzek retorted.
They rebuilt the instruments. They observed, rebuilt again, observed, rebuilt. They watched the death agonies of twenty more worlds, losing three more crews in the process, and the evidence of their senses and of their instruments remained the same.
Twenty more worlds had died. Nothing did it.
In one respect they had advanced their knowledge. Darzek now knew that it was incorrect to say that the entire populations of these worlds died simultaneously. Even individuals that were struck at the same time died at varying rates, and the Udef followed definite, traceable, highly varied patterns. Sometimes it moved in a broad spiral that gradually enveloped the entire planet, but more often it took a continent at a time. On the twenty-one worlds, fully a dozen distinctive movements could be traced through the death agonies of the victims.
URSDwad observed thoughtfully, "Perhaps they know on Montura."
"If Rok Wllon finds anything at all that could possibly be of use to us, he'll let us know," Darzek said. "He won't bother with a courier - he'll bring it himself so he can gloat about bow brilliant he's been."
"You could send me to Montura," URSDwad said. "Supreme did say that the natives of Montura could help us."
"If it comes to that, we'll go together," Darzek said. "But only as a last resort. First we'll make every effort to find the answer here."
They designed and built more instruments, they adjusted and readjusted them, they invented tests and conducted experiments with the death throes of one civilization after another in the background, they lost seven more crews, and they detected nothing at all.
The worlds died. Nothing did it.
5
Miss Effie Schlupe, Gula Schlu to her galactic colleagues, had been • rewarded with a small governmental sinecure when she retired to Earth. She was appointed director of the secret certification study group that the galactic government maintained there. The group needed no direction. The studying was done by experienced, expertly disguised aliens, who also wrote the group's reports. Miss SchIupe's contribution was her annual recommendation that Earth be certified eligible for membership in the Galactic Synthesis, which was ignored.
Now it was 1995, and she had celebrated her seventieth birthday in the same bored fashion that made her sixty - ninth birthday unmemorable. She sat alone in her health food store, rocking, knitting, and looking forward to her five - thirty closing time, when she would lock her front door and unlock her alley door. Her evening customers, who bought her illegal beers and wines, were far more congenial than those who called during regular business hours. She was tempted to lock her front door permanently, but her back - door activities needed some kind of cover, and it amused her to be dispensing illegal alcoholic beverages under the aegis of a health food store.
This day was as uneventful as any other. Old Mr. Forlanni stopped by for his daily cocktail of blended prune, papaya, and cucumber juices. Mr. Forlanni declared, to anyone willing to listen, that Miss SchIupe's prune, papaya, and cucumber cocktail was the best to be had in the entire Greater New York area. "It would even make a woman feel like a new man," he would say, chuckling.
But the testimonial of an elderly man addicted to a daily prune, papaya, and cucumber juice cocktail was not one likely to bring a rush of business. Miss Schlupe kept to herself the fact that the chief invigorating ingredient in that monotonous slush of vitamins was the generous shot of hard cider with which she surreptitiously laced every serving.
After Mr. ForIanni departed, smacking his lips, young Mrs. Jadfro stopped in to shop for a birthday present for her sister. Mrs. Jadfro was a health food fanatic; her sister was not. Their annual exchange of birthday gifts represented a continuing campaign of attrition in which Mrs. Jadfro attempted to convert her sister to the doctrine of sanity in eating, and her sister tried to corrupt Mrs. Jadfro with her own degenerate brand of hedonism - if it tastes good, it's good for you. This year, after much soul - searching contemplation, Mrs. Jadfro decided that the alfalfa tea represented too drastic a step toward sanity for her sister, and she selected a blend of mints and rose hips instead.
Then came little Sandra Halmer, age four. Sandra was not so much a customer as a charity case. Miss Schlupe had unwisely stocked some health food candy that did not sell. Even as a gift, no one wanted more than one sampling of a Vita - Carob - Sesame - HoneyEnergy - Drop. She tried giving pieces to the children of customers, but it resulted only in her having her floor spattered with secretly discarded Vita - Carob - Sesame – Honey Energy - Drops. No one would eat them except little Sandra. Miss Schlupe was tempted to present her with the entire stock and have done with it, but she feared that the resultant digestive cataclysm might get her sued. Also, she enjoyed watching people enjoy themselves. Sandra was restricted to a daily ration of one Vita - Carob - Sesame - Honey - Energy - Drop, which she sucked ecstatically.
A shadow fell across the window while Sandra was consuming the last of her energy drop. A face peered in at Miss Schlupe. She calmly returned the stare, and the stranger shifted his gaze to the tidy boxe
s of herb teas, and the rows of vitamin phials and bottles of juice extracts with which Miss Schlupe's small display window was ornamented.
But only for a moment. The stranger moved on, which in no way surprised Miss Schlupe. She maintained a window display because she had to do something with the vacant space behind the front window, but she didn't expect it to attract customers. Visiting a health food store, she thought, was not the result of visual stimulation, but of gastronomic martyrdom.
Fifteen minutes later, the same shadow returned. Miss Schlupe was occupied with her third cash customer of the day, a Mrs. Conling, who for reasons best known to herself had decided to double her husband's vitamin Bl and E, intakes. Again the stranger contemplated the window arrangement briefly and then moved on.
Mrs. Conling left. A few minutes later the stranger's face was back at the window. This time he opened the door and came inside.
It now was obvious to Miss Schlupe that he had been waiting until he could confront her without a witness. She greeted him with a welcoming smile. Already she had sent three would - be holdup men to the hospital and routed a fourth in such panic that he accidentally shot himself on the way out the door. She was the galaxy's only qualified proponent and practitioner of a system of self - defense she called juriptzu, which was her own special blend of judo and mayhem. If the stranger's objective was her day's receipts, which thus far totaled $5.63, she would welcome the diversion.
While he looked about him, evidently satisfying himself that she was alone, she studied him. He was an entirely ordinary - looking middle - aged fat man, probably too heavy for her to flip without • breaking a display case. His clothing looked new but not especially distinctive. The most noticeable thing about his facial expression was his total lack of one. His face looked wooden; perhaps he meant to give an impression of innocence.
Finally he turned to her. "Good afternoon, Gula SchIu," he said politely.
Miss Schlupe dropped her knitting. No one on Earth, not even the three alien members of her certification group, knew that this had been her name in galactic society. "Who are you?" she exclaimed.
Her caller seemed pleased. "Don't you recognize me, Gula Schlu?" "Smith!" she exclaimed. "Rok Wllon! You got yourself a new disguise!"
The face took on expression and formed a synthetic smile, a notable achievement for the artificial epidermis of a wholly unhuman shape.
"Indeed, yes. How do you like it?"
"Much better than the old one. That disguise made you look like a dead fish. This one is more like a live wart hog. Is it really you?"
It was indeed the alien calling himself Smith who on a fateful day years before had paid Ian Darzek a million dollars for unspecified services. When Miss Schlupe had last seen him, he had become a member of the Council of Supreme and supervisor of all the certification study groups in the galaxy. Technically he had been her superior for years, but she hadn't heard from him since she left Primores.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "A member of the Council of Supreme shouldn't be slumming on Earth."
He hushed her. Even on Earth, where only Miss Schlupe and the three aliens had any notion of what it signified, a councilor did not want his status mentioned aloud.
"Gul Darr has a critically important job for you," he said. “Just a moment."
She hung her CLOSED - BACK SOON sign in the front door and locked it. Then she led Rok Wllon to her back room and waved him to a chair.
She remained standing and regarded him with suspicion. She did not like the Eighth Councilor. She'd always resented his smug moral superiority, and she suspected that he could be as devious as anyone when he thought he could get away with it. With his synthetic face he could have got away with a great deal if she hadn't known his fatal weakness. He could not tell a direct lie.
She said, "Did Mr. Darzek send a letter?" "No, but - "
"Did he specifically ask for me?"
"Well, no. He is in another galaxy. Supreme asked for you." "That transistor - clogged brain doesn't know I exist."
"But it does!"
"Did Supreme ask for me by name?"
"Well, no. I suggested you, and Supreme concurred."
Miss Schlupe slowly backed into a chair and sat down. "Supreme," she announced firmly, "is nothing but a muddled super - adding machine trying to make intelligent beings behave like numbers. I hope you haven't been contributing a muddle of your own to this."
"I have only come to convey Supreme's invitation," Rok Wllon said, wounded dignity ringing in every word.
"What's Mr. Darzek doing?" "He's on an important mission."
"To another galaxy, you said. What does this job I'm offered have to do with his mission?"
"Supreme says it is critical to it."
"Does Mr. Darzek know you're offering the job to me?" "Of course. I sent word to him with URSDwad." "Exactly what is Mr. Darzek's important mission?"
"He is attempting to determine the cause of death of world populations in the Lesser Galaxy."
"Where is that?"
"You call it the Small Magellanic Cloud."
"I don't believe a word of it. You make it sound as if Mr. Darzek is running a bureau of vital statistics. Determine the cause of death. Phooey! That isn't like Mr. Darzek at all."
"Gul Darr said," Rok Wllon announced, keeping his pseudo eyes fixed on hers, "that if we are unable to solve the problem, all the intelligent life in the universe will be exterminated."
"That sounds like him!"
"Supreme has concurred. And I have recordings to show you."
"All right. I'll see your recordings. For weeks the headlines have been looking like last month's newspaper, which may mean that I'm ready for another fling at galactic intrigue. Tell me about this critically important job."
Rok Wllon drew himself up pompously. "There's a world called Montura."
"Never heard of it. Where is it?"
Rok Wllon's description of the world of Montura made no impression on Miss Schlupe, but E-Wusk referred to their destination as Montura Mart, and that sounded interesting.
She met E-Wusk on a strange world called Ffladon. It would have been the gateway to the galaxy if she had been coming instead of going. Because it was a world without transmitters, its transfer stations were literally that - orbiting stations where goods and passengers arriving from space had to transfer to chemical rockets for the descent to the planet.
"They say it's against their religion to travel without passing over the good earth that their God gave to them," E-Wusk remarked sourly. “That explains why they won't use transmitters on the surface, but why in the name of their God or anyone else's won't they use them between the plant and the transfer stations?"
"They insist on passing through the good air their God gave them," Miss Schlupe suggested.
Rok Wllon had remained on Earth, pursuing some mysterious mission of his own, and after her solitary journey to the edge of the galaxy she had greeted E-Wusk with more pleasure than she'd thought possible. Any familiar face, even a large, distinguishedly ugly one that beamed at her out of an untidy tangle of telescoping limbs, seemed a thing of beauty.
He greeted her with the same measure of affection and asked about Gul Darr, which surprised her. E-Wusk should have been in regular contact with Darzek - they both were members of the Council of Supreme - while she hadn't seen him for years.
"He's been absent from recent council meetings," E-Wusk said.
"He is sorely missed."
"Rok Wllon says he's on a dangerous mission to the Lesser Galaxy," Miss Schlupe said.
"So he told the council." E-Wusk flapped a cluster of limbs and uttered his booming laugh. "But of course. All of Gul Darr's missions are dangerous. Otherwise, he would not undertake them. Gul Darr thrives on danger."
"He'll thrive on it once too often," Miss Schlupe said darkly. E-Wusk laughed again. "Gul Darr's life is dedicated to the quest of avoiding death by old age. Oh, hoI Ho! He is doome
d to failure. Gul Darr is indestructible. Does he plan to join us on Montura?"
"I have no idea. All I know about this business is what Rok WIlon condescended to tell me. Our mission is critically important. All the intelligent life in the universe is threatened. Supreme says Gul Darr can be assisted by cozying up to the natives of this world called Montura, What do you know?"
E-Wusk was regarding her perplexedly. "All the intelligent life - did Rok Wllon really say that?"
"He said Gul Darr said that. Did you see those recordings Gul Darr took? A lot of intelligent life has been wiped out already."
"Rok Wllon did not tell the council that Gul Darr said that."
"He never tells more than suits his purpose," Miss Schlupe said.
"He cannot tell a lie, but he can be exceedingly stingy with the truth, What sort of place is Montura?"
[Jan Darzek 03] - This Darkening Universe Page 5
